Damia
     by
     Anne MccAffrey

Of all the Rowan's children,Damia was the most brilliant,the most
difficult,the loneliest,and the one who had inherited the greatest
Talent.It was obvious from childhood that she was going to be
a Prime,with all the honours,burdens and strains of that elite
class.Her one friend was Afra-older,wiser,Talented in his own
way,but -belonging'almost exclusively to the Rowan and the
workings of Callisto Station.
As Damia grew up,her Talent became almost too strong to control,
and the solution was seperation-from her parents,from Callisto,
from her beloved Afra.Sent to the distant planet of Deneb,to her
strange and gifted grandmother,Damia began the training necessary
to turn her into a Prime of extraordinary gifts-a Prime who could
connect the minds of approaching aliens through space,some of whom
threatened to totally destroy the worlds of the Nine Star League.

     One of the world's leading science fiction writers, Anne McCaffrey
has won the Hugo and Nebula awards for science fiction.  Brought up in
the U.S. and now living in Ireland, she is the creator and bestselling
author of the unique Dragon senes.

     The Dragon Books of Anne McCaffrey can be read individually or as
a series.  However, for greatest enjoyment the following sequence is
recommended: DRAGONFLIGHT DRAGONQUEST DRAGONSONG DRAGONSINGER: HARPER
OF PERN THE WHITE DRAGON DRAGONDRUMS MORETA: DRAGONLADY OF PERN
NERILKA'S STORY DRAGONSDAWN THE RENEGADES OF PERN ALL THE WEYRS OF
PERN

     Anne McCaffrey

     Other books by Anne McCaffrey: RESTOREE THE SHIP WHO SANG DECISION
AT DOONA GET OFF THE UNICORN THE CRYSTAL SINGER KILLASHANDRA PEGASUS IN
FLIGHT THE ROWAN CORGI BOOKS and published by Corgi Books DAMIA A CORGI
BOOK : 0 552 13764 2
     Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, a division
of Transworld Publishers Ltd PRINTING HISTORY Bantam Press edition
published 1992
     Corgi edition published 1993
     This book is dedicated to SARA VIRGINIA JOHN SON BROOKS 'THE
FOLDING IS EXTRA' Copyright C Anne McCaffrey 1992
     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.
     All of the characters in this book are fictitious and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
     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.
     Set in 10/12pt Linotype Plantin by Chippendale Type Ltd, Otley,
West Yorkshire.
     Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd, 6163
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, 3 William
Pickering Drive, Albany, Auckland.
     Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading,
Berks.
     Afra felt his sister's mental touch and told his mother that
Goswina had returned to Capella.  Cheswina regarded her six-year-old
son with her ineffable serenity.
     'Thank you, afra.  You always could hear farther, and Goswina
better, than the rest of us.  But don't intrude,' his mother added, as
afra jiggled about in his eagerness to make contact with his beloved
sister.  'Capella Prime will wish to debrief her on her training at
Altair Tower.
     You may continue with your exercises.' But Goswina's excited about
something.  Something that has to do with ME!  afra insisted, for he
wanted to make sure that his mother heard him.
     'Now, afra,' and his mother waggled a stern finger at him, 'you've
got a tongue AND a voice.  Use them.  No-one is to accuse this family
of bringing up a discourteous and ill-mannered Talent.  You have your
lessons and you are not to 'path your sister until she comes in that
door.' afra scowled because, when Goswina came in the door, he wouldn't
need to 'path her.
     'You won't ever be chosen for Tower duty if you cannot obey,'
Cheswina went on.  'Please assume a cheerful face.' If afra had heard
those admonitions once, he had heard them several thousand times.  But
he stifled his vexation because what he wanted more than anything else
in the world was to be in a Prime Tower, part of the vast FT&T network
that handled communications and transportation between the star systems
that comprised the Federation.
     His parents and his older brother and sisters were either part of
or working towards being in that great network.
     The family were also lucky enough to live in the Tower Complex.
     As a baby, he had been lulled to sleep by the throb of the
enormous generators with which the Prime Talent made the gestalt to
perform her miracles of transportation.  His first mental effort at
fourteen months had been a cheerful greeting to Capella's Prime who had
taken the professional name of her posting.  Although she had been
addressing the Earth Prime with her 'good morning', afra had heard her
voice so clearly in his mind that he had responded.  His parents had
been shocked by his impudence.
     'He was not impudent at all,' Capella had reassured them with one
of her rare laughs.  'It was really quite charming to be greeted by a
sweet chirping "good morning".  Quite sweet.  We will encourage such a
strong young Talent.
     Though it would be as well if you can make him understand that he
is not to interrupt me.' Cheswina was a T-8 telepathic sender and her
husband, Gas Lyon, a T-7 kinetic.  Every one of their children had
Talent but afra's was not only apparent early but was also the
strongest, possibly even a double - telepath and teleport.  This did
not keep his parents from being considerably embarrassed by their
youngest son's precocity.
     So they immediately initiated gentle methods of curbing him
without inhibiting his potential Talent.
     Either father, mother or Goswina, the eldest sibling, had to be
sure to awaken before afra did and curb a repeat of that performance.
     For several months, this was a splendid new game for the toddler:
to see if he could wake up first so he could chirp 'good morning' to
the velvet voice that invaded his mind.  . . Capella.  Whoever was
minding him that morning had to engage his attention in an alternative
occupation - like eating.  For young afra loved to eat.
     Not that it showed.  Like the rest of his family, he was a healthy
but lean baby; ectomorphic with the sort of energy levels that burn up
calories.  Placing a msk or a piece of fruit in his hand would
instantly divert him.  As most tots, he had a very short attention span
and these ploys worked until he was old enough to understand that his
'good mornings' should be limited to his immediate family.
     Goswina, a loving and caring sister, had not an ounce of meanness
in her temperament and never found this duty a chore.  She adored her
clever brother and he reciprocated so warmly that a strong tie was
established between them.
     The mental exercises his Gossie used to divert her lively brother
had a salutary effect on her own Talent and she was upgraded to a T-6
     by the time she was sixteen.  That made her eligible for the
special training courses that Earth Prime Reidinger initiated on
Altair.
     This was a very mixed blessing, for sixteen-year-old Goswina had
developed such a deep attachment for a T-5, Vessily Ogdon, that both
families had earnestly discussed a possible alliance.  However, Goswina
was asked to put aside her personal plans for the chance to participate
in the Altair course.  Only afra knew how painful that choice was for
his sister.  Once Gas Lyon invoked family honour, she had complied,
demonstrating an obedience that seemed genuine - except to her brother
who howled loudly at Goswina's departure.
     afra missed his slender, gentle sister dreadfully.  Altair was so
very far away that he could not maintain the light mental touch that
reassured him through his daily trials.
     afra was not a natural conformist and trouble seemed to seek him
out at school, and even at home.  He was not as biddable as his brother
and sisters had been and his parents found his impetuosity and often
'wild', or 'aggressive' behaviour a trial.
     Aware of young afra's problems, the Capella stationmaster,
Hasardar, tactfully had the boy doing small 'jobs' for him, jobs which
the worried parents could not take exception to as they were aimed at
developing his potential.
     afra willingly did the 'errands', delighted to be considered - for
once - capable of doing something properly.
     One of these errands took him to a large freighter with a packet,
requested by the captain.  afra was agog with the prospect of actually
meeting spacemen.  He'd seen ships come and go from Capella all his
short life but had never actually encountered off-worlders.
     As he trotted up to the open hatch, he saw big burly space-tanned
men, lounging within.  He also heard a babble of sound which made no
sense at all to his ears.  His mind, however, translated the meaning.
     'This is no place for leave, boys.  Straight as dies, these folk.
     Methody believers, and you know what that means.' 'Sure, Chief, no
hanky-panky, no funsies, no drink, no smokings.  Hey, what's coming
here?  A pint-sized greenie!
     Don't they grow 'em a decent size?' 'Ah, it's a kid.' And one of
the men swung down the ramp, grinning.  'Good morning,' he said in good
Basic.
     afra stared up at him.
     'You got a package for the captain, boy?  Stationmaster said he'd
have it hand-delivered.' afra continued to stare, extending the package
with both hands, puzzled by the strange words and especially by the
description of himself.
     'What does "pint-sized greenie" mean, please, sir?' afra flinched
at the laughter from the lock and then from the angry glare the chief
directed at his crewmen.
     'Don't be offended, laddie,' the chief said in a kind tone.  'Some
spacers have no manners.  You understand more than Basic?' afra wasn't
sure what response to make.  While he knew some people could not 'path,
he didn't know that there were many different forms of language in the
galaxy.
     However, as his family would expect him to give a courteous answer
to a friendly question, he gave a nod.
     'I understand what you say,' afra replied.  'I don't understand
"pint-sized greenie" The chief hunkered down, being conscious that it
was wise not to offend locals, even a kid.  And a kid would be more
likely to repeat what had been said to the stationmaster.  It was also
smart for freighter crews to be on the best possible terms with Tower
stationmasters.
     'It's like this, lad,' and he rolled back his sleeve, showing a
brown-skinned arm, then he pointed to afra's hand.  'My skin is brown,
your skin is green.  I'm a brownie,' and he ignored the hoots from his
crew, 'and you're a greenie.
     Just a matter of what colour we got born with.  Now, "pint-sized"
means small, and I'd be gallon-sized, 'cause I'm much bigger.  Get me?'
'More like barrel, Chief!' one of the crew chortled, again using the
different sounds though his mind made the comment clear to afra.
     afra cocked his head at the chief, noticing other differences
between himself, a Capellan, and these visitors.  The man had brown
skin, streaky grey hair and brown eyes.  He was the widest man afra had
ever seen, with forearms twice the size of his father's, or even
Stationmaster Hasardar.
     'Thank you for explaining to me, Chief.  It was kind of you,' afra
said, giving a respectful bow.
     'No problem, lad.  And here's something for your trouble,' the
chief said, reaching for afra's right hand and closing the fingers
around a metallic object.  'Put that by for a rainy day.  If it rains
on Capella.' afra looked at the round object, 'pathing from the chief
that this was a half credit, a reward for delivering the package.  He
had never seen credit coins before and he liked the feel of its edges
in his palm.  He gleaned from the chief that a 'tip' was normal
procedure so he bowed again.
     'Thank you, Chief.  It was kind of you.' II r 'Tell you one thing,
they teach manners on this planet,' the chief said in a loud voice,
trying to overwhelm the rude comments his crewmen were making about
afra's courtesies.
     afra didn't catch the meanings behind some of the strange words.
     'Off you go, lad, before you become contaminated by this sorry lot
of spacers.  Ain't any of you guys got some couth?  Back inside, the
lot of you.  You've had your smoking time.' As afra trotted across the
plascrete back to the stationmaster, he decided that he wouldn't tell
anyone about the coin.  It had been given him in return for completing
his errand.  It was for him, not Stationmaster Hasardar who had said
nothing to him about collecting any sort of payment or to expect a tip.
     If Goswina had been home, he would have confided in her as a
matter of course, but his other sisters considered him a nuisance and
his brother, Chostel, felt that he was too old to associate with kids.
     So afra decided he didn't need to say anything about his coin.  He
would save it, but not for a rainy day.  When it rained on Capella,
no-one went anywhere.
     This was yet another occasion when afra found himself deprived by
Goswina's absence.  And, now that she had returned to Capella, he
simply had to renew contact as soon as he could.  So, despite his
mother's stricture, he reached out his mind to his sister in the main
Tower building.
     Not now, afra, Capella said but not unkindly as his mind linked to
Goswina's in their conference mode.
     Oh, mercy, afra, not now, was the simultaneous message from a
mortified Goswina.
     Fearful that his parents might receive official reprimands from
the Prime herself, afra shrank away and coiled so tightly into his own
mind that he genuinely didn't 'hear' Goswina until she opened the door
of their quarters an hour later.
     OH, GOSSeE, afra cried, tears of joy streaming down his face, as
he jumped into her arms.
     Theirs was not a physically demonstrative family, as much because
they enjoyed a sufficient mental rapport that touch was redundant as
because tactile contact between Talents allowed deeper readings,
sometimes an inadvertent invasion of the private mind.
     Today, Goswina ignored such considerations as she hugged her young
brother tightly.  Through that close contact, she also managed to
convey many things such a reserved girl would find difficult to say out
loud.
     afra caught rapid shifts through scenes of her landing on Altair,
the forested mountains behind the Port City, the raw look of the
Altairian Tower, the faces of her fellow students in a hectic montage,
with one face dominating the group, rapidly scrolling through the
school room sessions, meals, the room Goswina had shared with two
girls, then pausing at a musical interlude which was abruptly deleted,
overlaid with her excitement at returning to the home she had missed,
and her Vessily.
     I missed you terribly, afra.
     More than you missed Vessily?
     As much, though not quite the same way, afra, and Goswina's gentle
thought teased him.  But it was a splendid trip.  I met so many
marvellous people.  And oh, afra, how you'll love the Rowan when you
meet her.  She said that she would consider you when you have finished
your training, because you are my brother and because we two knew our
temperaments weren't complementary.  But I told her that you would be
because you're so clever and understanding.  I missed you terribly,
afra.  Just wait till you see the trees they have on Altair.  Whole
forests of trees, darling .  . . big trees and small ones, different
shades of green and blue and many different shapes of trunk, branch and
leaf All of them fragrant.  Altair's not as large as Capella but it is
a good place.  I did so well in my course that Capella said that she
will definitely place me in this system, and, as she held afra from her
to peer into his face, 'to work in a Capellan Tower.
     Did you 'Aloud, please, afra,' she said, hearing her mother come
into the room.
     know that Stationmaster Hasardar gave me some special training,
after school hours?  He said I had Tower potential, too!' He offered
that praise as a homecoming present for her, but he didn't mention the
credit coin aloud.  Or even in his mind.
     'How very good of Hasardar.  How clever of you, afra dear,' she
said, releasing him from her embrace and rising to greet her mother
more formally.  'Mother, Capella was very pleased both with my course
of study on Altair and with the report Siglen of Altair sent her of
me.' Cheswina smoothed her daughter's hair in a brief, loving gesture
and smiled 'You bring honour to our family' 'afra will bring more,
Goswina said, looking fondly down at him.
     'That remains to be seen,' Cheswina said, her expression bordering
on the severe, for she did not believe that it was right to praise a
child for what he or she could be expected to do.  Reward should never
be a consideration of effort.
     However, Goswina did merit some special indulgence for having
brought honour to the family so her favorite dishes were served at
dinner that evening and she'd be allowed a visit from Vessily Ogdon.
     On returning from his Tower shift that evening, Gas Lyon smiled in
benign approval at his daughter.  When everyone had eaten a sufficiency
of the excellent meal, he handed her an official note.  He contained
his pride as his overjoyed firstborn communicated to everyone at the
table that Capella had appointed her to the staff of the southern
Tower, one of the busier local FT&T facilities.
     That means you're going away again!  afra cried out in distress.
     Silly!  I won't be so far that we can't keep in touch all the
time.  'Forgive me, Father, Mother,' Goswina added hastily, blushing
for such a gross social lapse, 'but afra was so disturbed 'afra must
learn to control his feelings,' Gas Lyon said, bending a stern gaze on
his youngest.  'Tower staff must always contain their emotions.  To
splash about personal reactions exhibits a woeful absence of discipline
and an abysmal lack of courtesy and consideration.  I'll have no child
of mine so ill-mannered.  One can never learn respect too early in
life.' Later, dear.  Goswina shot the very private thought tightly to
her brother, so fast her parents would not have caught it, being less
telepathically Talented than herself.  But she had to do something to
relieve the woeful expression on afra's face and unwind the tension of
his small thin body.  Shrivelled by the parental disapproval, he had
curled in on himself, arms clasped tight across his chest, head down.
     Prior to her course at Altair, she would never have dared even
think of criticizing her parents.  She didn't entirely approve of
Altair's social manners but she had also seen a different sort of
society that apparently worked quite well.
     And afra was so very sensitive to his father's disapproval and,
sometimes, very privately, Goswina thought her parents could be a
trifle more lenient and understanding.
     After all, he was the most Talented of them all and needed extra,
specially astute handling.
     'Now, now,' Gas Lyon said, realizing that perhaps he had been too
severe with afra, 'I know you meant neither disrespect nor
disobedience, afra.  Tonight is a time for rejoicing.' His soft words
and gentle tone, as well as the shaft of love and reassurance directed
at his son, had the desired effect on afra and he was soon smiling when
Goswina began her almost day-by-day account of her Altairian sojourn.
     afra also 'heard' unfinished sentiments and, once, caught her
remembered alarm.  He fervently hoped that her 'later' would come soon
so he'd find out all those bits and pieces she left out of the public
recital.
     'Later' was going to really be 'later' for Vessily Ogdon arrived
at the door, on time as usual, palpably eager to see his betrothed.
     afra didn't like staying in the same room with Vessily and Goswina
because he was acutely aware of their attachment.  Since Vessily was a
T-5 and even older than Goswina, afra thought that he ought to know how
to control himself.  He was amazed that his father didn't say anything
about leaking emotions to Vessily.
     As afra retired to his room, he heard the depth of Vessily's
discontent with Goswina's posting to the Southern Station.  But he
heard Goswina's telepathic reassurance - and Gas Lyon who was
chaperoning the couple, said nothing about that!  - afra was also vexed
to hear Goswina say exactly the same things to Vessily that she'd said
to him - only her tone was much different.
     afra puzzled over that.  How could the same words sound so
different coming from the same mind?  Goswina loved him, but he knew
that she also loved Vessily.  afra understood that everyone should have
love enough to give special friends, even many special friends.
     Goswina loved him and she had a special tone for him, but she also
loved Vessily - and hadn't wanted to leave Capella for Altair because
of Vessily, or so she'd said out loud - and she had another special
tone for Vessily.  That was very strange, and afra went to sleep
pondering that mystery.
     Goswina kept her word to him, even if 'later' was the next morning
at first light.  He woke the moment he felt her mind brush his.  Of
course, she no longer slept in with him as she had when he was a baby,
but her room was adjacent to his.  As had long been their custom, he
put his hand up on the wall that separated them, knowing that she did
the same thing.  Not that they needed contact but it was a friendly
remnant of childish habit.
     What bothered you, Gossie, that you couldn't tell Father and
Mother?  He shot her a glimpse of the scene of her panicky flight to
the parking lot.
     Well, it wasn't anything -- Huh?  That's not what you really
think.
     Well, one evening, we got permission to go to a concert in Altair
Port.  She showed him a picture of them all driving off together but
she was still concealing something.  You don't need to know every cross
on the Ts and the dots on the Is, afra.
     Sorry!
     It's just that Altairian concerts are different from ours.  And I
don't mean the music they played.  I mean, they have a much more
flamboyant way of performing.
     How?  Since his encounter with the freighter chief, afra had taken
every opportunity his duties afforded him to meet other crews, with
their variety of skin shades and physical attributes.  He also liked
hearing the different languages, and the odd things crews said from
time to time, most of which he didn't exactly understand.  It was often
hard to find someone willing to explain variations to his enquiring
mind.  Some Talents had a way of wriggling past public shields to the
real truths but he didn't expect to be able to do that for some years
to come.  Now that Goswina was back, maybe she'd tell him.  But he
wouldn't interrupt her with his questions now.
     They are.  . . far more demonstrative than we would be, and i6
     -r afra could tell that she was carefully editing the thoughts she
let him see.  She was falling into his parents' habit of 'protecting'
him.  He wasn't a sissy.  He was over six - nearly seven.
     No, you're not a sissy, afra, and you're a very clever nearly
seven or Hasardar wouldn't let you run errands for him.  It was an
adult concert, Affie, and not something you would understand or enjoy.
     afra caught her mental disgust.  It's not as ?f I'd start acting
like a nutty Altairian, Gossie.
     Please let me see!
     Oh, don't push me around, afra.  I have absolutely no intention of
contaminating an impressionable young mind like yours.
     I said, and Goswina's mental touch unexpectedly firmed against
him, don't probe, or I won't tell you anything else.
     afra projected compliance because he couldn't bear for Goswina to
shut him out and not tell him the exciting thing that was at the edge
of her mind.
     So Goswina did tell him about her dismay at what she would only
term a lewd public display of affection, her mind so tightly shielded
that he couldn't catch a glimpse of what had made her leave the concert
arena so abruptly.
     afra hadn't heard 'lewd' before but it couldn't be an acceptable
word, considering the way she coloured it in her mind - a slimy muddy
yellow brown.
     The music had been wonderful.  Music always is, Goswina continued,
and then they had to spoil it.  The Rowan left with me.  I was glad
because she was much too young to see that sort of thing, even if it is
her native planet and she might be accustomed to such displays.  That's
when I found out that she was the reason so many Talents were invited
to go to Altair.
     You see, the Rowan is really a Prime so of course she couldn't
leave Altair, what with the way space travel sickens Primes, soFT&T set
up the course to introduce possible Tower crew to her, when she's old
enough to have her own Prime Tower.
     You didn't get space sick, did you?  afra would have been
disgusted, even with his beloved Gossie, if she had.
     Of course not, but I'm a T-6.  The sickness only affects Primes.
     All of us on the course thought the Rowan was just a T4.
     Goswina's thought brightened with delight at having been the first
to learn the truth.  She's not much younger than I am but ever so much
stronger.
     She's being trained in her duties by Siglen, just as our Capella
was.
     I suppose all Primes were young once, like the Rowan, Goswina
added thoughtfully.  She's an orphan.  All her family, everyone who
knew her, were killed in an avalanche when she was only three years
old.  They said that the whole planet heard her crying for help.
     Goswina did not add the other things she'd heard about how Siglen
had behaved at that time because it wasn't proper to criticize a Prime
for any reason whatsoever.  But the Rowan is very strong, and so
clever, and generous, and brave.  I could never have done what she did
when those awful boys attacked us.
     ATTACKED YOU?  There're indent gangs on Altair?  So that was what
Goswina hadn't told the parents.  Not that afra blamed her.  They'd've
been very upset at the insult to their daughter and there could have
been embarrassing repercussions.  What sort of a barbaric place is
Altair?
     Now, afra, it isn't barbaric.  It's really very - very
sophisticated; much more worldly than Capella is with no Method to
guide them.  And I wasn't hurt.  I was scared.  Anyway, the Rowan took
care of them.  afra could hear something akin to righteous satisfaction
tingeing Goswina's thoughts.  She just flicked them out of the way as
we'd brush sandflies and without any gestalt to help her.  Then, cool
as you please, she ordered a cab and we got back safely to the Tower
complex.
     That's when I told her all about you.
     Me?
     Yes, dearest brother of them all, you.  Because your minds will
match.  I just know they will.  afra heard her hand slap the wall for
emphasis.  And she has promised me that she will see that you take the
course at Altair too, when you're old enough.
     She will?  But I'd have to be away from you afra, dearest, Talents
like us aren't more than a thought away.
     I couldn't think at you when you were on Altair.
     Well, I'm home now.  . . and the Southern Station is well within
your range, brother dear.  Now, it's time for us to be up.  And for you
to study hard so you'll be ready when the Rowan needs you.
     As afra grew up, that promise began to assume more and more
significance - mainly as the passport off Capella and the strict,
almost stifling, code of conduct expected of him by his parents.  His
interactions with freighter and passenger crews, with occasional
visitors whom Hasardar had him conduct from their personal capsules to
the Tower, had broadened his experience of different cultures and
systems.
     He encountered the gallon-sized brown chief on a regular basis
over the next nine years.  Chief Damitcha liked the odd dignity of the
'pint-sized greenie', though that description rarely crossed the chiefs
mind after he learned afra's name.  It was Damitcha who introduced afra
to the art of paper-folding, origami, which had been part of his
ancestors' culture.
     afra had been fascinated to see Damitcha's thick fingers
deliberately and delicately creasing, folding and producing the most
elegant creatures, objects and flowers from coloured sheets.
     'Old fashioned sea sailors used to carve things in their off-duty
hours,' Damitcha explained, deftly making a bird he called a heron,
with outstretched wings, long legs and neck.  'Scrimshaw, they called
it.  Have museums of the stuff on old Earth and I seen it once on leave
there.  But spacemen gotta watch weight and so paper's perfect.  Beats
the hell outa watching fractiles or such like.  Keeps my fingers supple
for finicky board repairs, too.' When afra begged to be taught how to
do origami foldings, Damitcha produced an instruction tape for him and
even gave him several sheets of his special coloured papers.
     afra told Goswina about this hobby but Goswina was so involved
with being a new Tower technician and wife that her response was more
automatic than enthusiastic: all part of her detachment from her
previous ties.  afra did understand that she had other claims on her
time, that she still loved him but that working in the Tower was far
more exciting than listening to her little brother.  Hasardar was
handier and could be relied on for approval and amazement at what afra
could create out of a sheet of paper.  He pinned samples of afra's
handiwork on his bulletin board and took the manipulable ones home to
amuse his children.
     On his next trip into Capell, Damitcha presented afra with a box
of origami papers, all sizes and many beautiful shades and patterns.
     He brought historical tapes about Oriental arts and even a small
paper book on Japanese brush calligraphy.
     As afra grew older, and assumed other duties, Damitcha would join
him in Hasardar's office for chats, for meal breaks, for long evening
discussions.  So afra learned far more details about other systems than
were taught in his classroom.
     Damitcha retired from active service with the freighting company
and, though he frequently sent messages to his 'pint-sized greenie' to
which afra usually responded, the boy did not find another so
congenial.  The curiosity that Damitcha had generated in the young afra
would never fail and the boy continued to make far more contact with
other cultures than his parents knew, or would consider advisable for
their impressionable son.
     However, that same curiosity troubled afra for it made him
uncomfortably aware that he found great interest in matters his family
considered quite trivial or useless.  afra spent hours in his early
teen years examining his inner self, trying to find the flaw in him
that wanted more than he could have on Capella; that was fascinated by
'other worldly notions'; that resented the loving supervision of his
parents and the path they had chosen for him to follow.
     The fact that he knew they loved him burdened him in his striving
to be different.  Their main concern was to keep the family's honour
unsullied, which meant adhering to proven ways.  With their love,
wisdom and (they thought) insight into the characters and abilities of
their children, Gas Lyon and Cheswina were convinced that they knew
what was best.  Especially for afra.
     From Goswina on down, his siblings were quite willing to have
their lives ordered by their parents.  As minor Talents, they each
moved serenely into secure careers in the service of FT&T and that was
as far as any of them looked.  Goswina's happy marriage and her skills
as a technician made her conclude that following parental example would
also lead afra to happiness.  So she did not understand his rebellion,
nor that he had been exposed to different standards over the years.
     Certainly his interest in 'other worldly' things extended to
unusual species, like the barque cats on the liner Bucephalus.
     Damitcha had told him about these strange space-faring variants of
Terran felines.
     'We don't have one, but next time the old Buc cradles down here,
ask the chief - a woman named Marsha Meilo - if you can see theirs.
     They gotta new litter but - sorry lad, they're not planet beasts.
     They stay in space.' afra looked up 'barque cat' and the screen
showed the current prize-winning sire, Garfield Per Astra, a
magnificent beast of tawny brown with his undercoat a tan, with black
stripes, and face markings that made him look both benign and
exceedingly wise.  His eyes were yellow, like afra's, but that wasn't
what endeared him to the boy as much as his air of arrogant
independence did.
     There were many halos of the unusually marked felines, long
histories of their pedigrees, breeding and nurture, their deftness in
finding tiny holes in hulls and giving warning to the crew, their
almost incredible talent for survival in space wrecks.  FIND THE BC!
     was the motto of every space salvage group.  Any vessel harbouring
a barque cat would have BC ABOARD in huge letters in various positions
on the hull.
     The next time the Bucephalus rocked into a Capellan cradle, afra
deserted his immediate task and was in the group hovering by the crew
gangway.
     'Whatcha got, kid?' a spaceman asked, noticing afra, who was
almost dancing about in his anxiety to get someone's attention.
     'Chief Damitcha of the freighter Zanzibar gave me a message for
your Chief Marsha Meilo.
     The crewman vacillated between annoyance and curiosity.
     'Yeah?  What's the message?' 'I'm to give it to her,' he said.
     'Oh, he did, huh?  Didn't know he knew -- What's the matter, kid?'
For afra had just seen the barque cat who strolled indolently to the
gangway to peer out in as supercilious a manner as the highest Methody
preacher 'Oh, that's Treasure Island Queen,' and the crewman's pride in
the beast was obvious.
     afra extended his hand to the cat, for they were on a level,
Treasure on the ship and afra on the ground.  The crewman kicked his
hand away and afra jumped back in alarm and hurt.
     'Sorry, kid, we don't like our barquie picking up any planetary
germs.  No touchee.  Just lookee.  She is a beauty, ain't she?' and the
crewman, rather ashamed of his defensiveness, hunkered down to pet the
cat.
     afra, hands clasped tightly behind his back, could not tear his
eyes off the sleek and elegant creature.  Treasure, luxuriating in the
crewman 5 caresses, murmured her appreciation and turned her
aristocratic face towards the wide-eyed boy.
     'Hmmmmrow!' she said, plainly addressing afra.
     'Hey, kid, you rate.  She don't usually speak to landlubbers.'
afra listened with all his heart and heard the satisfaction of
Treasure's mind for the caresses she was enjoying.
     Delicately she sniffed, as much in afra's direction as in general
at the atmosphere of Capella, but he took it as a personal accolade and
desperately wanted to be able to stroke her, to have such a lovely
creature for his own.
     You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, afra dared
to say.
     Mmmmmmrow!  Mmmmmrrr!
     There seemed to be no mental equivalent for that except pleasure.
     Abruptly she leaped away from the door and out of his sight.  Just
then a group of uniformed men and women emerged and quickly the crewman
gestured for afra to make himself scarce as he stood to attention,
saluting those who filed out of the ship.
     afra mulled over that incident for several days before he asked
Hasardar about barque cats.
     'Them?  Well, for one thing, they're not allowed planetside.
     Those spacers keep them pretty much to themselves.  Oh, they trade
them between ships, to avoid inbreeding 'Inbreeding?' 'Too close a
blood tie - weakens the strain, they say.' afra didn't have a chance to
ask more questions.  He knew without asking that his parents would not
permit him to have any kind of an animal.  Not in the Tower enclosure.
     But that didn't keep him from checking with all the bigger ships
to see if they had barque cats.  Spacemen were only too happy to brag
about their beasts and if afra couldn't touch, he could admire, and
'path them.  Mostly they responded, which tickled him and actually
improved his relations with all ships' crews.  'That yellow eyed
greenie that the barquies talk to' became his informal designation in
Capella Port.  His fascination with the animals helped ease his
loneliness and he studied pedigrees, and asked questions of any barque
cat crew, until he probably knew the lineage and distribution of the
animals as well as any spacefarer.  His most precious treasure was a
packet of holographs of various dignified barquies given him by their
proud owners.
     But, as afra grew older and his Talent strengthened, he became
less tolerant of the parochial attitudes of his parents despite his
love for them.  Reared as he had been to restrain his emotions, he
mentally chafed against the loving bonds and the parental assumption
that he would be delighted to take a place - more exalted than theirs
as a T-4 which they did not resent - in Capella Tower.
     By his fifteenth year, he had begun to find ways of sliding away
from his family's supervision - first mentally when he attended the
Capella training sessions and met Talents from nearby systems.  Then,
physically, when he would clandestinely join his student friends in the
few innocent and mild diversions available on his Methodistic planet:
diversions his peers regarded as kid stuff.  Then, psychologically,
when he had the chance to add more adult tapes and disks to those
Damitcha had given him.  He learned vicariously what 'diversions' could
he had on other planets.  He began to appreciate just how
unsophisticated Capella was, how narrow its moral code, how much more
diverse and rich other lifestyles were.
     He knew, as all Talents did, that the Rowan had left Altair to
become Prime on the new FT&T installation on Callisto, Jupiter's moon.
     He heard, for he made certain that he did, of all the personnel
shifts and changes required to suit the Rowan.  Older members of the
Capella team criticized her for such vacillation.
     'Much too young to be made a Prime.  That needs a mature, stable,
responsible personality.  What is FT&T coming to?' was the consensus.
     No-one mentioned what was so obvious to afra: that there were far
too few Prime Talents to wait until the Rowan was 'old' enough whenever
that would be - to accede to a Prime's duties.
     afra was also perversely excited by such reports of hiring and
firing.  That sort of thing never happened on Capella.
     Once drafted to the Tower, that's where a Talent stayed - until he
or she retired after a suitable length of service.
     Young afra, now an apprentice in Capella's Tower, was in a
position to learn that the Rowan had a powerful thrust, never dumped
capsules into cradles, hadn't damaged cargo or passengers, and
expedited both in- and out-system traffic, despite the handicap of
great Jupiter occluding Callisto at irregular intervals.
     Of all the Talents surrounding the young afra, only Hasardar
seemed to appreciate his restless disquiet.  Yet afra could not bring
himself to apply even to him for advice on how to break out of the
stultifying future that had been arranged for him.
     When he gained manly status at sixteen, he felt it was time to
remind Goswina about the Rowan's promise.
     'Oh, afra dear, you are only sixteen,' and though afra could not
doubt that she still loved him, he felt that she regarded him as little
more than a child.  Certainly he was no longer as important a love for
her.  But a mother should favour her sons above a brother.  Which,
sadly, he had to accept, knowing more of human relationships than he
had ten years before.
     'Callisto's one of the most important stations in the Federation,'
Goswina went on, her thought backing up a tone that said she didn't
feel he should complain about his obvious future.  'Besides, now that
the Rowan has her own Tower, they don't give the courses at Altair any
more.' 'But you've heard how often staff gets changed at Callisto.  And
you said that I'd complement her.  You must remember that, Goswina!
     Maybe it's me she's looking for.' Goswina gently smiled at her
brother's fervour.  'Now, dear, I hear that Ementish will retire in two
years.  You'd do very well in that posting.  In the meantime, I'll see
if you can't work at one of the southern subsidiary links.  You'd be
young to be on your own in some of those isolated waystations, but
you'd be getting such good practice at catching and sending.
     'Sending drones?' afra was contemptuous.  He'd been catching
drones at Hasardar's bequest for two years.  The novelty had long since
worn off.  For his dear Goswina to recommend such a posting was a blow
to his self-esteem.
     He was a T-4, 'path and 'port.  He could do better than that for
himself.
     'You did rather let the family down, you know, Affie,' she went
on, sweetly chiding.  'Father expected you to get highest honours, not
just a mere First ---' 'Mere First?' afra was appalled for he had
worked very hard to achieve that standard.  No student in his year had
been given a highest honours degree and he had been one of only three
Firsts.  But, once again, he sensed that her deeper thoughts were
distracted by what scholastic achievements her young sons were likely
to make.  'Thanks,' afra said, trying not to sound bitter and, before
she could ask him to mind his nephews, excused himself from her neatly
kept house.
     So he began to look at the other job opportunities for T-4s.  As
all his training, all his background had been to prepare him for the
Tower, he was woefully short of the requirements for other sorts of
assignments and would have to go through an apprentice year to refocus
his Talent.  Besides which, he wanted to get off Capella.
     He toyed with the idea of asking Capella's help: she was always
pleasant to him when he encountered her in the Complex gardens or in
the leisure facilities.  But Capella might think him ungrateful,
wanting to leave his native planet, and his request would most
certainly embarrass his family.
     His chance came when he heard that the Rowan had fired yet another
T-4 from Callisto Station.  It took every bit of credit he had in the
meagre personal account he had started with Damitcha's coin to courier
his profile to Callisto in the mailbag.  He had spent almost a full day
to compose the accompanying note, and several hours before he was
satisfied with the slanting lines of his calligraphy, much influenced
by Damitcha's book.  The note was brief enough, mentioning only that
his sister Goswina remembered the Rowan most fondly from the course at
Altair and would the Rowan consider his application to Callisto Tower.
     He endured suspense greater than when he had awaited his test
results and he'd thought that period had been nearly insupportable.  He
figured that he couldn't expect an answer for several days, despite the
speed with which FT&T mail packets were flipped about the galaxy.
     Therefore, he was totally surprised when Hasardar called him on
the vid.
     'You've lucked out, lad,' Hasardar said, waving a red transport
chit, the kind that meant priority handling.
     'Soon's you can throw some things together, you're to find a
capsule to fit your long bones.' 'A capsule?  Where'm I being sent?'
'Callisto, you lucky dog.  The Rowan's looking for a T-4
     and you're to get a trial.' afra stared at Hasardar, momentarily
paralysed by news he had candidly never thought to receive.
     'You're to go to Callisto, afra?' his mother demanded in a feeble
tone, as stunned as he was.
     Having had no inkling as to the nature of the stationmaster's
call, afra had not activated a privacy setting so his parents had heard
every word.
     'Yes, indeed, Cheswina,' Hasardar repeated, rather surprised by
the Lyon family's muted reaction to their son's great good fortune,
'afra's been ordered to Callisto.' 'But how would Callisto have known
of afra?' Gas asked, staring at his son as if the young man had changed
shape.
     afra affected a shrug, keeping a very tight control on his
thoughts even though he knew his father couldn't, as well as wouldn't,
stoop to probing.
     'Maybe the Rowan Prime remembered her promise to Goswina,' afra
said, delighted that his voice didn't crack with excitement.  'Which is
very good of her, you must admit.  A promise made a decade ago.  Who'd
expect a Prime to remember?' He knew he was babbling as much from
jubilation as a sudden fright that, in surprise, his parents might deny
him the right to go.
     'A Prime is exactly the person who would remember,' his father
told him reproachfully.  'Our family is indeed honoured.  But didn't I
hear that you were to be assigned to a substation?  I know you're being
considered as a replacement for Ementish in our Tower?' There was a
wistful emphasis on the possessive pronoun.
     'Father, I can hardly refuse to go to Callisto, can I?' afra said,
pretending a reluctant obedience to a Prime directive, but he could
scarcely shout out his inner joy when his parents were so distressed at
his news.  'I must gather travel necessities.' 'Come when you're ready,
afra.  You can be despatched any time in the next hour,' Hasardar said.
     'It is only an interview,' he added tactfully and disconnected.
     Cheswina was trying hard to control her dismay at the prospect of
her youngest child's abrupt departure.  She did not feel that afra was
ready to meet the world on his own, though she had started looking for
a suitable wife for him.
     There were plenty of girls who'd look favourably on her tall thin
son because he was T-4.
     Gas Lyon rose from the breakfast table.  'I am deeply concerned,
afra, about your being sent to such an unstable Tower situation.' 'It
is just an interview,' afra said, reinforcing his aura of dutiful
compliance.
     'I have heard,' Gas Lyon continued, both expression and mind
radiating an anxiety that even a T-1O would have sensed,-'that the
Rowan is a very difficult Prime to work with.  Her station personnel
are constantly being changed.  You would be foolish to risk
'Humiliation?' and afra hooked the unspoken word out of Gas Lyon's
mind.  'Father, there would be no shame, or blame, if the Rowan did not
find me acceptable.' afra felt every fibre of his being denying his
words, every ounce of his strength shielding his true thoughts from his
distraught parents.  'There would, however, I feel, be an implied
insult if I didn't at least appear for this interview.  I will pack a
few things --.' Indeed there was little in his room that he could not
leave behind - with the exception of his halos of barque cats, his
origami flock, his supply of paper and Damitcha's book.  -- and report
as requested to the Rowan on Callisto.  It is so generous of her to
remember her promise to Goswina.' Before his control on his real
feelings weakened, afra strode from the room.  As he tossed a change of
clothing, Tower shoes, halos, origamis and the book into a carisak, he
probed deftly at his parents.  His father was clearly stunned and most
perturbed, uncomplimentarily concerned that his youngest could handle
the courtesies involved.  His mother's mind was running about in
circles; would afra present himself properly, would he be restrained
and mannerly, would this Rowan person appreciate that he came from a
good family and had been raised to the high standards demanded of Tower
personnel, would he afra closed the sack and returned to say farewell
to his parents.  This moment was far harder for him than he -realized
especially when he wished so fervently that he would not be back in the
few days his parents felt he'd be gone.
     -'I shall bring honour on the family name,' he said to his father,
lightly touching Gas Lyon's chest over his heart.  'Mother, I shall be
extremely well-behaved,' and he caressed her cheek softly.
     His throat suddenly closed and he felt an unexpected burning
behind his eyes.  He hadn't anticipated such a reaction when he had
wanted so desperately for so long to leave home.  Much too abruptly for
courtesy, he flung himself out of the house and strode as fast as his
long legs would take him to the personnel launch cradles of the
station.
     He'd seen the procedure often enough to know exactly what to do.
     The personnel carrier was comfortable enough; certainly, no
different from any of the drills or the few short distances he'd been
teleported.
     A T- 10 he knew checked him, grinned as he closed and locked the
cover, slapped it in casual farewell and only then did afra remember
that he hadn't contacted Goswina.
     Gossie afra!  You have a genius for picking the most awkward
moments - Gossie, I'm going to Callist afra, Capella's firm mental
voice interrupted him then, on the count of three .  . . I wish you
good luck, afra.
     The next moment he knew he was being 'ported across the incredible
spatial distance to Callisto.  That didn't take as long as he had
somehow assumed it would.  He was aware of the 'portation, the
sensation of disorientation that he knew he was expected to feel.
     Small wonder Primes, being so sensitive, had problems even on
passenger liners.  He was certainly aware when the changeover was made,
when Capella released his capsule into the Rowan's control.
     afra?  Did you tell your sister that the Rowan kept her promise?
     The Rowan's mental tone, so different to Capella's, to anyone
else's he had ever encountered in his lifetime, chimed silverly in his
mind.  The contact had a brilliance, a vivacity, and a resonance which
immediately enthralled him.
     I told her I was coming to Callisto.
     Well, you're here.  Come to the Tower.  You are welcome, afra.  A
silvery laugh shivered in his mind.  You know, I think Goswina was
right.  We'll see.
     The cover was unlocked and a rather anxious looking man, wearing
stationmaster's tabs on his collar, extended a hand.
     'afra?  Brian Ackerman.' The man's anxiety began to fade as they
clasped hands.  'Capella grows 'em long, doesn't it?' he said, grinning
as afra got to his feet, standing centimetres taller than the stockier
stationmaster.
     'The Rowan can play games but don't let 'em get to you, huh?' he
added in the tight low tones that suggested to afra that Brian had his
mental shields in place to deliver that brief advice.
     afra nodded soberly and followed the stationmaster to the Tower.
     It was only then that he noticed, and swallowed against his
surprise, that Callisto Tower was a domed facility.  In fact, a
combination of domes plus the big ship launch area with cradles that
ranged from the single he'd been landed in to the immense complex metal
affairs that accommodated large passenger liners or naval vessels.
     Above them loomed Jupiter.  afra controlled the instinct to hunch
away from the giant planet.  No doubt he would get accustomed to its
dominating presence.
     He also found himself breathing shallowly, and controlled that
reaction as well: there was plenty of air on this moon.
     'You get used to it,' Brian Ackerman said with a grin.
     'Is it that obvious?' afra asked.
     Brian grinned.  'Everyone feels the old man and, sometimes, the
whole alien feel' - he made a sweep of his arm to include the domes
'can really get to the planet bred.' They had reached the facility by
then, a Tower more by grace than fact for there was only the one raised
section that could be termed a tower.  The administrative building was
compact, three storeyed, the only windows the clear plexiglas that
wrapped around the tower portion, giving the Prime three hundred and
sixty degrees of visibility.
     Lights under the fascia boards of the roof beamed down on the
plantings, counterfeiting sunlight enough to encourage growth.
     Luminous Jupiter's light did not support earth vegetation.  To
afra's surprise, he saw a small copse of trees at the back of the
terrain-hugging residence off to the right of the Tower complex.
     'The Rowan's,' Brian said, noticing his glance, and then palmed
the door open.  'She lives here.  Primes don't travel much, you know,
but she's good about sending us downside on leave Inside the main room,
consoles and work tables were placed along the walls, neat enough now
as personnel were apparently closing down operations.  There was a buzz
of friendly chat and considerable interest in Ackerman's companion.
     afra caught mental buzz that identified him as the Capellan T-4.
     No longer a pint-sized greenie, afra thought very quietly and
grinned.
     If he suited the Rowan, he might even be able to see old Damitcha
who had retired downside to Kyoto.
     Vague reassurances were aimed in his direction, some of them
wistful, some of them pessimistic about his chances but there were
smiles enough to make him feel welcome.
     'You were the last shipment in today,' Brian said.
     'Coffee?' 'Coffee?' afra was surprised.  That was a caffeinated
substance which was, of course, unavailable on Capella.
     Something to do with the expense of it.  'I wouldn't mind a cup.'
He fished that phrase out of Brian's mind 'D'you like it black, white,
sweetened?' 'How do you like it?' 'Never had any?' 'No,' and afra
smiled ruefully 'Well, try it black and see if you like it.  Then we
can add milk and sweetener to your taste.
     afra was trying not to probe around for the Prime.  There were so
many people milling about, some of them flustered with the day's tasks,
some hoping to leave for home pretty soon, that he wondered if she were
down here.  No-one matched the vivid mental picture Goswina had given
him so long ago.  Then he realized that the Rowan would be ten years
older and more mature than that mischievous girl.
     Just as Brian handed him a mug with an opaque black liquid, he
knew the Rowan was in the room.  He turned slightly to his left,
towards the beverage dispenser which Brian had just left.  Three
people, a man and two women, were serving themselves.  afra's attention
fell on the slenderer female figure, a mane of unexpectedly silver hair
falling to her shoulders although her face was young, and oddly
attractive though not in a classic style of beauty.
     He felt the first spurt - and ruthlessly suppressed that sense of
strong affinity.
     Although the girl wasn't very tall and had a pale, rather than
slightly greenish skin tone, she had the lean look of a Capellan.  But
there was no doubt in his mind that she was the Rowan.
     Full marks to you, Goswina's brother afra, she said and, audibly
excusing herself from her companions, she jerked her head towards the
steps to the Tower level.  If you'll join me?
     Her very casual manner was quite a change from Capella's
formality.
     I had my craw full of protocol and elaborate convention on Altair,
afra.  I run a Tower, not a tea party.  I also don't usually 'path
conversations.  For Goswina's brother I'll make an exception today.
     He followed her up the winding metal steps, a bit surprised that
she didn't have a ramp as Capella did.
     'You'll find I'm not at all like Capella, or Siglen, or any of the
other Primes you might have met.
     'Capella's the only one I've ever met.
     They were in the Tower room now, with her conformable couch, the
various monitors and consoles that were standard furniture for a
Prime's domain.  Great Jupiter was visible, and the stark moonscape
beyond theFT&T domes.  The Rowan gestured for him to take the seat by
the auxiliary console.  Then she leaned back against the outer wall and
cocked her head.  He felt no contact from her mind but, unless he was
completely mistaken, there was a bond growing between them.  He hoped
so for he had never met anyone like her before - so radiant, so vital,
so vivid.  Strength was an almost visible aura about her.  And his
father had always maintained that Primes contained themselves?
     'I'd take you for Goswina's brother.  You've the look of her.
     Sort of.' She smiled, an expression that only increased his
attraction for her.  'What did they say when you got my message?' 'They
were surprised.  Then my father said that a Prime would remember a
promise.
     'Ah!' Her grin was mischievous.  'So your family didn't know you
had applied to me directly?' afra shook his head, unable, however, to
break eye contact.  So he gave a rueful shrug and attempted a
self-deprecating smile.
     'Aren't you supposed to take up a position at Capella Tower?'
'When Ementish retires.' Her grey eyes danced.  'And that fills you
with so much elation that you had to give me first refusal?' 'Capella
is a good planet ---' 'Goody good, I'd've said .
     afra cocked an eyebrow at her qualification.  'When we took the
Tower course, I met Talents from other systems.  He shrugged again, not
willing to belittle his home world.
     'And you wanted to see more of the galaxy?' 'One doesn't see much
of the galaxy as a T-4 in a Tower but I thought that it might be .  . .
     challenging to spend some time elsewhere.' She gave him a curious
look.
     'What are those odd shapes in your carisak?' It was the last
question he expected of her but he also realized that the Rowan would
be unpredictable.
     'Origami.  The ancient art of paper folding.' Not at all certain
he should act brashly, he 'ported his favorite swan - in a silvery
white paper - into his hand and offered it to her.
     With a wondering smile on her face, she took it from him, turning
the bird this way and that, delicately opening its wings.
     'How charming!  And you just fold paper into that shape.' 'What's
your favorite colour?' he asked.
     'Red.  Crimson red!' He extracted a red sheet from his supply and,
when he had it in his hands, he rapidly folded a flower which he
offered her with a little bow.
     'Well, that's not a mental exercise at all, is it?' she said,
examining the flower.  'Flip, flop and you've got a small masterpiece.
     Is that what people do on Capella for entertainment?' -afra shook
his head.  'A freighter chief named Damitcha taught me - while Goswina
was on Altair.  I missed her, you see.  Origami helped.' The Rowan's
expression altered to one of compassionate apology - and he felt the
lightest mental touch, reinforcing It.
     'She missed you, too, afra.  I heard all about you.' 'And you
remembered your promise.' 'Not quite, afra,' she said, propelling
herself towards her chair and whirling around to seat herself.
     'Because there's no course on Altair any more and you're already
trained.  So let's see if Goswina was right, that our minds will
complement each other in the running of this Tower!' She let him hear
what she then said.  Reidinger, I've found me another T4.  afra of
Capella.  He folds paper!
     Which is at least original.  And he keeps halos of barque cats.
     So she'd seen those, too, in her mental sorting of his belongings.
     ROWAN!
     afra winced as the bellow singed his mind edges.  The Rowan
grinned mischievously at him and signalled that he wasn't to mind the
noisiness.
     Well, he can't be any worse than the one who was certain that
Jupiter would fall on her.  Or that absolute dark from Betelgeuse who
couldn't take the least bit of teasing.  Much less that martinet you
thought was just the sort to steady me while I was learning my job!
     No, this time, Reidinger, I get to pick one.  And that's that!
     Then she winked at afra.  'I had an illegal barque cat once.  I
named him Rascal and he was but the ungrateful feline deserted me on
the liner that brought me here.' She gave a little shrug and a wry
grin.  'Not that I blamed him the way I carried on.' 'They hear us, you
know,' afra said, thinking that a safe enough remark.
     She looked surprised.  'I suspected Rascal did.  We enjoyed a
friendly empathy but has one spoken to you?' 'Hmmmmm-rowwww!' The Rowan
threw back her head and laughed with delight.
     'You're one up on me then, afra.' 'Not for long, I think,' he
replied, pure relief at surviving these initial moments, jolting the
uncharacteristic retort from mind to mouth.
     She laughed again, idly swinging the chair from side to side.
     'Shall we keep score?' 'How much can I lose before you fire me out
of here?' He didn't believe it was himself answering a Prime like this.
     'Well, I just don't know, afra.  The problem hasn't come up
before, she said, winking.  'The others have been such blockheads, they
couldn't have capped a phrase if I'd handed them the hat!  And,' she
waggled a finger at him, 'if you hold your own against Reidinger when
he vets you, you'll do yourself a favour there, too.  Enough of this!
     I'll show you your quarters.' She slid gracefully to her feet and
beckoned him to follow.  'We're off for the next six hours, you know,
so there's time for you to settle in before the station's operational
again.  Then we'll just see how good Goswina's little brother afra is!'
by two conformable chairs and a rather battered low table.
     Callisto personnel had better quarters than afra expected for a
moon installation.  He was frequently told that Callisto had been
state-of-the-art when it was constructed eight years ago.  Every new
safeguard device since then was immediately incorporated into
Callisto's dome.  FT&T was not risking its Callisto Prime, and her
station crew benefited.
     Married personnel had quarters with their own garden and
recreational area under their secondary dome.  Single staff had two
room apartments plus a large dining and recreational lounge.  A
well-fitted gymnasium centre used by everyone occupied another
secondary dome, reached by a short tunnel, though the locks on both
ends were standing open.  The Tower facility, small capsule cradles
plus the generators, underground fuel tanks, main water storage was
mainly underground with access in a third small dome: the passenger and
naval vessel size cradles under a fourth with airlocks and auxiliary
tunnels to the main facilities.
     The Rowan's private residence with its small copse and garden, off
to one side of the main complex, was under a fifth while the main dome
offered primary shielding to all.  Emergency upright shelters were
strategically situated in case of a major strike penetrating the first
and second domes and each living unit automatically sealed and had
emergency oxygen supplies for twenty-four hours - the maximum time
estimated for help to arrive from other stations in the system.
     afra found his apartment more than adequate, even to an imitation
fire on a hearth in the lounge room, flanked To one side of the mantel
was a complicated orological device that displayed Earth time and
Callisto's time in terms of revolutions about its primary, and a second
orrery depicting Callisto's orbit around immense Jupiter as well as the
erratic orbits of the other moons.  If he read it correctly, he had
another five hours and fifteen minutes before he should report back to
the Tower.
     Although there were cupboards, shelving for tape, vids,
gamescreens, and far more closets than he needed for his one pitiful
carisak, there was plenty of space for other furniture, suggesting he
could make his own choices of additional pieces.
     The ubiquitous communications desk was exceedingly well appointed
with a patently brand new console and auxiliaries.  When he turned it
on, an introductory message filled the screen, inviting him to initiate
personal codes and install any programs.  He was informed that he had a
monthly limit of free calls to his home system, that he could order
necessities from Earth on the weekly supply drones at no cost or
immediately at a special rate for FT&T employees.  Facetiously keying a
query on his credit balance, he gasped in surprise at the amount of
draw he was permitted for an out-of-system transfer, the allowance
provided for redecorating and furnishing his quarters, and how to
obtain downside authorization and credit facilities for FT&T personnel.
     'Another matter no-one ever explained to me,' he murmured.  'Or
maybe the parents expected to manage my credit for me, too.
     He placed the barque cat halos on one shelf above the console and
his flock of origamis on the next, fussing over their placement.  He
leaned the calligraphy book against the side of the third shelf and
snorted.  Well, he suspected that he'd find plenty to fill out those
shelves.
     He investigated the bathroom, noticing the warning of daily
personal water allotment, peeked into the tiny refreshment cabinet
which included many exotic choices for a Capellan Methody lad, and went
on into the sleeping room.  The bed was as firm as he liked it and big
enough for several bodies the size of his.  That opened up another
vista for him, heretofore scrupulously unmentioned, even if his parents
had been considering the stabilizing influence of a nice girl for him.
     He grinned.  Earth was not that far away and Brian Ackerman had
mentioned that downside trips were possible.  Tempting!
     Then he noticed the second orological display.
     'They don't risk your forgetting the time around here, do they?'
Even in this privacy, he felt a trifle silly talking to himself.  'I
need some music.' 'If you will name your preferences, these can be
supplied on a select or random basis,' said a velvet alto which could
be either male or female.
     Delighted to have a voice address in-room system, afra rattled off
a list of his favorites and the soft string instrumental opus began the
moment he paused to decide what else he'd like to have on tap.
     'Thank you.' 'Courtesy is not required.' 'It was where I was
reared,' afra replied bluntly.
     'Is a response required?' 'It would be appreciated.  I promised my
parents to remember my manners.' Then he covered his mouth against a
laugh.  All those drills on courtesy and he had a v.a. system to use
them on?  Even Goswina wouldn't be amused by the irony.
     'Thank you,' the alto voice responded.
     'You're welcome,' afra said.
     Then he noticed the time he'd been wasting.  He dumped the
remainder of the carisak's contents on the bed and, taking his kit,
clean clothes and station shoes, went to the bathroom for a quick
shower before his first experience of duty on Callisto.
     Fortunately for his performance that day, afra could handle all
Tower procedures with routine efficiency, almost without thinking about
the intricacies required, but he had never worked at even half the pace
required of Callisto personnel.
     We are the main forwarding facility, the Rowan sent him -halfway
through the hectic period.  We handle more traffic -than any other
Tower.  You're doing fine.  Don't fret.  I don't think we'll wear you
down today.
     Huh!  afra restricted comment to that one challenging monosyllable
and kept right on working.  It was exhilarating, to say the least, for
his duties as the Rowan's second were to be sure of the orderly flow of
destination placements, weights of cargo whether animate or inanimate,
and special instructions from the tertiary rank.
     Cargo-handlers (7s and 8s of kinetic Talent) who took travel
documents from cargo pods of all sizes, single and double personnel
capsules, and the various larger transit vessels, 'lifted' them into
the Tower for sorting according to priority.  lOs scurried about the
landing field making certain all relays arrived in good condition, and
always checking animate cargos.  Inside the Tower, 6s and 5s assigned
priorities and found destination coordinates.
     Brian Ackerman made sure there were no delays in those duties and
established that everything afra, in turn, passed up to the Rowan was
in order, and kept the flow smooth -to the Prime.
     On a busy day, and Callisto was always busy, afra, as the T-4, was
also required to reduce the burden on the Prime by expediting any
inanimate cargo to reserve her capability for heavier, delicate and
animate transfers.
     afra could gestalt with the generations, albeit without the same
range and strength as the Rowan.  He had always secretly felt that he
had more range than he'd ever been permitted to use on Capella - if
only because he felt he could.  afra was also too well disciplined a
Talent to be foolishly overconfident.  But, working with the Rowan, he
became aware of a sense of extended resources and deeper strengths
which he had never experienced working with any other Talent.  It was
as if the Rowan added a new dimension to his Talent.
     And that, my dear Afra, is exactly how it should feel between
Prime and her backup, the Rowan said in between shifting two heavy
freighters.  If it isn't there to begin with, it won't come, not for
all the wishing in the world.
     That was enough to give afra a second wind for - the pace was
beginning to get to him.  Inhaling deeply, he carried on.
     When the last drone had been spun out to its destination and the
generator gauges on his board dropped down to zero, afra was too
expended momentarily to move.  The muscles along his back ached and he
had a mild throbbing at his temples.  Then he grinned to himself.  He'd
survived.
     He hadn't made a single error - that he could think of.  He felt
someone standing beside him and craning his head to the right, saw the
Rowan grinning at him.  Lightly she touched his shoulder, just enough
for him to sense a mental flavour of deep green and mintiness from her.
     'We did good work today.' Then one of her arched black eyebrows
lifted sardonically, 'That is, if you can keep up this sort of pace.
     'Try me,' afra said, taking up the challenge.  'Just try me.
     'You just bet I will,' but her grin got broader and her eyes
twinkled.  'C'mon, I owe you a cup of coffee.  Anyone want to go
downside?  We're in occlusion.' chorus of 'I do' and waving hands
answered that A offer.
     'Grab what you need and find a capsule,' the Rowan said.  'I won't
send you down yet, afra.  But plan on next full occlusion.  Reidinger
wants to interview you.
     Oh,' when she felt him tense, 'don't worry about him.
     I,' and she jerked her thumb at her chest, 'say who works in my
Tower.' Lightly she climbed back up into the Tower and, although the
generator gauges did not so much as flicker, afra could see the
capsules arrowing away from Callisto in Earth's direction.
     You've seven to catch down there, Reidinger, she said.
     THEY'RE NOT SCHEDULED, was the roar from the Earth Prime.
     Let your apprentices catch.  My crew need the downside time.
     So, how did that Capellan manage?  Reidinger added and his words
echoed in afra's mind, confusing the Capellan until he realized that
the Rowan was backfiring the conversation.  Capella would never have
done that, afra thought, astonished, and held his breath for her reply.
     He held up well today.  I'll give him a three-month trial.
     Not before I've seen him, you won't!
     Sure thing, and the Rowan's tone was not only saucy but very
confident.
     Most of the Tower personnel disappeared when the Rowan made her
transportation offer.  Only Brian Ackerman remained, discussing a few
matters quietly with Joe Toglia.  afra continued to sit where he was.
     He felt drained and even the few steps to the beverage dispenser
seemed too far but he could certainly use a caffeine boost.
     Then he saw one cup move under the spout, the dark liquid splash
in and move aside for a second cup to be filled with sugar and milk
added.  As the cups made their way to his station, the Rowan came down
the stairs again.
     'Thanks,' he said with a wry grin of appreciation as she
approached.  She caught the back of a chair and, hauling it behind her,
sat down beside him.  He lifted his cup and she touched hers to it in
the traditional fashion.  'Thanks a lot, Rowan She gave him a sideways
glance.  'Couple of things we got to straighten between us right away,
afra.  Just let me know when you need a boost and tell me when you've
foozied.  I prefer to correct as soon as possible.  Understand that and
-we could make a good team.
     afra nodded his agreement, mentally too tired to project -after
all the exercise he'd had the past six hours.  She continued to sit and
sip at her coffee, the silence between -them comfortable.  In fact,
afra did not remember being so comfortable with anyone else before
except with Goswina when he was a boy.  And before, he added deep in
his mind, Goswina went to Aitair.  By the time they had finished their
drinks, he felt somewhat restored.  The Rowan recognized it, too, her
grey eyes sympathetic.
     'Take a long nap, now, afra.  Let your brain idle,' she said,
rising and replacing the chair.  Then she left the Tower.
     afra took her advice.  Nor was that the only time he did so.
     He was in the Tower for five weeks before Reidinger contacted him
directly, though not in the bull roar he invariably used in his
exchanges with the Rowan.  At that, the strength of Reidinger's
powerful touch direct to his mind was sufficient to dismay afra.  He
had never encountered such a dense mind before.  Capella had been firm
and strong but nothing compared to Peter Reidinger, the third of that
name to be Earth Prime.  The Rowan was very strong, with hints of a
substance equal to Reidinger's but never displayed.  But afra was now
familiar enough with the Rowan to be comfortable, if still in awe.
     Reidinger was different.  He was the most powerful man in Federal
Teleportation and Telepathic.  And on his approval, no matter what the
Rowan had said, depended afra's continued appointment to Callisto
Tower.  However, afra managed a creditable, he thought, response, calm,
unflustered, and above all, mannerly.  His parents would have been
proud of him.
     Atta boy, afra, the Rowan said when Reidinger's presence had
withdrawn.  He loves to dominate.  Has most of FT&T scared witless
saves him a lot of trouble to have instantaneous obedience but it can
be inhibiting.  You just carry on as you did and don't let him fluster
you.  Remember, and here the Rowan allowed a wicked chuckle to weave
into her tone, he doesn't scare me and if I want you, I'll have you.
     Tell you what, afra.  Before he can bellow at you - and he will
present him with one of your origamis.  . . say a bull in full bellow!
     A scarlet bull.  Take the wind out of his sails.
     Distract him and you'll have the upper hand.
     Are you sure the upper hand is good for a lowly T4
     from Capella?
     The Rowan projected an even more malicious grin.
     Sweet-talking words is for a woman: standing your ground is a male
prerogative.
     In retrospect, it was not Reidinger who awed afra in point of
fact, but the sheer size of the Blundell building, surrounded by the
immense cargo and passenger terminals, cradles and auxiliary
structures.  afra stood by the personnel capsule in which the Rowan had
sent him from Callisto and gawked.  TheFT&T complex was larger than the
capital of Capella.  Beyond it stretched the commercial and residential
towers of the largest single metropolis of the Central Worlds, receding
into a distance his eyes could not adequately measure.
     He was, however, aware of air tinged with an unknown odour which
his mind told him must be 'brine' since theFT&T complex bordered an
ocean.
     'afra of Callisto Station?' He whirled and saw a youth in the
uniform of an FT&T apprentice, a stocky lad with oddly flecked green
eyes, dark hair and a fresh complexion.
     'Yes,' and he echoed the acknowledgement telepathically, testing
the messenger.
     The boy grinned and held up his hand in the formal greeting
between Talents.  'Gollee Gren.  I'm supposed to be a T-4.
     'On escort duty?' afra smiled back, remembering his service in the
same capacity on Capella.
     'When no-one else is available,' Gollee said, not the least bit
disconcerted by such duties.  'This way.  You've got to clear security
and that takes time.
     Even when it's obvious who I am?
     Gollee shrugged, his grin droll.  'Don't be offended.
     They even go through the rigmarole for visiting Primes.' 'Don't
lay it on too thick, Gollee.  Primes don't visit.' 'Well, you know what
I mean.  Even T-2s get the treatment.  No-one gets into the Great God
Reidinger without clearance.' Gollee had gestured towards the airy
shell of concrete and plasglas that formed the entrance to the huge
Blundell FT&T Agency Headquarters.
     It did take time to clear security, scanners, retina search,
personal interviews - though it was clear they had afra's dossier on
screen as he was interviewed.  afra was tempted to remark that a
telepathic check from any T-3 or 2
     would allay any suspicions, but the attitudes of the T-8s
processing him suggested he'd better not interrupt the process with an
impertinence.  The security guards did not have his height but
outweighed him by many kilos.  They were especially concerned about his
origami and subjected it to so many tests that afra was alarmed that
they'd ruin the little gift.
     'Surely you realize that it's only folded paper?  Here!' He tore a
sheet from the pad on the desk and with practised skill, folded a
replica.  'See?' The guards 'saw' but were palpably unimpressed with
his dexterity, though Gollee was.  Eventually they had to concede that
it posed no threat.
     Finally the security badge was grudgingly handed over.
     With a mental sigh of relief, Gollee led him towards the bank of
grav lifts.
     Gollee punched an intricate code, his fingers flashing so fast
afra's eyes could not follow nor was he able, in that instant, to read
Gollee's suddenly shielded mind.
     They're even stricter about that, Gollee said in an apologetic
tone.  I've only just been assigned to guide duty and they really do
mind-burn anyone who disobeys or bends the drill.
     'They would have to, of course, Prime Reidinger being so important
to Central Worlds,' he added aloud and motioned for afra to step with
him into the programmed shaft.  'How long have you been doing that
paper-folding?
     You made it look so easy.
     The upward motion was unusually rapid for a grav shaft.
     'Basically origami is easy.  Once you get the hang of it.
     'Where'd you learn?  Is it a Capellan thing?' 'No, it originates
from a place called Japan.
     'Oh, in the Pacific Ocean somewhere.' 'So I understand.' Then,
suddenly, a narrow aperture opened into which the current pulled them.
     The access snapped shut behind them.  Gollee grinned at afra's
reaction.
     'No way you can get into the Prime's quarters without the right
clearance.  The entire building is shielded and sealed especially this
part.' 'I don't think I'd like to live like that.' 'We never will.
     We're not Primes.' A second, more generous opening appeared and
remained long enough for afra and Gollee to step out into the lobby
which was elegantly decorated in soft greens and comfortable seating.
     Fractiles were displayed on a corner screen and soft music fell
pleasantly on the ear.  Gollee made for the door - the least ornate of
several opening on to the lobby - to his left.
     'Stand square,' Gollee murmured as they reached the door which
then slid into the wall.  They walked across a second lobby and to the
centre door in its wall.  'You're on your own from here but I'll be
waiting to guide you back.
     Good luck.' His expression suggested that afra needed all he could
command.
     afra squared his shoulders and eyed the solid wood panels and
remembered the Rowan's advice.  Would security have informed Prime
Reidinger about a red paper bull and spoiled his gambit?  The door slid
open to admit him into the spacious suite occupied by Peter Reidinger.
     'Come in, come in,' and the powerful mental voice was just as
powerful and intimidating in its audible mode as its owner was
physically impressive.
     'Thought you might like this, sir,' afra said, advancing quickly
toward the semi-circular desk behind which Reidinger sat.  It was a
case of moving swiftly or having his knees knock treacherously.  He was
glad that his hand didn't shake as he leaned across the wide desk and
placed the delicate red bull in front of Earth Prime.
     Surprised by both approach and gift, Reidinger regarded the little
figure.  Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
     'A bull by all that's holy!  A bull!  Horns, snout and .  ' With
one long and surprisingly well-shaped finger, Reidinger prodded the
bull to a side view, 'and balls!' He guffawed again.  'That
white-haired bug-eyed Altairian loon suggest it?' 'She's not bug-eyed,'
afra replied, indignant at such a description of the Rowan whom he
considered rather beautiful in an unusual way.  And when Reidinger
regarded him in amused surprise, 'And no loon either.' The Rowan had
said he must stand up to Reidinger.  He wouldn't have done so for his
own sake but he certainly would for hers.
     Reidinger smiled enigmatically, leaned back in his conformable
chair, and steepled his fingers.  afra did not like the knowing way
Reidinger eyed him and stiffened, tightening his shields - in case it
would do him any good in the presence of this man.
     'You were raised on Capella, afra Lyon,' Reidinger said, his face
suddenly expressionless, his hooded eyes inscrutable.  'Which is noted
for its adherence to the manners other worlds ignore.  Manners which
are not ignored in my Tower, I might add.' afra inclined his head at
this tacit reassurance of his mental privacy.
     'The Rowan did suggest a red bull,' he said then, with a slight
smile, aware now that Reidinger certainly displayed bullish
characteristics.
     With index finger and thumb, Reidinger picked the bull up by one
horn and examined it closely.  'Origami!' he said suddenly.  'I've
heard of it but not actually seen examples.
     Show me how you did this!' 'Paper?' Reidinger opened drawers,
frowning more deeply as he discovered nothing but paper's technological
replacements.
     'Paper!' Suddenly pads, flowered and pastel stationery, and large
sheets of transparent plastic, littered the pristine surface of
Reidinger's desk.  'Pick.' Testing the various weights, afra found one
that would crease well, thin enough to fold easily but not tear.  He
squared it off and folded one corner away from him to the top, running
a finger to form the first crease.  Reidinger's eyes never left his
hands until he deposited a small pale blue cow beside the horned bull.
     'And an udder, by all that's holy!' Reidinger slapped both hands
down flat on his desk, the breeze blowing the little cow over and
sending the bull backwards.  Tenderly, Reidinger righted the blue cow
and drew the bull back to its original position.  'Where'd you learn
how?' 'The chief on a freighter that regularly cradled at Capella.
     He's retired now and lives in Kyoto, Japan, in the PacI know where
it is.  Been there yet?' Reidinger cocked his head at afra.
     'No, sir.
     Reidinger widened his eyes.  'Don't you want to?' 'Yes, sir, when
I I Now afra faltered.  Not quite brash enough despite the apparent
success of this interview to commit himself to future plans.
     Reidinger leaned back again, eyeing him speculatively.
     Then he gave a bark of laughter, shifting his weight so that the
chair assumed an upright position.
     'If you've managed to endure five weeks with that white haired,'
and Reidinger grinned unrepentantly, 'grey eyed --- bird-like
Altairian, I suspect you'll stay the distance.
     In fact .  . .' Then Reidinger caught himself up, cancelling that
start with a flick of his fingers.  He stood, a massive figure,
big-boned and muscular, his eyes on a level with afra's despite the
Capellan's unusual height.  He extended his hand, palm upwards, across
the desk to afra in a clear command for tactile contact.
     It was most unusual but afra responded without hesitation though
he could not stifle his gasp at the shock of rippling power and how
much Reidinger learned of him in that split second's contact.
     My little loon's lonely in her Tower, afra Lyon of Capella And
Reidinger's tone was as gentle as the hint in the words.
     afra was overcome with confusion.  None of the exhaustive homilies
on etiquette from his family covered this contingency.
     'Be her friend, too, afra,' Reidinger added in a brisk,
business-like tone as if he were recommending a particular brand of
technology so that afra almost wondered if he'd mistaken that quick
mental message.  'Now, get out of here and let me get back to work.' He
settled back into his chair and swung it to the consoles that were
ranked behind his desk.  'Gren's to take you into the city,' he added
without looking around.  'You won't survive comfortably on Callisto
with a bed, two sagging chairs and a battered table.  Spend some of the
money FT&T's paying you on yourself for a change.' Respectfully, afra
bowed and, turning around, left the room.  In the lobby, Gren sprang to
his feet, his whole body expressing concern and interest.  His face
broke into a smile.
     'You survived?' 'The bull did it!' Gren's smile broadened.
     'Clever that.  Ooops.
     In alarm, afra watched as Gren's eyes suddenly crossed and, as
suddenly, refocused.  Gren shook his head and swallowed.  'I wish he
wouldn't do that to me,' but then he looked at afra and his grin
returned.  'I'm under orders, no less, to take you anywhere in the city
you want to go.' He winked and afra caught a tinge of sheer sensuality
from Gren which made him blink.  Gren was his age but had obviously not
had the strictures of Method to inhibit physical experiences.  'You've
got a two-day leave of absence.  So,' and he gave an impudent bow,
'what's your pleasure, T-4 afra?' 'Mercantile, I think,' afra said,
gratefully seizing that opportunity.  'And something to eat.'
'Stomach's settled, huh?' Gollee's knowing look was sympathetic.
     They retraced their way, Gollee informing afra that his security
clearance was valid for his lifetime.  Gollee took him to the T- 10
clerk who stored such badges and then down to the ground floor where he
ordered transport for them.
     afra's first contact with the metropolis remained a series of
brilliant impressions: the staggering choice available in the furniture
showrooms (he surprised himself by choosing simple things, reminiscent
of homely Capellan counterparts), linens in plain shades, rugs in
geometric designs, rather plebeian lamps (from the look on Gollee's
face) and two lovely Asian vases filled with flowers held in stasis
forever at their peak, book tapes by the gross (titles he'd only heard
of) and two paintings, both antique but pleasing to him.  (Gollee tried
to steer him towards modern artists but afra found them too frantic in
design, material and colour.) In clothing, he allowed Gollee to guide
him, for the youth's own dress was quietly elegant and well made.
     For someone who had never had more than three tower jump suits and
one good outfit, afra enjoyed buying apparel that subtly diminished his
alien complexion and accentuated his broad shoulders and erect carriage
while imparting a stylish bulk to his lean frame.  He liked the look of
some of the trendy boots and had a pair fashioned, while he and Gollee
watched, in the size, colour and style of his choice.
     When Gollee realized that this was a major shopping effort, he
called theFT&T cargomaster and arranged for a pod and cradle number to
which all afra's purchases could be sent, and transported back to
Callisto on the next shipment, or whenever afra came to the end of his
credit.
     Then, clad in a new outfit of dark green, soft leatherene boots
and a fashionable tunic and trouser combination, afra invited Gollee to
take him to a mid-range eating place where they would replenish lost
energy.
     'I know just the place,' Gollee announced, with another of his
reckless winks.  Shortly they were seated at a table in an eating house
with a pleasant ambience.  There was soft music, subdued lighting,
excellent appointments and a discreet menu which appeared in the top of
their table as soon as they were seated.
     The selection was literally other-worldly for it listed dishes
from every one of the Central Worlds.  Gollee appeared to be far more
sophisticated than his years for he rattled off a description of items
which afra had never heard of.  afra tried not to let his ignorance or
confusion show.  Then Gren held up a hand to beckon an attendant.
     As the man came in answer to the summons, Gren looked earnestly at
afra.
     'I know some of the specialties of this restaurant that I think
you might like.' 'We-ell.' Gren's self-assurance and the good natured
way in which he had steered afra throughout the day easily convinced
afra to accede.  He gave a rueful smile.
     'I haven't had much experience with off-world dining.
     The waiter regarded afra in surprise while Gollee's encouraging
smile became very worldly indeed.
     'One man's homeworld is another's tourist spot.  My friend is in
from Capella.  How about serving us a platter of dainties that'd tempt
him to appreciate Terran cuisine?' The attendant seemed reluctant.  'Is
Luciano on today?' 'Luciano?' That did impress the man.
     'The very same.' Gollee nodded pleasantly, as if discussing menus
with Luciano was a habit.  'Would you tell him that the G-man is
showing a friend of his boss about this also and we need to consult.'
The waiter raised his eyebrows.  'G-man?  I've heard about you.' He
gave a hitch to the white apron tied about his loins.  'I'll tell him
you're in again.' Luciano himself appeared between the platter of
dainties and the soup.  He gave afra a friendly nod as Gollee
introduced him.
     At that moment, afra had a mouthful of an unexpectedly peppery
savoury and just caught himself resorting to telepathy to answer.  He
flapped his hands, first indicating his busy mouth and then giving the
concerned chef the 'OK' sign 'Spicy?  Not spicy enough?  Too spicy?'
Luciano asked with professional concern.
     'Too spicy, I'd say,' Gollee suggested with a laugh.  'I'm
accustomed to your brand of seasoning but afra must think he's being
poisoned.  Look at his face and how his eyes are watering.' The arch
look on Luciano's face startled afra so much that he ventured to
splutter around his mouthful: 'No!  No!
     'itS great.  I like .  . . spices.
     Luciano was instantly mollified.  'Ah, a man with educated
tastes.' 'Not only that, Luciano,' Gren said, grinning with sheer
malice, 'he got the al' man by the balls and had him laughing.' Gren
shot the astounded afra a conspiratorial wink, 'And that's no bull, my
friend.' 'You did that?' Clearly afra had ascended ranks in Luciano's
estimation.  'To the great man?' And the fiery Italian gestured in the
direction of the distant Blundell complex.
     afra washed the rest of his mouthful down with water -so that he
could remedy this slightly skewed version of the morning's business.
     'It was just a short interview ' he began.
     'With Prime Reidinger, which he survived unscathed,' Gren said,
nodding his head up and down, his eyes wide with admiration.  'afra
made him a gift and got him to laugh.' 'The great man laughed?' Luciano
awarded afra a respectful glance.
     'And,' Gollee paused significantly, 'Reidinger immediately gave
him a two-day leave.  I'm to see this tourist doesn't get into trouble
his first time on Earth.' 'Ah, how wise of you to bring him here to
eat, Gollee,' Luciano said, beaming with approval.  'And you have a
formidable guide, afra,' he said, meaning to reassure, 'for this one
knows the very best places to go for whatever pleasures you might
desire.' Luciano winked, setting one thick index finger to the side of
his nose.  'You're -in the best hands with this one.  Have no fear.  No
worries.  Gollee will see you truly enjoy your first visit to this al'
Earth.' afra was startled, not only by the Italian's remark but also by
the underlying nuances which were exceedingly sensual.
     'You bet,' Gollee responded, grinning with an anticipation which
afra sensed was as sensual as Luciano's.
     'Best way ever devised by the kindly gods to relieve the pressures
to which man' - and it didn't take much Talent for afra to guess that
Gollee made regular use of that relief -'is exposed.  What with one
thing and another, afra's had a tense and pressured day.  Don't you
worry, afra.  I know just the place.' 'And you will need to eat
properly to enjoy yourself to the fullest,' Luciano said, rubbing his
hands together briskly.
     He extended one towards afra politely in reassurance.  'I will
make sure that your energy level is sufficient to sustain you.' In
order to mask his agitation, afra hastily bent over the appetizer
platter, pretending to concentrate on his next selection.  He certainly
couldn't let Gollee see how much the innuendoes had disturbed him.  He
knew that Terran customs concerning sexual relations were considerably
more relaxed than Capella's but to discuss such a topic over a meal, a
meal which was going to be designed to stimulate and support the
activity, was a shock.  Yet both Gollee and Luciano seemed to consider
it the normal conclusion to a stressful day.
     'And I have a very special wine 'We're underage,' afra protested
feebly.
     'Of course, I know,' and Luciano spread his arms in a gesture of
complete understanding.  'We have a very good stock of grape juice.'
And he cocked a wink at Gollee who grinned broadly back at him.
     When the 'grape juice' was presented - in ordinary water glasses
afra realized that it was unlike any fruit juice he had ever tasted,
filling his mouth with a rich tartness and expanding in the most
pleasant way to the back of his throat and into his stomach.  But, as
he had also never tasted wine, he was unaware of what had actually been
served.
     Gradually, as the meal progressed and he and Gollee ate through
the various delicious portions presented to them, he noticed that he
was visibly relaxing.  And, where at first the thought of losing his
virginity had troubled his conscience, he began to see that if both
Gollee, who was his age, and Luciano who was quite mature, considered a
visit to a pleasure house an appropriate part of the day's
conviviality, he ought not - out of courtesy - object to his host's
plans for him.  Then, too, Reidinger had assigned Gollee as his guide
and Gollee had mentioned that he often did escort visitors.  Surely it
would be churlish of afra to affect prudery.  afra flushed suddenly at
the memory of Reidinger's 'pathed comment.  Surely .  . . He put that
thought sternly from him.  Perhaps it would be the better part of
discretion to relieve his tensions here on Earth so that he could
return to Callisto with no lingering stress.
     So, when the meal was finished and the last glass of grape juice
drained, afra had no compunctions about falling in with the next item
on Gollee's hospitable and helpful agenda.  When afra's guide led him
to a large, well-maintained building in a discreetly park-like suburb,
he was no longer the least bit apprehensive.  The ambience of the
interior was welcoming and Gollee was greeted warmly, afra as well.  He
didn't even cavil when asked to undergo the obligatory physical scan
and permitted a blood sample to be taken from his earlobe.  He didn't
even blush when required to place his ID disk in the processing slot so
that his last anti-fertility jab could be noted.  But then, Gollee was
chatting away with the proprietor during these preliminaries so afra
could hardly protest a routine which was not at all intrusive, but
mutually protective.
     The choosing of a partner was also mutual, not that afra noticed,
but he was rather surprised when five attractive women approached him,
smiling agreeably, and conversation was initiated.  When the Coonie
wandered into the lounge and right up to afra, he was charmed.
     'This can't be a barque cat!' he exclaimed.
     'No, indeed, it can't,' laughed the tallest of the five girls who
wore dark curly hair in a close crop to her well-shaped skull.  She had
unusually pale blue eyes which fascinated afra for he'd never seen the
like.  'This is a Coonie cat: the nearest we surface dwellers have to
barquies.  They're not quite as intelligent,' at which point the Coonie
growled a protest, delighting afra, 'but they've qualities of their
own.
     Amos, this is afra.  afra, meet Amos.' To the Capellan's surprise,
the Coonie immediately jumped in his lap and, standing up on his hind
legs, put his paws on afra's jaw and sniffed his mouth.
     'You've made a friend!' the girl said, genuinely impressed.  'Amos
has standards.' afra wasn't certain how to react until he saw the
approval in Gollee's expression.  And when Amos jumped down again and
wandered out of the room, Kama of the pale blue eyes, moved just close
enough to afra so that their legs touched.
     Somehow there was a transition from the pleasant lounge and verbal
sparring with Kama seated so enticingly close, to a private room.  When
it became apparent to her that afra wasn't at all sure how to proceed
once they were alone, she became quite supportive.
     'I'm your first?  Well, the important thing is to do what comes
naturally,' she said, gently massaging the tense muscles along his
shoulders.  'My first time was special for me.  I could do no less for
you, especially,' she added with a throaty chuckle, 'when Amos approved
of you.' afra's nerves made the first attempt more of a disaster than a
release.  Kama gave him the most tender of smiles and suggested that
they just relax side by side and become more accustomed to each other.
     She also kept running her hands about his body with feathery
delicate touches so that very shortly he was ready to make a second
attempt.
     Not only was that eminently successful for both of them but afra
was totally aware that her ecstasy was as genuine as his.  That spurred
him on to further efforts with Kama impressed by his stamina as well as
his ingenuity.
     When they woke a languorous time later with the room still dark,
afra shyly asked if her cooperation was limited by time or deed.
     'Not with you, my dear,' Kama replied and energetically pulled him
to her, 'not ever with you!'    When he returned to Callisto, he was
both refreshed and exhausted, and stumbled into his quarters, falling
over the packages that littered the lounge, and even the bedroom.
     The orrery warned him he had only five hours before he was on duty
again.  He told himself to wake up in four so he could wash and find
something more appropriate than the glad rags he shucked any which way
as he made for his bed.  He had also shucked a great many inhibitions
though it actually took some time for him to determine which ones.
     During that work period, he discovered just what a temper the
Rowan had.  He was so aghast at a PRIME in a tantrum that he was beyond
surprise.  Familiarity with Callisto Tower allowed him to react
automatically to the minor crisis, soothing the Rowan and flicking the
required placement into her lap in the Tower.  Then he initiated the
defence he had effectively used to blot boredom and proceeded with the
transfers in his usual calm and imperturbable fashion.
     Only when the Tower closed down hours later, did he realize that
everyone else's nerves were frazzled.
     'How do you do that, afra?' Brian asked him when the Rowan had
stormed off to her own quarters, raw emotions swirling after her.
     'Do what?' afra asked, looking up from the bird he was folding.
     His hands and fingers were as deft as usual.
     'Ignore her when she's broadcasting like that?' afra looked up
with a grin.  'It certainly puts us on our toes.' There was no way he
would admit that he had been stunned by her temperamental display.  He
had also been more fascinated than disturbed by it.
     Brian gulped.  'Is that why she does it?' afra shrugged, opening
the little blue bird's wings.
     'She's the Prime.  She can do what she pleases.
     Brian frowned.  'She always does,' he said sourly, and i went
back to sort out the mess of flimsies, pencil files and wayflippies
that littered his desk.  'At least it was all cargo.' Busy with
unpacking his new possessions, afra missed the first tentative knock on
the door to his quarters.  But a mental presence then impinged on his
awareness so he heard the second rap.
     'Come,' he called out, 'lifting' two cartons away from the door so
that it could swing open.
     It did, slowly, and he was astonished to see the Rowan peeking
around the door, as if unsure of her welcome.
     'Come in, come in,' he said, 'whisking' wrappings and styro
packing pellets into an empty box and closing its flaps.
     The Rowan slid in and closed the door behind her, regarding him
with grey eyes wide and worried.
     'What's wrong?' Her colour was wrong and her manner a dramatic
contrast from the virago who had stormed out of the Tower a scant hour
past.
     'I want to apologize to you, afra,' she said in a muted voice.
     'She's a lonely lonely girl.' afra quickly hid this recall of
Reidinger's unvoiced assessment.
     'Because I can take downside leave and you can't?' He couldn't
feel her reading him nor would he breach Talent ethics by attempting to
read her - in a remorseful mood or not.
     'I think that was at the bottom of it,' she said and sighed deeply
as she sank into one of the huge lounge pillows that he had just
unpacked.  Then she shook her head savagely: 'No, it wasn't.  I must be
honest with you if we're to continue as a viable team.' She locked her
grey eyes on his yellow gaze.  'You've lost a certain tension.  I
can't.' She held up her hand when he opened his mouth.  'Reidinger's
approved of you, you know.' 'I didn't.' She gave a little shrug that
was more a twist of her shoulders than a lift.  'You wouldn't have been
returned here if he hadn't.' 'I thought Primes made their own choices .
     . . and afra grinned at her.
     She managed a weak smile but her body lost much of its tension.
     'I didn't even have to argue with him.' 'He liked the bull!' There
was a genuine smile on the Rowan's narrow face now.  She craned her
neck up to look at him and he courteously dropped to a sitting position
on the new table he had assembled.
     'He liked the touch of square balls and that, she pointed her
finger at him, 'was your idea!' 'But it was your idea to distract him
with an origami.' Her grin broadened.  'But you still had to take the
initiative and you did.' afra cocked his head at her.  'Were you
listening?' Eyes wide with denial, she shook her head vigorously, her
loose and slightly damp hair clinging to her cheek until she pulled it
away and tossed the strands back.  'Not me.
     I suppose if I really needed to, I could get into Reidinger's
lair.  But I would certainly have to have a very good excuse.
     I see you put your downtime to good use,' she added, changing the
subject as she looked about her with interest in his purchases.
     afra managed to control a rush of blood to his face, thinking of
how he had spent some of that time.  'Yes, well,' and he 'lifted' over
an as yet unopened parcel, 'I didn't bring much with me, you know 'I do
'And I seem to have all kinds of allowances for the transfer so .  . .'
He used his strong hands to fracture the seal and brought out the lamp,
crafted like one of his origami herons in a delicate ceramic.  'I
couldn't resist this .  . .' He held it up and she responded with
generous compliments.
     'What else did you get?  Besides' - and her smile was mischievous
-'reams of origami papers?' She helped him unpack the rest of his
purchases and approved of the disposition of furniture and furnishings.
     'Would you care for something to drink or eat?' he asked her,
finally recognizing the onset of hunger and thirst in himself now that
the day's demands had eased.
     'No, not tonight, I think, afra.  If you would be kind enough to
join me tomorrow evening, I would be glad of your company.' She threw
back her head, making eye contact.  'I'm a good cook.' The Rowan was
subdued the next morning but her work was steady and her manner much
improved over the day before.  Still, by the end of the shift, afra
steeled himself against the Rowan reneging on dinner.
     He was positively startled when she asked: 'Is six too early?'
afra shook his head.  'No, not at all.' His eyes lit appreciatively.
     'Can I bring anything?' The Rowan gave him a deep smile.  'Some
origami paper, as I know I won't be robbing you.' With a wad of various
colours and sizes of paper, afra paused nervously outside her quarters.
     He took a deep breath and pressed his hand against the door plate.
     Come, the Rowan said and the door slid open.
     afra took one step inside and went no further as he took in the
Rowan's spacious quarters.  He had been more than pleased with his
rooms but this - this was palatial!
     Of course, she was a Prime and less than this sort of luxury would
have been insulting.  Nevertheless, his eye was drawn here and there by
the clever disposition of sculpture, paintings and the style of the
furnishings.  She had simple but extremely elegant taste.
     And, judging by the subtle aroma that drifted across the lounge
area, that extended to her cooking.  He took a deep breath.
     'Smells great!' 'Tantalizing, huh?' the Rowan called, ducking to
peer at him from the kitchen hatch.  'It ought to taste even better
than it smells,' she added and beckoned him to join her.
     She had three pots simmering on the hob.  She pulled a spoonful
from one and turned towards afra.
     'Taste?' afra self-consciously bent down to sip from the proffered
spoon.  Mischievously the Rowan drew the spoon back, slowly enough that
afra at first didn't catch on to her ploy.  He made to grab her wrist
but pulled back, shocking that he would ever accidentally touch a
Talent, especially a Prime, without invitation.
     The Rowan caught both look and feeling.  'So serious!' she noted
sadly.  'Do young Capellans ever have fun?' afra felt his cheeks redden
as memory sprung unbidden.  The Rowan's smile fell and she forced the
spoon into his hand.
     'I've never done it before, Rowan,' afra blurted out in apology,
both for his dalliance and the broadcast of it in her company.  'I - it
. . .' he struggled for composure, 'I mean, I had dinner with Gollee
Gren, he's a T-4, my age.  They seemed, I mean - they acted as if
that's what everyone does on Earth.  Gollee - Luciano - and I really
did feel stressful.  I do feel much less taut today.  I - I hope I
worked well-' A suddenly magical smile pulled at the Rowan's lips.  'I
shall also hope you performed well last night.' Her smile deepened as
he gasped in shock at her reply.  'Well, I hope so for your sake, Afra.
     And hers.' She turned back to the stove and stirred one pot
vigorously.  'First times are special.' She cocked her head at him.  'I
was eighteen and he was special, too.' With an abrupt frick of her
hand, she turned off the heat and began ladling the food into serving
bowls.  She gestured to Afra to take two and led the way to the dining
room with the other two.
     Seated, she explained the dishes.  'Sort of a smorgasbord of
Chinese food - ginger beef, chicken cashew, kung pao chicken and-' she
crinkled her nose at the last dish, finishing conspiratorily,
'-something frozen from the BX.' 'And you did this since the generators
shut down,' Afra protested, amazed that a Prime would go to such effort
for a T-4.
     The Rowan dismissed that consideration with a wave.
     'Minutes!  Lusena .  . .' Her voice trailed off 'A friend?' Afra
asked to end the uneasy silence that filled the room.
     'The only mother I remember,' the Rowan replied.  She tipped her
head in a shrug.  'And more than a mother.
     Have you ever lost someone close to you?' Afra shook his head,
wishing for something to divert her sad shift of mood.  'No.  But I
cried for nights when my sister-' He broke off too late and regarded
the Rowan sheepishly.  'I was only six and she and I always enjoyed a
special rapport.  I forgave you taking her from me when she said that
you'd save a place for me.' The Rowan grinned.  'Goswina called up the
image of such a charming little boy.  And she was so anxious not to
sully family honour because we both knew we could not work together.  I
did sense that your family would have been so pleased had we come to
terms.' Her grin turned mischievous again.  'I'd always wanted a little
brother.  You seemed perfect for the role.' 'Green skin
notwithstanding?' Rowan laughed.  'Skin's only the outer layer, Afra.'
She reached up to ruffle his hair.  Caught off guard by such an
intimate gesture, Afra nearly ducked away but then submitted meekly to
the fondling: quite different to Kama's.  'Sorry to maul you about,
Afra.  I realize that Capellans are too Methody to indulge but I don't
think you're as Methody as you were.' She cocked a knowing eyebrow at
him and he managed to suppress a blush, if only to thwart her
intention.  'Rebellious yet collected, controlled, studious,
clever-fingered, quick-minded, slyly humorous, openly amusing.  The
many faceted Afra.' Abruptly she altered mood again.  'I'm glad that
Goswina mentioned you.  We work well together.' Then she compressed her
lips, scowling until he looked at her, wondering what he had done
wrong.  Her grey eyes pierced him.
     'Afra, mostly I need a friend.' She preempted his hasty
assurances.  'I can't leave Callisto.  I can never conduct my own
search for a mate.  I have to wait to see what Reidinger finds to send
me.' She grimaced, quite distorting her beauty.  Then, as she flicked
her long silver hair to her back, she added, 'That I have to accept as
part and parcel of being a Prime but I have to have one friend.' She
regarded him steadily.
     Afra had never experienced such an onslaught of emotions before.
     His face went numb and his mind raced in the tightest possible
confused circles, hoping she wouldn't probe at such a delicate moment.
     The Rowan was offering a deeper relationship than any he had ever
had with another human being, even with Goswina.  Less than Reidinger
had hinted at but, for many reasons, more than Afra had any right to
expect.  A Prime was begging him to drop the careful choreography of
acquaintance in the hopes of the most miraculous of friendships.
     Slowly, dropping his mental shields, Afra extended his hand to
her, palm up.  The Rowan looked at it, catching her breath and
appearing for a long moment as if she would retreat further into
herself.  Impulsively Afra grabbed her hand.  She jerked at the touch,
then made her fingers unclench.
     What would you have me do, my friend?  Afra asked across this
tactile bonding, tighter than mere telepathy.  Slowly the Rowan relaxed
and slowly her marvellous smile lit her face to beauty.
     Afra made his bow deep and respectful.  He doubted she ever made
amends to any of the other Tower personnel.
     A Prime and the second in command of a Tower needed to cultivate
their rapport - a rapport which must develop and intensify.  To what
degree?  Afra wondered, once again recalling Reidinger's remark.  Was
that behind the Rowan's apologetic behaviour?  In the seconds it took
to complete the bow, Afra decided it would be very unwise to
anticipate.  The Rowan was a lonely person but not necessarily lonely
for him, in spite of what Reidinger tacitly suggested.
     Over the next few years, by a serendipity Afra never quite
understood, the relationship between the Rowan and himself deepened but
never in quite the direction Reidinger would have preferred.  Their
professional rapport was shortly so fine-tuned that even the other
Tower staff knew that Afra was the aide she had been searching for.
     On the emotional level, Afra became increasingly able to gauge the
Rowan's moods and, if necessary, would warn the Tower personnel to slap
up their shields and endure.
     He could sometimes turn her state with an adroit pressure of
positive reassurance.  Sometimes he couldn't and the tension in the
Tower would become thick enough to cut.  Once or twice, when he felt
she had gone beyond the bounds of permissible emotional display, he'd
reprimand her, in kindly tone, heavy with surprise at her lack of
control: though he hated to borrow any of his parents' attitudes.
     On those few occasions when he did reprimand her, her turbulence
would generally abate to a tolerable fury.
     As stationmaster, Brian Ackerman suffered more than anyone else.
     When he threatened to quit, Afra would appeal to Reidinger.  Of
course, Afra never 'heard' what Earth Prime said to the Rowan but she
would be reasonably docile for the next week or so.
     Callisto was, in many ways, far more difficult a Tower than any
other, including Earth's.  So there was greater pressure on its Prime
and Tower staff.  Some lower T ratings weren't sufficiently flexible
and were replaced but gradually, over the next few years, a balance was
achieved and maintained.  Afra also suggested a roster of temporary
replacements when some key personnel reached an overload point.  As a
T-4 in gestalt with the station's generators he was able to, and did,
send people downside for a few days' relief though, generally, the
Rowan would oblige even if she was in a bad mood.
     Since Afra could 'port himself with an assist from the station's
generators, he availed himself of those periodic longer occlusions when
great Jupiter, or several of the smaller moons, made traffic in or out
of Callisto impossible.  That was when he learned more of the planet of
his ancestors.
     The first visit he made, however, was to Damitcha in his forest
retreat.  Though the old chief was genuinely delighted to see his young
friend, his mind wandered and, even during the brief stay, Damitcha
became confused, thinking he was in Capella Port, or Betelgeuse, and
wondering how Afra came to be so far from his home system.
     More frequently, Afra accepted Gollee Gren's company on tours of
the pleasure houses that abounded in the immense and sprawling capital
of Central Worlds.  These excursions were both relief and tantalizing
for Afra.  He met many lovely women, skilled and innocent, but none of
them could hold his interest very long.  He returned most often to the
calm and understanding Kama - even if she teased him that he came more
to dally with Amos, the Coonie, than with her.  But she knew that he
found solace in her company and she would arrange her time so that they
could spend days together if he asked.
     Back at the station he and the Rowan would engage in elaborate
games, sometimes play-fighting with all the ferocity of mates.
     Sometimes, when the mood threatened to turn intimate, the Rowan
would break away, hiding her head from the hurt she had imposed upon
him.
     Afra's stern Methody upbringing helped him to school his
expressions and turn his words to safer stances.
     Their relationship evolved into something approaching elder
sister-little brother but with an intimacy such blood affiliations
could not attain.  Afra, for his part, found it easier to accept that
role than the young lover of an older woman.  The Rowan used her
greater age on him unmercifully until the two finally grew tired of it,
dropping the petty bickering for the silence of dear companions.
     Perhaps following the dictum that familiarity breeds contempt, the
Rowan took increasingly to spending most of the station down-time in
his company.  Afra, for his part began to accept the gender differences
between them in an attempt to aid him in his dealings with his less
cerebral relationships.  If Kama guessed, she never mentioned it.
     Nor did the Rowan ever seek to find out more about Afra's
'downside' friend.
     That consideration only underscored Afra's comprehension of the
Rowan's loneliness which tore at him viciously, sometimes at the
expense of his seeking out Kama.  His deep compassion for the Rowan
constantly teetered on the verge of offering to provide her physical as
well as mental comfort.  He fought within himself over the fear that by
not providing her with a physical bond he was denying her the lover she
so desperately wanted.  But he feared more the consequences of his
being wrong: of robbing the Rowan of the only person to whom she could
spill her soul in an attempt to provide her with someone with whom she
could share her life.  And, deep within himself, Afra feared that
perhaps she would accept; for he did not want to be the youngster in
his love, he desired to be the consoler, the anchor for a young spirit
blown by the winds of life.
     But, as her loneliness manifested itself more frequently, Afra
began to hope that she might turn to him.  Certainly he was the most
likely candidate in the galaxy, even if he 7' knew that she could not
requite his abiding love for her.
     Unconsciously, he sought alternative solutions to the Rowan's
agoraphobia, a problem that seemed to affect all Prime Talents, of
being unable to teleport without violent reactions.  After her first
space voyage, the Rowan had arrived at Callisto Station in a near
catatonic state.
     While Afra knew that Callisto, also, had had the same violent
reaction to space travel, he wondered if there might not be a cure,
especially for one as young as the Rowan was.  If, he reasoned, the
Rowan could escape Callisto Station and 'bring Mohammed to the
Mountain' she would at least have the opportunity to dabble without it
being immediately known to all her fellow workers.  So he suggested
that she try to overcome her space phobia by making small ventures off
the surface of Callisto in a special capsule, cushioned against any
movement and opaqued from any source of exterior light or view.  With
his mind to minimize the act of 'portation, the Rowan tried to
neutralize her agoraphobia.  Gradually, she was able to endure being
'ported beyond Callisto for short periods.
     Afra did not dare force the exercises.
     Then the eighth planet of hot Deneb, bombarded by an alien task
force, made contact with Callisto for desperately needed medical
personnel to cope with the plagues spurted from space at the colonial
planet.  And the mind that made contact was male, young, powerful and
unattached.
     When the Rowan proposed a mind-merge to defeat the invaders in
Deneb's skies, Afra was both elated and wary.
     But the mind-merge with Jeff Raven, successful as it was in
destroying the intruders, was not sufficient to induce the Rowan to
leave Callisto and join this potent young male on his home planet.  Her
despair hit a paralysing nadir so deep that Afra, and Brian, feared for
her sanity.
     Afra's rage on learning that Reidinger wanted to use the affair as
a way of breaking the Rowan's phobia surprised everyone in its
intensity.  Reidinger in particular had come to consider the young
Capellan of a placid temperament.
     While he put his anger on hold with the appearance of the very
distraught Rowan, he intended to do battle again with Reidinger as soon
as possible, after all, he had been handling the situation quite
adequately, damn it!
     The day was draining, more from the tragic air of the Rowan than
the efforts of moving cargo.  At the end of it, as Afra considered how
best to help his Prime, a young man in plain travel gear arrived in the
control room.
     'You come up in that last shuttle?' Ackerman asked the stranger
politely.  Afra lost the answer as he scrutinized the man.  He was
tired but carried himself with a composed air marred only by a slight
wistfulness and a greater nervousness.
     'Hey, Afra, want you to meet Jeff Raven.' Ackerman's voice called
him back to awareness.  Raven, Afra noted to himself.  Deneb, another
part responded coolly.  Deneb here?  Afra had trouble believing it:
Primes did not travel.
     Jeff Raven's eyes met his.
     'Hello,' Afra murmured, rueful that his introspection had betrayed
him.
     'Hello,' Raven returned, his grin altering imperceptibly.
     Afra kept his expression fixed but he knew.  He flicked his gaze
away, unsure of his continued control.
     What the hell is happening down there?  asked the Rowan with a
tinge of her familiar irritation.  Why .  . . ?
     And then, in violation of all her own rules, she was there,
standing in the middle of the room.  She flicked a quick glance to Afra
who jerked his head in the direction of Jeff Raven.
     Deneb stepped to her side and gently touched her hand.
     'Reidinger said you needed me.' Reidinger said you needed me, the
words rang through Afra's mind like bells.  He watched closely as the
Rowan reacted.  Well inside his shields, half-ecstatic, half-destroyed,
Afra thought: Give her the care she needs!  Give her what she will not
take from me!
     And then the two Talents left, making their way up the stairs to
the Rowan's once lonely Tower.  Afra broke the awed silence of the
other station crew by grabbing a cake from the box in Ackerman's
motionless hand.
     Eyes watering with the conflicting emotions that tore at him, Afra
called out: 'Not that that pair needs much of our help, people, but we
can add a certain flourish and speed things up!' Over the next few days
Afra spent his free time adjusting to the fact that he no longer needed
to worry or hope that the Rowan might one day come to him for more than
verbal comfort.  Then he recognized, with growing anxiety, that despite
all his hopes and fears the Rowan was stuck in a terrible limbo: loving
but unable to be in the arms of her lover.  Jeff Raven had shown that
Prime Talents could cross the void of space without the terrible
disorientation that Siglen's travel trauma had imposed on all her
charges but the Rowan still had to conquer that imposition in herself.
     Afra was delighted, if exhausted, when the Rowan awoke him early
one morning to demand his aid in overcoming the neurosis.  As much as
he wanted to help her immediately, he recommended that she rest first
and start the new attempt the next morning.
     With two hours before Callisto cleared Jupiter's shadow and the
station could begin its workday, Afra gently nudged the Rowan's capsule
out, using his gestalt with the station generators to push it slowly
into a Mars orbit.
     Afra was delighted when he heard the Rowan's sour comment.
     I can't just sit here in the cradle You're not, you know, he told
her.  You're hovering near Deimos.
     She panicked and Reidinger screamed at him but it was worth it.
     Afra was sure that in time he could help her break her fear for he
perversely determined that, now she had found her mind-mate, she was
going to be free to be with him on Deneb.
     When Afra brought her capsule back to the station and palmed open
its door, he took her hand and pumped her energy levels back up.  He
was careful to get his shields back up before she could read him: not
just because he did not want her to know his plans but also because he
still was not completely sure of his emotions.
     You don't need to treat this as so commonplace an occurrence, you
know, she said with some asperity Why not?  It should be!  He returned
with a smug grin.
     She pinched him.  Yaw!  He sidled away from her.
     His pleasure was short-lived, however.  The next morning, when the
Rowan thought of going to Earth, he balked.
     'We've got some pretty heavy stuff to shift,' he warned her.  But
she glared at him and Afra found himself wondering if he could endure
her during the necessary adjustment period.  The Rowan told the staff
they could prepare for the day's work without him or her, then glared
at him.
     'I want to go back to Deimos again.  Now!' 'As you wish.' Afra
gave in gracefully.  Gently he pushed her back out close to Mars'
largest moon.
     Is Earth visible from this position?  she asked him.
     He rotated the capsule and told her how to use the controls to get
a magnified view of Earth and its Moon.
     But the blackness was too much for her and, the moment he caught
the explosion of fear, he yanked her back.
     Easy, Rowan!  he said, soothingly.  But her reactions were so
strong that they disturbed Jeff Raven way out on Deneb.
     Scared me half to death, you did!  Raven told her.
     Jeff, Afra replied with some fear of reproach, she's all right.
     Afra added to the strength of his response by initiating a
metamorphic massage to the Rowan to reduce her tension.  Inwardly he
was angered: what was blocking her so much?  Was he trying to inhibit
her?  Was he rushing her in order to threaten her resolve?  Afra
detested even the thought that such petty jealousies could lurk in his
heart.
     I want her to be happy, he told himself sternly.  I will be
happier if the Rowan is happy.
     The day passed uneasily, with Afra walking a tightrope for fear of
setting the Rowan off.  But she worked more like an automaton, neither
jocular nor snappish.  They were just closing down the board for the
day when an emergency cargo signal came through.
     Some Fleet nerd to judge by the ID -- Brian Ackerman started
sourly.  Silence spread among the rest of the crew until Afra turned to
the personal capsule.  Jeff Raven stepped out, tossed everyone a jolly
salute and charged up the Rowan's Tower two steps at a time.
     'There's nothing on this list we can't handle ourselves!' Afra
exclaimed, thrusting the cargo manifest back into Ackerman's
outstretched hand.  'Get those generators back on line!' 'But, Afra-'
Ackerman began pleadingly.
     'No buts!' Afra's yellow eyes burned hot.  'We will not disturb
them.' He gestured peremptorily around the control room.  'Have Mauli
and Mick report here, they've worked with me before.' 'Yes, but only
when the Rowan was in gestalt, too,' Ackerman complained.
     Don't task me, Brian, Afra snapped back, his normal aplomb shaken
enough that he 'pathed.  He jerked his head in silent apology, adding
aloud: 'We owe them this much.' Ackerman sighed deeply, nodded in
agreement.  He turned to the others standing around the control room.
     'You heard the man, people!  We've got work to do!' He grinned
conspiratorially at the tall Capellan.
     'Just don't try to resign because I'm bullying you!' Afra teased,
waggling a finger.
     'Wouldn't dream of it!' Brian responded heartily.  'Now, here's
the first load 'That's the last load,' Brian said, handing the
datasheets to the Capellan.  'Afra?  The last load.' 'Oh?  Yeah,' Afra
looked up wanly, limply taking the sheets.  Beyond him, Mauli and Mick
reeled slightly in their seats.  He walked over to them slowly.
     'Mauli?  Mick?' He looked down at them.  'Last one.' The twins
slowly rose to their feet, swaying.  Afra grabbed their hands,
apologizing.
     'Tactile contact will make it easier.
     Fortunately it was a small cargo lighter.  Afra suspected that
Brian had saved it especially.  With a great effort the three heaved
the empty ship back to Earth orbit.
     Hey!  Watch it!  Reidinger swore, steadying the tumbling ship as
it popped into orbit just above the Earth's atmosphere.  Any closer and
you would have drenched Sri Lanka!
     Afra ignored the comment, as they had done throughout the day in
their contacts with Earth Prime.  The excuse given out was that the
Rowan was furious with Reidinger and not talking to him.  The Rowan had
never done that before but Afra was sure she would be amused by the
ruse when he had a chance to explain it later.
     'Afra-' -we can't do this again,' Mauli and Mick told them in
their twin-speak.
     Afra gave them a long searching look before he nodded rueful
acceptance.
     'We've got a passenger liner due through tomorrow, anyway,
Ackerman confided, the next day's cargo manifest on his screen.
     'You're beat, I'll tell the Rowan in the morning.
     Afra shook his head.  'No, I will.' He looked around the control
room at the exhausted crew.  'Thank you.' Then he went around the room,
shaking the hands or patting the shoulder of each and every person.
     'And please thank those outside who helped us today.  I'm sure the
Rowan will thank you, too 'They didn't do it for her,' Brian muttered
under his breath.  Afra did not hear him.
     Afra knocked louder on the Rowan's door in his fourth attempt to
rouse the pair the next morning.  He had slept soundly but had woken
quite early, nervously considering how to admit his weakness to the
Rowan when Callisto Station had to go to work.  There was that large
passenger liner which, no way, could he and the twins 'port.  He tried
through the commsystem to rouse them again.  No luck.
     For a long time Afra stood at the door, fists clenched, breathing
deeply as he considered the impropriety of the next logical act.
     Finally, as softly as he could, he 'pathed to the two forms
inside.
     I do beg your pardons!
     A series of emotions and feelings washed over him: restfulness,
satiation Rowan!  You're broadcasting -- He caught snippets of her
rousing Jeff, his tired response as he told her it was his day off and
her gentle admonition that yesterday had been his day off.
     She's right!  Afra called desperately, adding by way of caution,
Reidinger doesn't know you're here Why not?  was Jeff s half-amused
response.
     He's not .  . . Afra faltered, better tell them later.  He's in a
very touchy mood.  As Afra expected, the Rowan, always very diligent,
was ready to get to work but, to his surprise, Jeff held her back, all
ready to rebel for another day off.
     With all respect, Rowan, Raven, he remarked, falling back on the
courtesy his parents had drilled into him, we managed well enough
yesterday but there's a passenger carrier coming in that requires the
Rowan's gentle touch.
     Even that polite statement was received rebelliously by Jeff Raven
who insisted on a half-hour hold while he and the Rowan broke their
fast.  When they'd eaten, they didn't exactly race to the Tower where,
reluctantly, he returned to his responsibilities on Deneb.  Afra's mood
was mixed as he tried to be understanding of their need for each other
and control his resentment of being unthinkingly abused.
     But his silent dedication and that of the rest of the staff were
well repaid in the Rowan's gentle smile, easy manner and efficient work
throughout the week.  Afra was disconcerted that he had to pace himself
and the others gingerly to allow them to rebuild the stamina they had
squandered in their support of the Rowan's day of rest.
     So it came as somewhat of a surprise when the Rowan, on the fifth
day after Raven's joyful appearance, psychically screamed.  JEFF RAVEN!
     What's the matter, Rowan?
     He's gone.  His touch is gone!  Instantly Afra rushed up the
stairs to her Tower.  Her panic had reached down through Afra to Brian
Ackerman and Bill Power who followed the Capellan into the Tower.
     We'll link!  Afra told the frightened Rowan.
     She opened to them, Afra marshalling the others in a mental
pyramid with her as the apex and calling up the full power of the
station's six generators.  After a horrifically long moment, a panicked
Rowan, terror-stricken, turned to him.  'He isn't there!  Surely he's
heard us!' Afra had never expected that he would have to be the
comforter of a bereaved Rowan.  He had survived the stress of her
meeting Jeff Raven, falling instantly in love with the man's
charismatic personality: he had accepted that he would remain on the
outside of that relationship in the role of supportive friend,
steadfast companion.  But how could he possibly cope with a bereft and
doubly desperate woman who had lost her soul's mate?  The Rowan needed
his aid, now.  He extinguished his fear, took the initiative and
reached for her hands.
     'Breathe more slowly, Rowan,' he ordered her in tones he forced to
be calm.  'There can be many reasons .
     Rowan?
     Afra squeezed her hands reassuringly at the faint call: 'You see,
I told you .  The Rowan jerked her hands out of his.  'That's not Jeff!
     Yes?
     Come at once!  Jeff needs you!
     Afra saw her determined expression and caught her arm as she
started out of her chair.  He could not imagine her trying the jump to
Deneb after her black terror in viewing the Earth.  'Now, wait a
moment, Rowan.
     'You heard!' She returned in resolute tones.  'He needs me!  I'm
going!' I want a wide open mind from everyone on Station!  she added
mentally, circumventing Afra.  Then she was not there, in the Tower,
but settling in the launch.
     Where's my linkage, Afra?
     Afra's hands were tightly, painfully clenched to his sides.  Must
I lose you, too?  The painful whimper came from the depths of his soul.
     He realized that if he did not refuse her, if he provided her the
jump power to Deneb and she died, he would have as good as killed her
with his bare hands.
     Afra, do it now!  the Rowan shouted.  If Jeff needs me, I must go!
     Do it before I realize what I'm doing!
     Rowan, you can't attempt .  . . The thought jerked out of him.
     Don't argue, Afra.  Help me!  If I've been called, I must go!
     Afra turned slowly in the high lonely Tower to gaze down at the
sealed capsule and his beloved friend inside.
     I'll be waiting for her at the usual point.  . . came that faint
firm mind-tone.  Afra recognized its essential femininity, its
assurance of the transfer and its over-riding anxiety for Jeff Raven.
     That confident assurance decided him, though logic informed him
that Jeff's was the only powerful mind Deneb had so far produced.  As
he released his fists and assembled the psychic power of the station,
the Rowan gripped his psyche strongly, bringing him tightly into the
merge.
     It was as if she was convinced that if she held him so tightly he
could not resist or alter it.  She was wrong.  Afra allowed himself a
moment's amazement to realize that he could resist her, could stop this
transfer.
     Then the coordinates were in her mind and she pressed against the
generators and, with his sudden willing cooperation, was gone.
     Long after the generators wound down to silence, Afra Lyon stood
in the lonely high Tower of the Rowan, tears streaking his face as he
worried and wondered and prayed as he had never done before that the
Rowan was safe, that she could help her beloved and that he had not
made the wrong decision in sending her to Deneb VIII.
     His tears had dried, his fears had seeped away, and he had somehow
fallen into the Rowan's chair when he heard a soft step behind him.
     'Afra?' It was Brian Ackerman.  He came around to stand in front
of him and then gripped his shoulder to make him attentive.  'Can you
hear her?' 8o Afra drew a deep breath, gently flicked off the
stationmaster's grip and stood up.  He shook his head.  'No, I can't.'
Ackerman winced and closed his eyes for a moment against what must now
be done.  'You'll have to tell Reidinger.' He spoke carefully, weighing
the impact on the tall Capellan.
     I know.  The voice of Earth Prime startled them both.
     To Afra only, he said, I owe you a great debt, bold Lyon.
     And a myriad of images followed that thought: Reidinger knew that
Afra had run the station the day Jeff Raven came through; he knew of
Afra's valiant efforts to cure the Rowan of her claustrophobia; he
guessed Afra's role in maintaining the balance of her sanity; guessed
his role and power in the Rowan's trip to Deneb.  Sadly the Earth Prime
added, I may have to draw deeper into your debt.  And Reidinger shared
the fear that Jeff Raven would not live, offering Afra the position of
the Rowan 5 comforter and Jeff Raven's surrogate.  You have always
loved her, I know, Reidinger added with flashes of sexual intensity
Angrily, Afra shook his head.  You cannot even begin to understand!
     And Afra found himself locked tight against a powerful mind, a
mind which could have picked clean his darkest secrets.  No, my friend,
I do.  In my fashion, and Afra perceived a sincere fatherly interest,
more tender than ever imagined, locked deep within Reidinger's gruff
exterior, I love her too!
     Afra sensed a change in Reidinger's thinking.  But you, my
impetuous friend, I fear for you.  It was one thing to be little
brother to the virgin queen and attentive courtier to the royal couple.
     But some alternative might be needed to anchor her sanity.  You
are there and already have her trust and appreciation Although Afra had
always known how ruthless Reidinger could be in the care and
maintenance of FT&T and his precious Primes, this half-formed
suggestion made him more amused than indignant.  Especially as they
didn't even know for certain that contingency plans were needed.
     There could be any number of reasons why Jeff Raven had been
unavailable to the Rowan: though it was rather difficult to find a
logical one.
     With all respect, sir, we don't need to go into that just yet, I
think.
     You know something I don't?  Reidinger seemed to leap on him.
     No, but I refuse to be negative.  Especially where the Rowan's
concerned.
     Do you know how valuable that girl is?
     ToFT&T?
     Don't roar at me, Capellan Lyon!
     Then abruptly his mind-tone altered to one of immense and
incredulous belief.  She did it.  She pulled him back, though I can
sense only the most delicate of flickers.  She knows she's saved his
life.
     A wave of relief that was close to orgiastic surged through Afra
at that report.  He had to grip the arms of the chair to keep his
balance, so intense was his sense of reprieve from disaster.  He knew
that Reidinger shared his reaction.
     Thank God, if you believe in one, for that mercy.
     I do, I will.  My gratitude for sharing the news.  You will keep
us informed of the conditions on Deneb?
     Of course!  Reidinger said reassuringly.  By way of parting, he
shot, And Afra, I'll want you to retest when all this is over.  You
can't be merely T4 with all the shenanigans you've enacted lately.  T-3
     at the least so I'm upgrading you.  And paying you accordingly,
starting today.  He chuckled.  We'll argue over back pay later.
     Afra started to protest the unexpected, and possibly undeserved
promotion.  But to argue with Earth Prime?
     Reidinger's laugh cut through that thought.
     Please!  Argue!  You need the practice!  Then, including Ackerman
back in his conversation, Reidinger added, I think it best that we all
pretend I don't know where the Rowan is.  Afra was perplexed by that.
     Let's just say that I've got games of my own to play, young Lyon.
     Until I tell you, the Rowan is not to know we talked.  If she
contacts you, behave accordingly.  And then he was gone.
     Brian and Afra exchanged surprised looks.  'Well, you know he
likes to play his games, Afra,' Brian said first.
     Afra nodded, brows furrowed.  'We will tell the others that he
doesn't know and we'll continue as we did when they had their day off.'
Two days later the Rowan contacted him late at night.
     Afra was surprised that he could receive her, even with the
gestalt of her generators over that distance.  Maybe he was
legitimately a T-3.  He didn't mention that as he carefully made a note
of the supplies she requested.
     I may have to break them into smaller parcels than usual, Rowan,
he said when he examined the complete list.
     That's all right.  The generator here can't handle too much, the
Rowan replied forgivingly, then added, How are you holding up?  I don't
know how long I'll have to stay here on Deneb to be sure Jeff s going
to recover completely from his shrapnel wounds.
     Bet he'll watch where he steps from now on.
     Does Reidinger know where I am?
     Afra chuckled.  We're doing well enough.  Generator three has
magically developed a glitch which has reduced 'your' ability to handle
heavy traffic.
     Oh, Afra!  Thank you!  Across the light-years, Afra felt the
gentle caress of a grateful friend.  He thanked Reidinger's God for
deliverance from a less appealing role.
        In another few days, Afra heard from Reidinger; the contact
announced by a deep chuckle echoing in his mind.
     I singed her ears off, Afra!  But she gave as good as she got and
begged me to send you a couple of T-2s.  Reidinger's 'voice' took on a
different tone.  Who do you want?
     Afra shrugged.  If it's all the same with you, we're doing well
enough just now.  Just keep our loads like this and we'll manage.
     Reidinger snorted.  I just finished telling her I wouldn't have
her burnt out catching cargo unaided, do you think I'm fool enough to
burn out her best man?
     Afra was not aware that Reidinger was broadcasting until Brian
Ackerman turned to him with a grin of agreement.
     Sadly, Reidinger added, I myself am too busy to handle the
increased load of Callisto so I'm sending you a pair of T-2s.
     I'm sure you'll treat them well.
     How's the Rowan, Reidinger?  Brian asked, boosting himself off
Afra.
     Don't you ever tell her, Reidinger returned with that incredible
tenderness that so surprised the two stationers, but I think she's
doing just fine!  He paused.  Oh, and by the way, do you want to switch
brands of whisky this year?
     Brian Ackerman's eyes widened in amazement; it was well-known that
when he used to threaten to resign from Callisto Station on a yearly
basis, he was bribed to remain with a case of his favorite tipple but
it never once occurred to him that Earth Prime knew that!
     Uk, no, I've gotten rather used to the Paddy's now, Brian managed
to respond.  Beside him, Afra doubled over in a laughing fit.
     Torshan and Saggoner duly arrived and the Tower staff, worked just
slightly ragged in keeping with a cunning plan laid down by Brian and
carried through by Afra, were more than pleased to have their aid.
     Although there were several teething troubles, the calm
togetherness of the loving pair of T-2s and Afra's demanding
performance standards soon had the station operating at nearly peak
efficiency within the week.
     The routine was set in the next week and by the third week the
station personnel had nearly forgotten life under the Rowan.  It was
shattered when a personal capsule arrived unheralded in a cradle.
     Belay that!  Afra called to a cargo handler who nearly crushed it
with the capsule scheduled for that cradle.  Afra was hot with anger at
the near catastrophe.  Who the hell put that capsule- he began and then
touched the mind inside it.  ROWAN!
     Pandemonium broke out as the rest of the station heard his mental
shout.  Suddenly everyone 'ported in around her, patting her, talking
to her, hugging her.  The Rowan turned bright red in the face of such
open affection.  Afra sent a personal message on a tight beam to
Torshan and Saggoner to explain the sudden disruption of his usually
orderly station.  They accepted his explanation calmly, saying that
they would work around the celebration.
     The next day's work, due to the Rowan's return, progressed with an
incredible ease.  Afra had forgotten how effortlessly she handled even
the heaviest loads.
     Once the work was finished, Afra was contacted by the Rowan.
     I need to talk to Reidinger, she told him, almost daring him to
challenge her.
     Is that wise?  Afra replied, fretting that, somehow, she had
discovered Reidinger's duplicity.
     He can't be that bad!  she responded, adding that Reidinger had no
call to be angry over her absence.
     Afra responded diplomatically but somewhat defensively on behalf
of Reidinger.
     He gained a lot more than I risked, she told him.
     Afra examined her carefully, noting the faint augmentation to her
aura.  His eyes narrowed.  Was she putting on weight?  No, at least not
without good cause.  I know, he responded warmly.  Did the Rowan know
her condition?
     Probably not since she'd had other concerns to divert her from
noticing a physiological change.
     I'd like to surprise the old geezer, she continued.
     Geezer?  Afra spluttered, thinking that she was due for a few
surprises herself, especially as she'd never been able to meet
Reidinger face to face.
     You've contacts at Earth Prime Headquarters.  Can one of them
sneak me in without having to announce my arrival?
     The question startled him so he continued to banter with her while
thinking furiously under tight shields.  First he'd have to warn
Reidinger, and then Gollee, but he did assure the Rowan that he knew
someone who might do him a favour.  He begged a few minutes to arrange
matters.
     Reidinger?  Afra called in the tightest telepathic shaft he could
manage.
     Who'?  was the gruff response.  This better be good.
     Hurriedly, Afra explained.
     And it was good enough for he could 'hear' Reidinger's grin quite
plainly.  Excellent!  I have to talk to her anyway and it'll be better
if she thinks she's got me at a disadvantage.
     Here's what we do Afra absorbed the instructions with a growing
sense of betrayal.  Reidinger perceived that and broke off.  Afra, you
know that I want the best for her.  She needs a father figure, someone
to rebel against.  And I need her spirited, rebellious.  We all do.
     Privately, Afra remained unconvinced but he couldn't quarrel with
Reidinger.  And it might just have a beneficial effect on the Rowan's
growing recklessness.  Now that she could travel without ill effect,
who knew to what lengths she might take her new freedom?
     Thank you, Reidinger said, I'll tell Gren.
     Afra turned his attention back to the Rowan.  Well, Gollee's
agreed to 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 field entrance.
     Reidinger must have been listening discreetly to Afra's answer,
for Afra caught him swearing.  Keerist!  Security!
     I'll have to warn them or my security beams'll fry her when she
jumps in!
     Afra turned hastily to call out to the Rowan but she was already
gone.  Angrily, he growled, Reidinger!
     Like gold dust, lad, Earth's Prime Talent called back gently.
     I'll treat her like she was my own blood.  Uh-oh!
     She's here!  Reidinger faded out, and came back with: I meant to
tell you - will tell you later Afra did not hear from Reidinger until
the next morning as he was finishing his usual skimpy breakfast.
     'Altair?' Afra shouted aloud when Reidinger told him of his
assignment for the Rowan.  HOW COULD YOU?
     I had to!  Reidinger retorted sharply.  Afra, who had spent years
learning to read emotion, caught an undertone of pain in Earth Prime's
voice.  It was the pain of command, the malaise that comes from having
made too many disagreeable decisions; also, very deep, was the pain of
a person who was just plain old.  Afra hastily accessed his data
console's readout on Reidinger - he was approaching his one hundred and
tenth birthday.
     Afra considered telling Reidinger of the real reason for his anger
at the Rowan's reassignment but decided against it: the Rowan and Jeff
Raven had the right of making that disclosure.  Besides, Afra chided
himself, he was not sure that the Rowan was pregnant.  Nor that the
child would be a boy and very talented.
     Besides, Reidinger added in a very small tone, I had to free you
and Ackerman to perform a very special mission.
     Don't you think Callisto's been disrupted enough without removing
us?  Afra returned tartly.  He frowned at himself, both annoyed and
amazed that he could react to the man who was, for all intents and
purposes, Federal Telepath and Teleport.
     I wouldn't dream of moving either of you!  Reidinger responded.
     However, I have to think of the future beyond me and, frankly,
while Jeff Raven's a good man, he does not have the skills required to
run a Prime station.  I want youAfra was ahead of him.  Me?  To teach
the Rowan's husband?  Has it occurred to you that the man might not
even want me around his wife?  Let alone himself and his children?
     It has, Reidinger responded sadly.  And I think it would be the
greatest of catastrophes.
     Afra spluttered, spreading his hands in dismay.  While he would be
deeply saddened, he could not see how his personal feelings would
amount to a catastrophe.
     Reidinger made it clear to him.  What good are they to me if they
can only work together?  Do you honestly think that the Rowan would
choose a man so petty?  Come, you know she almost chose Stop!  Afra
called, eyes closed painfully.  The Rowan is my friend and more.  I
love her like a sister.  If her happiness requires that I step out of
her life, then not you, nor theFT&T nor anyone will stop me!
     So you'll run away at the slightest possible excuse, will you?
     Reidinger hurled in response.  Green by colour, green by nature,
is that it, Capellan?  Are you afraid to look upon their love?  Do you
love her so little that you cannot welcome her husband with open arms?
     I never said that!  Afra returned heatedly, yellow eyes flaring.
     I will gladly work with Jeff Raven.  He's a remarkable man and he
well suits the Rowan.  But you must understand, there are secrets,
things the Rowan and I have shared that that may make it very difficult
for him to work with me.
     Give it a try, then, Reidinger said.  If it doesn't work out,
we'll try something else.  But don't prejudge the man already have,
Afra returned with a grin.  She's chosen him which makes him special.
     Besides which, the man has such a way with him, he can charm
anyone.
     Reidinger's response was laughter.  As he charmed even Earth
Prime?  Afra was astonished that Reidinger grasped that hidden
qualification.  I have always thought that you were a wise perceptive
lion.  Just think of this assignment as another way in which you help
the Rowan - as well as FT&T The interview was over, Reidinger's mind
faded out but not without a final warmth and an ill-concealed ache.
     The interview left Afra mentally drained and emotionally confused.
     He had liked what he saw of Jeff Raven and could not but rejoice
that the Rowan had finally met her mate.  It gave him hopes that
perhaps someday he too could be so happy.  But he had not lied to
Reidinger when he fretted that his brotherly intimacy with the Rowan
could prove a source of friction between himself and Jeff Raven.
     Brian Ackerman buzzed his commlink.  'Afra, where's the Rowan?' In
response, Afra downed his breakfast, tossed the container towards the
dishwasher and jumped to the Control Room.  Brian started irritably
with Afra's arrival.
     'Her replacement's due in soon, Brian.  Better let everyone know.'
'Replacement?' Ackerman echoed in his confusion.
     A newly painted personal capsule appeared in the nearest cradle.
     Afra?
     Here, Afra responded, sending a mental image.  And Jeff Raven
appeared in the room.
     'I'm sorry we didn't have time to talk the last time I was here,'
Jeff Raven said to him, extending a hand, his wide smile as charismatic
as ever.  His face still bore the marks of his recent near-fatal
accident, but the vigour of the man was restored.  'But I guess we'll
have plenty of time now to correct that.' Bracing himself, Afra took
the hand and returned the firm grip with one of his own.  Feeling the
generous surge of gratitude and respect before the clasp was broken,
Afra could reply with complete honesty.  'I look forward to it.' Jeff
turned around the room nodding at those he knew and smiling at those he
did not.
     'If you haven't guessed yet,' Afra said to the Tower at large,
'this is Jeff Raven who's here to replace the Rowan.
     She's been upgraded to a whole planet, her native Altair.' He did
not have to tell them that Siglen was no more.
     'Afra,' Jeff called politely, 'a word with you.' Afra approached
and Jeff looked around the room critically.
     'Let's talk in the Tower.
     When they entered, Jeff looked around it.  'At least there are two
couches,' he remarked cryptically.  Then he looked at the Capellan.
     'If we're going to work together, there's something we must clear
u' Afra raised a hand, forestalling him, having already prepared for
the worst.  'I can leave.  Reidinger'll get you a replacement easily.
     There's a very good T-4 at Blundell, Gollee Gren: you may even
have met him.  You two'd probably work quite well together-' Hold on!
     Jeff Raven broke through his apologetic dissembling.  He regarded
Afra searchingly for several moments.  Then he grabbed him, hugged him
tightly, thumping him on the back with sturdy fists.  Thank you!  Afra
was confused.  Thank you for her sanity, for her happiness, for
everything!  I couldn't exactly convey all of that downstairs when we
shook hands --- not with everyone wide open for input -'Wh-what?' 'I
think she would have gone insane if not for you, Afra Lyon,' Jeff said
aloud.  'You weathered her rantings and 9' ravings, her tantrums, her
fears and always you were there to give her the support she needed.' He
paused, drew another breath, 'While I was convalescing on Deneb, she
was forever talking of family - even if mine is a bit overwhelming in
the close quarters we had to share - but, whenever she thinks of
family, your face comes to her mind.' Jeff grabbed Afra's forearm,
reinforcing what he was saying.  Then he shook his head, giving one of
his lopsided grins.  'Look, Afra, you are her family, but when we make
our union formal, would you do me the honour of standing to my right as
my best man?' Afra took an involuntary step backwards as the words sank
in.  He slipped out of Raven's grasp.  He swallowed, found words.
     'I guess I've been over-reacting but I've been afraid that you
might resent my relationship with the Rowan.' He bowed deeply.  'I see
that I was unutterably at fault.' He straightened, nodding to Jeff
Raven's tight smile.
     'You must understand that .  . . over the years here well, we've
become attached .  . . not really involved, but emotionally attached in
a special way.  I know she regarded me as the brother she never had.'
Hesitantly he licked his lips.  'To be perfectly honest, Raven, had you
not appeared, I was perfectly willing-' Jeff held up a hand.  'I know,'
he said softly, 'and I thank you.' Seeing Afra's puzzled look, his
expression turned rueful.  'Your hesitation only confirms what we both
know now - she was never the right person for you.  I don't know how I
got so lucky.  I devoutly hope that one day you will know the intensity
of the bond we share.' His smile altered to one of sadness.
     'Unfortunately, not many of my relations survived and all my
remaining sisters and older cousins are already committed so you can't
marry into my family.' Jeff shifted his position and drew a breath.
     'Sometimes I babble too much, or so my mother tells me.  I'll give
you a chance to answer me: are you willing, as brother by bond, to
stand with me when I exchange vows with the Rowan?' A slight grin
played across Afra's face but he bowed again, deeply.  'The greatest
honour that you - both could bestow on me.' 'Then why the grin?' 'Well,
you are planning on uniting soon, aren't you?' Jells answer was
preempted by Ackerman's call.
     Afra!
     We've got cargo to move or we'll be backlogged for a week!
     'That was really why I asked you up here,' Jeff said.  Afra was
confused until Jeff added, 'I've never run a station before.  I want
you to know that whatever you say, I'll do.
     I consider myself your pupil.' With a wink, he added, 'I'm under
orders from herself to trust you completely.
     I believe her exact words were: "Do what Afra says and don't mess
up!"
     When Afra looked sceptical, Jeff gave him a pleading look.  'Very
well, Jeff, as we're under her orders.' Afra made for the door 'Where
are you going?' 'To the Control Room,' Afra explained.  'Only the Rowan
works up here.
     'I'll get lonely,' Jeff responded in mock serious tones.  He waved
a hand at the second chair that had been installed for the duration of
Torshan and Saggoner's Primacy.  'Why not stay here with me?  There're
two feeds and it'll be easier.' 'My consoles at the Control Room are
programmed for my particular duties,' Afra explained.
     'I'll learn the running of a station quicker the sooner I
understand your duties as well as my own,' Jeff responded.
     He waved Afra to come back to the centre of the room.
     'Do what you can now and we'll have the technicians rig up more
consoles here.' Afra was reluctant.  'Wouldn't it be more efficient to
have the Prime and all the station crew in one room?' Afra's eyes
bugged out, Raven was practically quoting him!  'The Rowan never
thought so.' Afra temporized.
     'Hmm,' Jeff mused, 'probably safer for the rest of you, given her
volatile nature.' He cast a telling glance at Afra.
     'And you would never think to argue with her.  But my dear love is
not here now and she said to listen to you in all things.  So tell me,
Afra of Capella, what do you think of consolidating the station's
operations?' A slow smile spread across Afra's face.  Ackerman,
initiate the Epsilon Plan!
     Are you serious?  Ackerman 5 response was incredulous with
excitement.
     Please, was Jeff Raven's response.  If it is a plan to consolidate
operations, I can think of nothing more dear to my heart.
     Immediately!  And Ackerman was gone, bustling off to set up a plan
he and Afra had lusted over for many years.
     Epsilon is the Greek symbol used to calculate efficiency, Afra
said in reply to Jeff's unspoken question.  He tapped a console.  You
have just ingratiated yourself for ever to Brian by making his dearest
wish come true.
     'The first cargo is a freighter, Prime,' Afra said aloud.
     'The data is on your number two console.' Within a week an
ecstatic Ackerman reported a 20 per cent increase in the station's
throughput.  Afra noticed that the Callisto crew were eager to aid Jeff
Raven in any way at all.  His easy manner, willingness to cut
administrivia to its least parts, and his relationship with the Rowan
all served to cement their devotion to him.
     Jeff took a break at the sixth day to visit the Rowan at her
Altairian Tower.
     'Will you be arranging for the ceremony?' Afra asked with studied
nonchalance as Jeff prepared to leave.
     'There's no rush,' Jeff replied absently.  Afra grew silent.
     Ready!  Jeff called.
     Then he was gone and the generators wound down while the off shift
crew raced to perform the little maintenance that was necessary.
     Afra was rather pleased, two days later, when Raven returned with
an incredulous look on his face.
     'You knew!' he accused Afra.  'You knew and you didn't even tell
me!' His eyes narrowed.  'How did you know?' 'I've been her friend for
eight years, Jeff,' Afra responded evenly, not showing a trace of the
smugness he felt.  'There's a slight variation in her that I was able
to perceive.' 'Who else knows?' Afra shook his head.  'No-one.' He
looked apologetic.  'I would have told you but, after all, it isn't
precisely the sort of information one lobs off the way one launches
cargo.
     'But she didn't even know, until last week, or so she told me.
     And she told me as soon as she suspected.' Jeff gave him a
scrutinizing look, leaving unvoiced his amazement that Afra should know
such an intimate fact.
     Afra was by that time well enough attuned to Jeff Raven that he
held up his hands in protest.  'An intimate fact, yes, but I've had to
become very much aware of the Rowan on both the mental and physical
levels for the last eight years.  I'm delighted that the perception is
verified.' He said that last with some stiffness of manner.
     Jeff sighed and nodded.  'Sorry.  I think I know my mate
intimately but I also know, and accept, that there are many levels of
intimacy, my good friend!' His grin dissolved Afra's coolness.
     'Are you glad it's a boy?' Jeff stared at him, astounded.  'I
didn't know -' and he shook his head in bemusement, 'and I don't think
the Rowan does either that our child is male.  I never realized that
you're a precog, too.
     Afra shrugged.  'I'm not, but the child is a boy.  Or did you want
a daughter?  I could be wrong.
     Jeff gave Afra a slow grin.  'I haven't yet learned to cope with
my lovely Rowan.  I'll hope you're right.  I'll need more time before I
have to deal with a miniature Rowan.  Though it could be fun.  How
about you?  Game for a repeat?' Afra grinned back.  'I don't see as I
have the option.  I'm in too deep to change.' At that Jeff chuckled,
throwing an arm around the tall Capellan's bony shoulders.  'So what
happened here while I was away, eh, Afra?' Afra!  Raven called at the
beginning of his third week as Callisto Prime, there's a T4 here!
     Afra popped up to the rearranged Tower.  He still had misgivings
over the appearance of the revamped Tower.
     Wires ran all over the place and were a potential danger to the
unwary but Ackerman cheerfully assured him that was to allow the Tower
to be rearranged to the Rowan's old style if suddenly required.
     'We'll have the new ducts laid in the next downshift,' the
stationmaster added.
     'Ah,' Afra was unruffled, 'Jeff Raven, meet Gollee Gren, T-4.
     Jeff nodded politely to Gollee who seemed to have lost his usually
glib tongue in the presence of a man who was becoming a living legend.
     'Glad to meet you,' he said absently, turning back to the
Capellan.  He very pointedly raised an eyebrow at Afra.
     'You're not going to be here for the rest of your life, Jeff,'
Afra began diplomatically.  'At which point you will probably want to
know that you can work with another T-4.  Besides, Gollee needs the
training.' Afra grinned maliciously when Gollee opened his mouth to
protest, a response not lost on Jeff Raven.
     'I see,' Jeff said noncommittally but it was obvious to Afra how
little he liked the notion.
     Afra sighed.  'The best way to prove you've learned something is
to teach.' Jeff eyed him thoughtfully.  'The Rowan never mentioned this
aspect of your personality.' 'The Rowan never asked me to train her,
either,' Afra replied with a saccharine smirk.  He wasn't sure which
reaction pleased him more: Jeff's or Gollee's.  He stepped away from
the second couch.  'I'll be within call here if either of you need me,'
he added with an overly courteous bow to both as he waved a reluctant
Gren to take the seat and tapped a display.  'First launch is
Earthward, Reidinger to catch As he had hoped, Gren's mischievous
stance matched Jeff Raven's 'homeboy' nature perfectly.  By the end of
the day the two were working the station's cargo effortlessly.
     During the next several months, life at Callisto Station devolved
into steady easy routine with Gren and other Talents arriving at
scheduled times to work with the Denebian to broaden his ability to
handle gestalt with different personalities.  Afra and Ackerman noted
that Jeff worked best with Gren, a report which Reidinger received with
a grunt.
     I've been hoping to find a use for that one!  Reidinger exclaimed.
     What, met someone you can't handle?  Afra asked, amused.
     I seem to have a problem with T4s and -35, Reidinger replied
imperturbably.  It'd worry me except there're so many of them I can
fire 'em when I please.
     Afra refused to rise to the bait.
     The Rowan's return to Callisto Station five months later as a
visit turned into a permanent reassignment the instant Reidinger
learned that she was pregnant.  Reidinger singed Afra's mental 'ears'
when he admitted that he had known of the pregnancy.  Well, f I can't
trust you, I'll have to set up my own spy.
     Afra was genuinely pleased to have the Rowan back at Callisto.
     While he had enjoyed working with Jeff Raven, he had to admit to
himself that perversely he found greater comfort in his link with the
unpredictable Rowan.
     'Oh, by the way, Afra, the Rowan's been pestering me to ask you
something,' Jeff said abruptly one evening as the station closed down.
     'Oh, what?' 'If you'll stand as l.p. to our son?' 'ElI Pee?' 'Yes,
loco parentis.  Admittedly it's a Denebian custom but, considering the
hazards on my planet,' and Jeff's grin was rueful, 'it ensures that
someone whom the parents of a child trust will oversee its upbringing.
     The Rowan liked the idea as being much more personal than being
made Ward of the Planet.  We'd both be glad if you would be willing to
stand in an l.p. capacity for our child.' Afra was deeply touched and
it was several seconds before he could speak.  'Nothing is going to
happen to you!' Jeff silenced him with a gesture.  'We certainly don't
plan on it but-' 'And you've a planet full of relatives ' afra hedged.
     'They're there, of course, but it's the Talent aspect of our child
that we both want to sustain, Afra, and no-one on Deneb's got much
Talent training.  I know you are critical of the way you were reared on
Capella, but I can say with objectivity that you've a large advantage
in such training over me.  And, besides, the Rowan and I agreed on you,
Afra.' Jeff's blue eyes were frank.  He quirked his head, his
characteristic smile beginning to tug at his mouth.  'What do I tell
her?' Afra smiled a soft sad smile.  'Tell her that I would be a bad
choice: if something happened to either of you I would surely be dead
beforehand.' Jeff laughed.  'Don't be morbid.  You're not precogging
again, are you?' When Afra vigorously denied that, he was audibly
relieved.  'Besides, I've firsthand experience of how good an
instructor you are, you know.' Afra bowed deeply, once more falling
back on ingrained courtesies to respond.  'Jeff Raven, please tell your
lovely wife that I am deeply honoured and will be glad to serve in loco
parentis to any children of yours and to the best of my ability.' Jeff
gave him a curt satisfied nod and a hearty clout on the shoulder.  The
Denebian never learned the non-tactile etiquette of Talents but
somehow, such familiarity from Jeff never offended.  'Good!  It's
settled, then.  Now, tell me, what do you know of babies?' It turned
out that Afra knew quite a lot about babies, having dealt with his
sister's children on several occasions and having even minded the
Ackerman kids when Brian and his wife needed a night off.
     At the end of their chat, Jeff sighed deeply.  'You will let me
know if the Rowan's keeping something from me, won't you?' 'Are you
going somewhere?' Afra asked, startled.
     'Yes, hadn't you heard?' Jeff's attitude was ingenuous surprise.
     'Apparently Reidinger's decided to get his own back by making me a
sort of roving Prime.' He drew up to his full height and made a mock
bow.
     Afra laughed.  'Remember when the Rowan told you Reidinger'd take
it out of your hide?' Jeff shrugged, his expression comical.  'For a
worthy cause.' Then he winked, his expression turning slightly
malicious.  'He might as well make use of my ability to travel.  I'm
the only Prime who can zip about as it pleases me.' 'Why don't you
challenge Reidinger to travel now we all know that Siglen imposed the
neurosis?' Jeff gave Afra a long hard look, his eyes sparkling with
mischief.  'I really should, shouldn't I?  The old sly geezer.
     He'd probably growl something about teaching old dogs new tricks.'
'I think,' Afra said in a slow thoughtful tone, 'that I'm just as glad
Reidinger can't.  His mental bark is bad enough!
     I'd hate to know he could 'port wherever he wished and chew me out
face to face.' Jeff cocked one eyebrow and grinned with deliberate
malice.  'Oh, well, you could always bull your way through.
     Afra blinked, gawped and then burst out laughing at Jeff's sly
reminder.
     'And he still has both bull and cow on his desk,' Jeff added.  'I
think if you had to, you'd give as good as you got.  Another reason why
we want you as l.p.
     for our son.  Say, you can't, by any chance, hear the baby, can
you?' 'No.' Afra's response was definite and a little bit sad.
     The birth of Jeran Raven was a cause for joyous celebration
throughout Callisto Station and beyond.  Everyone under the domes heard
the healthy mental cry of the baby as it was born and the communal
welcome added to the gentle ambience from the three adults present at
the delivery.
     Attentive Primes also heard it; Afra had to carefully supervise
the removal of kilos and kilos of rare flowers, sent by an ecstatic
Peter Reidinger, from the Gwyn-Raven quarters.  The arrival of floral
offerings almost undid the careful schedule Afra and Brian had worked
out to keep Callisto operating with a reduced workload while their
Prime had limited capability.
     afra was working late, catching up on the rescheduling when the
door buzzer to his quarters rang.  'Come!' He rose and strode to greet
his guest at the door.  It was Jeff's mother, Isthia Raven.  Afra had
seen her about the station during the last days of the Rowan's
confinement but had purposely not intruded upon her.
     'You have not come to see the child, Afra Lyon,' Isthia began
immediately.
     'I've been busy and had no wish to disturb him or his parents .  .
     .' Afra hesitated slightly, not certain how to address this
blue-eyed lady with a cap of crisp black curls.
     'You may certainly call me Isthia.' Afra inclined his head.
     'Rowan told me about you, how closely you work together.' She
looked at him keenly.  'Are you afraid of newborns, then?' Afra
laughed.
     'Hardly.  When would it be convenient for me to come?  Rowan seems
to need a lot of rest these days.' 'She does, but you are always
welcome.
     Come this afternoon and get it over with.' 'I scarcely consider it
an obligation to be "got over Afra said.
     Isthia gave him another of her searching looks.  'No, I don't
think you would.  But you are down as loco parentis and you haven't so
much as cast an eyeball over my grandson.  Yet you and the Rowan have
been very close.' 'Not,' and Afra felt it advisable to reassure her on
that score, as close as she and Jeff, if that is what you're worried
about.' Isthia regarded him with wide-eyed surprise.  'I'm not the
least worried about it now that we've met for it is quite plain to me
that you are an honourable person.
     '00 Afra gave a slightly impudent bow which she dismissed with an
irritated wave.  'Are all Capellans so inhibited?' 'All Capellans are
raised to be courteous under any conditions.
     Isthia gave a bark of laughter.  'Good shot.  We Denebians tend to
speak our minds.' 'I'd noticed.  It makes a nice change.' 'Well, I can
see why the Rowan and Jeff rely so much on you.  I just wanted to be
certain myself that you'd be suitable as a default parent.' 'Is that
what all this is about?' 'Of course,' Isthia replied stoutly.  'I like
a man who doesn't balk at taking difficult paths or walking tightropes.
     But you could be easier on yourself now and then.' Mildly
surprised at the line this conversation was taking, Afra looked at her
quizzically.
     'Don't try that on me, young man,' Isthia commanded, eyes
twinkling to remove the sting.  'You must come to Deneb some time.  Let
your mind rest from your very strenuous labours.' 'It would be my
pleasure.  Yours must be a fascinating world to develop such amazing
Talents.' 'Develop Talent?  Oh, I suppose so.
     Afra was nonplussed by her casual dismissal.  He sensed that she
had considerable Talent herself though Jeff had never mentioned that
she'd been tested.  If her attitude was indicative of the general
population, it was no wonder Jeff and Rowan worried about Jeran's
potential Talent.
     'Come to think on it,' and Isthia's expression altered suddenly to
that curious blankness that Afra had been taught heralded a
precognitive episode, 'you will come to Deneb .  . .' She hesitated as
her eyes, suddenly clouded, rested unseeing on his face.  A chill
raised gooseflesh on his arms.  ' -. . to rest your mind and renew
life.' Abruptly she shook her head, eyes clearly blue again.  'Did I go
off just then?' 'I didn't notice anything,' Afra said smoothly, as much
because of her earlier dismissal of Talent, as because her clairvoyancy
genuinely had startled him.  He felt uncomfortable with such cryptic
talk.  'May I offer you refreshment ?' 'That would be very pleasant.
     You don't happen to have tea, do you?' she asked wistfully.
     'China or Indian?' 'Indian,' she said, a hopeful smile on her
face.
     'Earl Grey or Darjeeling?' 'Darjeeling,' she replied with happy
relief.  'Marvellous institution, tea.  A man who serves tea is certain
to be an asset to the Raven clan.' 'I beg pardon?' 'Well, you did agree
to stand in loco parentis for Jeran, so you are, in effect, bound to
the Raven clan.' Afra was puzzled but caused the kettle to boil before
he looked back at Jeff Raven's indomitable mother.  'If this is some
form of ritual bonding .  . .' Some pioneer planets had revived rather
barbaric customs.
     'No, no ritual.  Just acknowledgement of fact,' Isthia responded.
     The kettle whistled.
     Tea-making, on the other hand, did require certain minor rituals
which Afra dutifully observed, patently to Isthia Raven's delight.  And
for the rest of the visit they exchanged pleasantries.
     Afra found himself waxing effusive in the presence of this
remarkable woman and was genuinely unhappy when she took her leave.
     'Oh, we'll talk again, Afra, she warned him.  Be certain of it!
     'And when are you coming to visit your new responsibility?  Not to
mention his mother.  She's fretting that her maternity is repulsive to
y) Never!  The response flew out of Afra before he could control the
impulse.
     Isthia merely smiled.  'She'll be glad to hear that.
     Jeff Raven insisted on helping Afra and the Callisto Station
whenever he was available while the Rowan was on maternity leave.
     However, she became quite agitated when he protested her return to
the Tower a scant ten days after her labour.
     Arrgh!  It was my body that strained, not my mind!  she said in a
fine fume over his protests.  Men!
     However, with Jeran not yet established on a regular sleeping
cycle, the Rowan was apt to tire easily or be forgetful.  It was a
'memorable' period, as Isthia later commented.  Afra and Isthia spent
much time together, volunteering for baby detail, merely chatting or
playing bridge with the Ackermans, a game which both Afra and Isthia
had missed sorely in the past.
     Jeff was surprised when Reidinger summoned him to Earth for a
conference.
     'Why can't he just 'path me?' Raven complained to Afra when the
formal message was received.
     'I suspect he has his reasons,' Afra responded soothingly,
expression carefully neutral.  'Do be sure to say hello to Gollee when
you're down there.' 'And Luciano!  Ye gods!  What food!' Jeff licked
his lips in anticipation.  'Be certain, I will!' Hours later he
returned.  You knew!  Jeff swore at him.
     Reidinger is one hundred and ten, you've been trained on Tower
procedures, you work like a maniac, you know every Prime there is, I
thought it rather obvious.  It was just a question of timing, was
Afra's phlegmatic reply.
     You didn't tell her, did you?  Jeff asked with some alarm.
     Of course not!  There are certain surprises that must be
personally delivered, Afra replied in a pointed reminder to the
knowledge of the Rowan's pregnancy.
     'Good!  I can't wait to see her face!' And Jeff jumped to the
Rowan's quarters to spread the glad word.
     Brian Ackerman had watched the whole exchange from a considerate
distance but his curiosity overwhelmed him when Raven departed.
     'What was that all about?' he asked.  Afra shrugged
noncommittally.  'Good news?' Earth Prime!  The mental seepage from the
Rowan's mental exultation vibrated through every mind on the station.
     'You could say that,' Afra said with a slight smirk.  Then he
added thoughtfully, 'You know, the Rowan usually shields and we've not
had much "noise" from young Master Jeran but he sleeps most of the
time.  But hadn't we better get the bright boys working on a way to
shield infantile babble emanating from the Rowan's place?' Ackerman
took on an abstracted look which turned puzzled.  'He's not loud enough
to worry about.  Oh, yes, she's not likely to stop with just one, is
she?  I remember her telling me she wanted a large family.  Of course,
she may change her mind.  My wife did but, yeah, maybe we ought to look
into the problem before it becomes one.' Ackerman jotted a quick note
down on his ever-present pad.
     Six months and two days later, late one night as Afra was just
about to give up on an intricate origami dinosaur he had been trying to
create for young Jeran, his buzzer beeped.
     'Come!' he called, half-irritated, half-relieved at the
distraction.
     It was Brian Ackerman.  Afra greeted him with a ready smile.
     'You're here to tell me they've got the mental shielding
prepared?' Afra asked suavely as he passed a cup of soothing tea to the
greying Ackerman.
     Ackerman looked startled.  'No, I was saving that for tomorrow,'
he allowed with a groan.  'Jeff Raven asked me to drop by.' 'Whatever
for?' 'Well, he should be-' The door chime interrupted him.
     Jeff Raven apologized profusely to the two men for such a late
night meeting.  'It's the only time I can be sure she isn't listening
in.
     'Why?' Afra asked carefully.
     Jeff raised an eyebrow.  'Well, I've something to ask you and it's
difficult to leave her what with the way she's been acting lately.
     She's asleep right now with Jeran on her lap.' 'So?' Afra refused
to be drawn.  'The way she's been acting and her sleepiness are
perfectly normal, you know.' Jeff gave Afra a second keen glance.  'I
wasn't talking about .  -- Oh, no!  It's much too soon.
     'That isn't why you're here?' Afra asked, annoyed with himself for
assuming the reason for Jeff's visit.
     'Not exactly but I'll take the bad with good.  Well, is she or
isn't she?  And cut that guff about there being some things that are
announced privately!' 'Well --- But Afra felt Jeff reach for the
truth.
     'One day I'm going to throttle my mother.' 'Isthia?' Brian asked,
apprehensively for he respected the woman and knew that Jeff did.
     'My mother's been filling my wife with some nonsense about sibling
bonding.  It was why Mother insisted on freshening every year.' Jeff
did not approve of either theory or practice.  'Is it a boy or girl,
Afra?' 'A girl.' 'So she figured out how to achieve that, too?'
Conflicting emotions of exasperation and respect crossed Jeff's mobile
face.  Then his expression altered to worry.  'What I came to discuss
with you is a very private 'path I had from my mother.  She wants me to
come to Deneb to check out an unusual happening.  She thought she felt
something, a presence.
     'Wasn't the Rowan fretting about some malign presence just before
she gave birth to Jeran?' Afra enquired.
     Jeff nodded.  'She, my mother and Elizara.  Mother thinks she's
experienced the same phenomenon again.' Jeff shook his head.  'I got no
glimmer.' 'How can we help?' Brian asked.
     'I don't know,' Jeff replied worriedly.  'But I felt I'd better
put you on the alert.  My mother's not one to cry "wolf" even if she
hasn't fine-tuned her Talent yet.  Only women on Deneb have caught the
trace of whatever it is.
     Considering the Rowan's sensitivity, she might just get another
jolt from it.  That's why Isthia warned me.  To let me know.  We all
know that that woman of mine can go off half-cocked from time to time
and pregnant women are notorious for it.' The other two men exchanged
looks so pained that Jeff Raven laughed.  'Just restrain her from doing
something impetuous right now - especially now - but I've got to get
back to work.' 'You'll be on Earth, won't you?' Ackerman wondered.
     'Maybe.  It's hard to tell.  I've been doing a lot of hopping
about in my role as their apparent.' He looked gratefully at the
Capellan.  'It was most shrewd of you to have me work with Gollee Gren
before this was announced, we make a great team.' Ackerman nodded
knowledgeably.  'He doesn't talk much but he hears a lot, this Capellan
Lyon of ours.' Jeff slapped his knees and rose from the couch.  'So, do
I have your word?' io6
     'Certainly,' Ackerman said affably, rising also.
     Afra was more hesitant.  'There are some secrets best left with
their owners.
     Jeff inclined his head in respect of the sentiment.  'I'll trust
your judgement, Afra.' Jeff's presentiment was accurate.  Barely a week
had passed before the Rowan presented herself to her second-in command
and the stationmaster, requiring teleportage to Deneb.
     Ackerman took the lead.  'Now, look, Rowan, Mauli will do anything
you ask 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.' Despite the Rowan's threats, the two were adamant that she check
with her husband first.  In a huff the Rowan did so.  Brian Ackerman
wondered if he'd been set up for a quick game of 'good cop, bad cop'
when Raven, dutifully informed, acceded to her request.  He caught a
hint of amusement beneath the Capellan's cool exterior.
     'Why'd she take Mauli and not Mick as well?' Brian grumbled as the
generators wound down from the kick they had imparted to push the Rowan
and crew out to Deneb.
     'Mauli's female, Afra said, adding when Brian almost snarled at
him, 'remember that Jeff said the trace Isthia heard was only audible
to women.  And it may well be that Mauli's unique echo ability will
give the Rowan greater range in hearing whatever it is that's
traceable.' 'A sex-linked calling?' Ackerman was dubious.
     'It is possible,' Afra replied, adding subliminal images of
maternal instincts.
     'Like Jeff said, Isthia doesn't call "wolf".' Brian wasn't too
happy.
     Afra shook his head.  'No.  I'd be happier if it was a wolf.' He
turned away, heading off toward his quarters.
     'Where are you going?' Ackerman wanted to know.
     'To rest,' Afra called over his shoulder.  'I rather think we'll
need it.' He was right.  The next day the Rowan was back but Jeff Raven
was off cajoling and collecting Fleet scouts to assess the threat that
the Rowan, Mauli and the other sensitive women on the planet had
'heard' approaching Deneb.  Jeff, risking his life in a little scout
vessel, made a visual contact with the alien spaceship.  That was
sufficient for the Rowan to put Callisto Station on Yellow Alert.  With
his urging and the support of Mick and Brian Ackerman, Afra
unconditionally informed the Rowan that he would be watching and
listening if she would take a much needed rest.
     Several hours later, Jeff Raven's explosive mental WOW!
     went through the station like a bolt of lightning.  Afra and
Ackerman discreetly listened in on the ensuing conversation with the
Rowan who had been roused by the cry.  Jeff could now report that what
the Rowan had named 'Leviathan' - the huge and very alien ship carved
out of an immense asteroid - was on direct course to Deneb and that the
intent of its 'Many' mind was nothing less than the conquest of Deneb
VIII and perhaps as much as the destruction of the human species
altogether.
     Afra interjected a comment once in the telepathic conversation,
not only to make a well-intentioned point but also to assure himself
that he could 'reach' Jeff at that distance.
     The Rowan quite rightly insisted on going out to the threatened
planet where she could focus and merge all local Talents should such a
measure be needed.  Afra left unspoken his concerns for Jeran; such a
psychic storm would have untold ill-effects on the young mind.  The
Rowan apparently had no fear for herself at all.  Afra need not have
worried: Reidinger absolutely prohibited it, reminding the Rowan of the
dangers, pointing out that her quarters were the only ones currently
shielded against psionic backlash (Brian had managed that without even
telling Afra).  So Afra exercised his right to be in loco parentis for
Jeran much sooner than he ever expected to.
     Young though Jeran was, his mind responded to Afra's and he was
quite content to sit in the Capellan's lap watching origami birds and
fish and animals appear.
     When Jeran advanced from clapping and laughing with delight to
reaching out with unskilful grasp to gain possession of the fragile
creations, Afra patiently taught him how to use just his forefinger and
thumb to hold the origami.  And when Jeran fell asleep in his arms,
Afra found that trustfulness particularly appealing.  He regretted
having to transfer the soft warm body to its crib.
     The stress which the rest of the Tower personnel had so skilfully
controlled with the Rowan present rose significantly as they allowed
their concern over the severity of the onslaught to leak into the open.
     A tray containing cups of steaming liquid appeared in the Control
Room.  Afra sniffed enquiringly and smelled only the best of coffees
and teas, superior in quality and freshness to any available on the
station.
     Compliments of Luciano!  Gollee Gren said, a chuckle of delight at
his surprise in his 'pathing.  As long as I can and you need, there'll
be non-stop refreshments at Callisto Station!
     The broad band statement was answered from everyone on the station
with a welling of profound gratitude.
     The refreshments were devoured and Gren had to make replenishments
twelve times during the course of the vigil as this time Callisto,
Earth, Betelgeuse, Altair, Procyon and Capella all stood ready to
support beleaguered Deneb.
     Reidinger's orders came up electronically at light speed rather
than instantaneously via telepathy.  Afra discerned why as soon as he
read them.  He approved of Reidinger's plan but it was dangerous to
split the Talented forces in the path of the enemy.  It was a gamble.
     Afra worked diligently to ensure that the staff of Callisto
Station was properly briefed and rested.  Even so, the tension built
acutely as the events around Deneb were relayed throughout the Nine
Star League.
     'Hey, that thing has slowed.' Jeff's voice, relayed
telepathically, was linked over the station's commsystem.  It's going
to go into orbit around Deneb !' 'Why?' That was the voice of Isthia
Raven, being echoed again by the comm telepath.  'I will not believe
its intentions are pacific!' Afra heartily agreed.  The Leviathan had
passed through ten Welcome & Identify beacons, breached the mine field
laid out beyond Deneb's heliopause and sent out destroyers to engage
the Fleet.
     'No, certainly not in that orbit, was Jeff Raven's droll response.
     '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 the hell out of us again!' No,
they're not!  Everyone in the Control Room started when Reidinger's
emphatic tones burst forth.  Angharad Gwin-Raven, the A focus is yours.
     Gather it!  Jeff Raven, collect the B focus.  Prepare!
     Afra!  The mental 'voice' of Jeff Raven contacted him with a firm
grip as he contacted the male minds that were his strike force.  The
Rowan would be gathering every female Talent in her focus.
     Here, Afra responded calmly, letting 'go' of his mind at Jeff's
touch.
     Good!  Raven returned with a sense of relief.  I cannot get ''I
Gren to respond at this distance.  Jeff's voice held a note of tension
in it.
     Don't worry, Afra hastily assured him and simultaneously sent out
mental alerts to Gren and Ackerman who were standing by.  We've built a
pyramid, with you at the apex.
     Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, Afra felt the lesser
Talents of the solar system aligning themselves behind himself, Gollee
and Ackerman.  He was aware of a mental engorgement, passing through
him to Jeff, as if he himself had swelled to the size of a small moon.
     Callisto and Earth are with you, Afra sent, passing forward a
mental baton which was the combined will of all the male Talents that
Earth, Callisto and all the planets of the solar system could muster.
     Betelgeuse joins the Prime.
     Procyon is on line.
     Capellan men send greetings and are ready for the merge.
     Altair here.
     And far out at Deneb, Jeff Raven found himself the centre of a
maelstrom of power.  The timing was perfect, for as the Rowan-focus had
finished pulverizing the minds of the 'Many', it was time for the
Raven-focus to shove Leviathan to its doom.
     NOW!  Jeff Raven called and every kinetic male Talent was united
in full gestalt with all available generators in the Nine Star League
to divert Leviathan to a new trajectory straight to the huge star that
was hot Deneb.
     That's what we should have done with the first attackers, the
Raven-merge said.
     We did warn them!  The Rowan-merge replied.
     And then, job completed, energies spent, the two foci of massed
minds fell apart to their constituent pieces.
     Collectively the personnel at Callisto Station gave an exhausted
groan, many falling over at their posts, sapped of all energy.  The
generators, suddenly freed of their load, whirled up to over speed and
circuit breakers tripped them out.
     Jeff Afra managed to find enough energy to call.  He was not sure
he heard a reply, like a man shouting across a windy field.  Reidinger,
the generators have all dropped out.  We're all shagged here, but
nothing that a day's rest won't cure.
     I'll tell him, Gollee Gren sent back with overtones of a yawn.
     'Keerist!  I don't want to do that again!' Brian Ackerman swore.
     Afra toggled the all-call on the station commsystem.
     'Get to bed, people, rest.  We're shutting down for the next
twenty-four hours.  Maintenance crew, work it out so that the
generators are ready to go on-line by then.' Brian looked over at him
and grinned.  'Afra Lyon!
     I think that's the first time you've ever made a command
decision!' Afra was too tired to respond.
     The Defence of the Denebian Penetration, as that act of alien
aggression came to be called in the popular press, was the last act of
FT&T under the auspices of Peter Reidinger.
     The stress had been almost too much for him and Jeff Raven's
stellar performance had opened any door that had previously remained
closed to the Denebian's good nature and steady charm.
     'Not,' Reidinger growled, 'that I won't keep an eye on you!' That
problem, however, was not the least one to be considered with the
successful defence.  The one that concerned Afra the most was one that
caused him considerable anxiety because he didn't know if he was
misinterpreting some very odd remarks Jeran was making.  And it was
some weeks before he finally figured out where the toddler's
observations came from and arranged to meet with Raven to discuss it.
     'You're tense and your shields are wobbly,' Jeff said as soon as
he met Afra in his office - once Reidinger's lair on Earth.  'What is
wrong?' 'It's your daughter.' Jeff's eyes widened.  Afra went on
quickly, 'With all the energies flowing through the Rowan during the
Defence, I think your daughter has been affected.' 'How bad?' Jeff
asked, face gone pale.
     'Oh, not bad!' Afra replied, sounding very positive.  'It's just
just that I've heard Jeran talking to her.
     'Already?' Jeff was astonished.  He sent a quick tight band to his
mother.
     Yes, was Isthia's considered opinion, I'd say Afra is right.
     I wasn't too sure of it when Angharad was still on Deneb but if
Afra's noticed the phenomenon, I accept his opinion.  How is it
manifested?
     On rather an infantile level, Afra said wryly, but there is a
mental contact between the two children.  Jeran doesn't quite
understand what's fretting her but he knows she's not happy 'in there'.
     He doesn't know how to answer.  How could he?
     Afra added.
     Jeff was thoughtful.  The baby's reacting to the stress the Rowan
felt?  So we have to tell him what to tell her, carefully censored for
a foetal mind?  Afra nodded.
     I can see why you didn't want to upset Angharad.  She exhausted
most of her reserves in the Merge.  I wouldn't want her stressed right
now.
     Jeff's grin was rueful.  'Yes, it could be disconcerting to have
your toddler suddenly tell you that your daughter's unhappy where she
is.
     'I have a suggestion,' Afra went on, 'which I've already discussed
with Elizara as the Rowan's obstetrical adviser.
     Jeran's merely repeating the baby's anxiety.  Let's have him "4
     make a physical contact.  At a moment when the Rowan is distracted
and won't either inadvertently curb the link or physically prevent it.'
It should work, Isthia remarked when he had finished.
     Though I've never heard of a sibling talking to a foetus.  Could
we please have Elizara in on this conference?
     When the practitioner joined them, she suggested that while
foetuses were not normally aware at this stage of gestation, she'd rule
nothing out in the case of Angharad Gwyn-Raven.
     There was a tremendous amount of raw power coursing through the
Rowan's mind, strong as that is, Elizara said thoughtfully.  After all,
I was part of it.  I didn't think of such a side-effect but there
certainly could be a leakage into the physical.  An unborn child would
assuredly be vulnerable in this trimester and could become charged.
     Isthia's tone reflected her concern.  I feel that Afra's
suggestion should be implemented as soon as possible and, preferably,
without Angharad's knowledge.
     Indeed, especially without her awareness, Elizara agreed.
     'It might not be a bad time for an official acknowledgement of
your union,' Afra suggested subtly.
     'Official?' Jeff made a face.
     Yes, Jeff Raven!  Marry the girl!  Isthia shot back across the
stars.
     It hardly seems necessary to go through an official
acknowledgement at this late date, Mother!
     To you but not to her.  The force of Isthia's reply rocked Jeff
back in his seat.  He turned to Afra, a slow grin forming.  'Still
willing to be best man?' Jeff wanted Deneb, Reidinger wanted Earth and
the Rowan got Callisto as the site of the wedding.  Jeff had to give in
to the political overtones of this, the first union of two Primes.
     'Much though I hate it, it's a great chance to cement certain
alliances firmly with the Gwyn-Raven dynasty' Reidinger had fought
bitterly to have the brief ceremony held on Earth.  And, indeed, the
Rowan was sorely tempted.  But that would have allowed FT&T too free a
hand with invitations, whereas limiting guests to space available in
the Tower Compound restricted the numbers to a manageable quantity.
     She also didn't want just anyone 'porting in on them on what ought
to be a private and personal occasion.  Fortunately, Rowan had more
cooperation than she expected.  It took the best efforts of Jeff,
Isthia, Afra, and Elizara to soothe Reidinger's vociferous protests.
     Elizara might have had a private word with her great-grandfather
because, suddenly, he subsided in his efforts to get the Rowan to
Earth.  Afra told the Rowan that it was only because he had promised
Reidinger that every angle of the ceremony would be taped 'I know it
doesn't matter on Earth,' Isthia had said as a final argument, 'but
some purists might fault a bride who is not only pregnant but has a
child old enough to be ring-bearer.
     Afra instantly assumed the task of instructing the 'ringbearer'
With a gentle but firm pressure, he also told Jeran that he could
reassure his sister and how to send such a mental message.
     'You tell her that she's quite safe now, and that you'll protect
her, too.' With brows knitted in concentration, Jeran repeated that
message, taking some comfort in it himself Like I take care of the
origami?  he asked.  Afra had hunkered down to his level so child and
man were nearly on the same level.
     'As gently as you take care of the origami,' Afra said, and
reinforced that message mentally.  Jeran's brow cleared and he beamed
at Afra, his mind as tranquil as it was determined to perform his two
tasks perfectly.
     The ceremony was simple but poignant.  Because the 'old man'
Reidinger - could not be present to give her away, Gollee Gren, as his
representative, lent his physical presence while Reidinger did the
talking.
     'As usual,' Gollee had said with a malicious smile.
     Reidinger might not have been there in person but his inescapable
mental presence was felt by all who were.
     Mauli, Elizara, Rakella, Besseva, Torshan and Captain Lodjyn of
the scout that had carried Jeff on his close reconnoitre of the
Leviathan, all were happy to be the Rowan '5
     attendant-witnesses.  Afra felt quite nervous in his place of
honour as groom's man and he had a right to be.  He had assiduously
studied and performed all the traditional duties of best man, relieving
the bride and groom of most worries in preparing for the event.
     Ackerman headed the groom's men who included Bill Powers, Chief
Medic Asaph and Admiral Tomiakin.
     Jeff paused dramatically when it came time to say 'I do', a
twinkle in his eyes until he had the Rowan glaring fiercely at him in
alarm.
     Reidinger broke the tableau, swearing sotto voce 'It's a bit late
now for cold feet!  If you don't marry her, I will!' Jeff paused long
enough to give the old Earth Prime a hefty mental buffet, then turned
back to the Rowan.  The adjudicator coughed delicately, repeating 'Do
you wish to form a permanent union with this woman?' 'I most certainly
do!' Jeff said in a clear firm voice that carried throughout the dome.
     'And you, Angharad Gwyn, do you wish to form a permanent union
with this man?' The Rowan cocked a head at Jeff but could not bring
herself to drag the scene out.  'With all my heart, I do.' Just at that
moment, as Jeff and Angharad bent to seal the ceremony with a kiss,
Jeran slipped from Isthia's loose hand and rushed to cling to his
mother, hand upraised.
     Good boy!  Isthia sent to the youngster in a tight shield.
     Talk to her, say hello to your sister!
     Elizara gave an approving wink, then cocked her head as if
listening.  Eyes widening in astonishment, she nodded.  She caught
Afra's rapt expression, traced it to the eldest Rowan child and raised
her eyebrow provocatively at him.  Afra acknowledged it with the merest
flick of an eyebrow.
     Jeff and Angharad, locked in a kiss made more special by the
moment, knew nothing of the tight psychic interchange.
     The navy had a special surprise as they made their way to the
reception, a double line of uniformed men forming a bridge of steel
with their archaic, polished swords.
     Elizara caught up with Afra at the reception.  'It worked, you
know.' 'Yes, I thought I felt her accept Jeran.
     'Nevertheless an in utero link is most remarkable.  It's been just
a concept.
     'Till now.' Afra grinned.  'My sister tried some sort of pre-natal
reassurance but she would never admit to me just how successful she
was.  Do you think it will comfort the child now?' 'I felt her relax,'
Elizara said, smiling tenderly, then added more briskly, 'Let's hope
the Rowan never realizes how dangerous that merge might have been for
her daughter.  She'd never forgive herself.  At least,' and Elizara's
smile turned mischievous.  'At least today she had her mind on other
matters and may never realize what was achieved.' She gave a girlish
giggle which surprised Afra who had always found the practitioner the
model of decorum.  Then a thought distracted her.  'Now all we have to
worry about is the effect on the two children!' 'They'll surely be
closer than usual,' Afra replied.
     'Which will please the Rowan, I know, but what about future
siblings?  We can't be sure we can mind-bond every child the Rowan
has.' 'Why would we need to?  The circumstances are unlikely to be
repeated,' Afra said blithely and gave a diffident shrug.
     One final surprise crowned the event, at least from the Rowan's
viewpoint.  The liner which had brought so many notables to Callisto
for the ceremony had been the same one which had transported her from
Altair to Jupiter's moon.  It wasn't until Jeff had carried his
officially acknowledged mate back to their quarters, that the
significance became apparent.
     'WHAT is that?' Jeff demanded, pointing to a large spotted furry
lump in the middle of their bed.
     The lump stirred, extended limbs, yawned widely, showing long
white fangs, and then deigned to regard the intruders with vivid eyes.
     'Rascal?  Rascal!' the Rowan cried, her voice incredulous, her
expression joyful.
     'It's some rascal all right,' Jeff replied tartly, 'and it'll get
out of my bed immediately.  I have other plans 'You don't understand,
Jeff, it's Rascal, my barque cat!' And the Rowan plunked herself down,
reaching out to tickle the chin of the beautiful beast.  'Oh, Rascal,
you've come back to me.' 'Mmmmrrrow!' said Rascal conversationally.  He
then graciously accepted her homage.
     'Come, Jeff, pet him.  Make him feel welcome.' 'Frankly, I don't
wish to make-' 'Jeff Raven!' And the Rowan gave him a thoroughly
indignant glance.  'Barque cats are special.  We're honoured -by his
presence.
     'We are?' To keep peace on such an important night, Jeff did as
the Rowan asked.  Then she did as he asked and Rascal learned to find
somewhere else, safer, to spend his nights.
     Her face displaying a look of surprise and disappointment, Damia's
baby legs gave out from underneath her and she plopped on to her
dry-padded bottom.  For a moment she considered crying but the
disdainful look from Rascal assured her that he would provide no
sympathy.  Now why had she been standing, anyway?  she mused.  Year-old
Damia's thoughts were not coherent for any great length of time and she
often found herself wondering what she had been thinking of moments
before.  Missing.  Something was missing.  A faint shadow of the frown
she had seen her mother use so effectively - her mother!  That was it!
     No mother nearby!
     Damia pushed off the ground and stood, wobbling to survey her
realm.  She tottered slightly as she turned her head.  Aside from the
towering form of Rascal, Damia sighted no other living form.  No ankles
or warm kneecaps --entered her view.  Determinedly she raised a foot to
step forward only to lose her balance with an inelegant wobble and
return unceremoniously to the floor.
     Well!  She had the Rowan's indignant tone down pat but still
hadn't managed to convince her mouth to form more than 'gab'.  On all
fours she crawled towards the doorway.
     --Rascal deftly interposed his elegantly marked body, whiskered
nose stopping just short of her own.  Had she been older she would have
recognized the barque cat's expression as identical to the old British
Bobby's: "ella, 'ella, 'ella!  Where do we think we're going then?'
However, it was obvious that the cat stood between her and her
objective.  She backpedalled and worked her way around the cat only to
have it deftly interpose itself between her and the door again.  Damia
gave a squeal of indignation, dropped her head, and butted against the
barque cat.  The cat out-massed her; she wound up slipping on the
carpet.  Damia continued pushing for several seconds before she
realized that she was making no progress.
     She backed up and took stock of the situation.  She determined to
stand up in the hopes of outrunning Rascal, especially as the barque
cat stood conveniently close to provide a prop to raise herself up.
     Pleased with her solution, she reached forward for the cat but
Rascal refused to cooperate, sagging out from under her hand.
     It was too much, Damia adjusted her squeal of rage upward into an
interminable bawl.  Her aggravation was such that she failed to notice
the approach of ankles.
     'Damia?' A tenor voice murmured.  'Shh!  Your mother's having a
nap!' A mental image brushed her mind of her mother curled up on the
bed, covered by a blanket much like the one that usually covered her.
     Nap?  Mothers no nap!  Damia does!  she thought.
     Astonishment rippled at her, followed closely by sardonic humour.
     Tired mothers nap.
     Damia not nap now.  Damia play now.  The other mind registered
reluctance.  Damia persisted.  Please?
     Not so loud, child, the other mind chided gently.  You'll wake
your mother up.  There was a gentle concern in the other's voice.
     Who you?
     Afra.
     A face descended into view.  Damia squiggled backwards on her
bottom and regarded it.  Blond hair, blond eyebrows, green skin, yellow
eyes blinked at her, lips upturned in a smile.  Afra, she thought to
herself, fixing the face and the name together in her mind, adding them
to the others she knew: mother, father, jer, cer, tanya, grandmother.
     Afra sensed curiosity from the baby.  At her age, coherent thought
was intermittent and, as she had yet to talk, not vocalized but he
'touched' more in her mind than he expected.
     'It's been a rough day at work for your mother and me, Afra told
her soothingly.  'We ran extra shifts to get the local defence net into
place.  Your father's stuck down on Earth tonight.' He laughed.  'So I
came over to see if I could lend a helping hand.' A light tan Coonie
with dark brown face markings crossed in between them, casting a
critical eye towards Damia.  Haughtily it decided that Damia was
neither threat nor food and turned to Afra with a chatter of sound.
     Afra reached down and gave it a friendly pet.  Damia absorbed this
and reached a hand out.  Unlike the rascally Rascal, this large furry
thing bent into her feeble efforts.  Encouraged, Damia continued as the
Coonie swaggered back and forth, demandingly.  The first raccoon-type
beast had been a gift from Kama to Afra, to give him something to care
for on Callisto.  Others had admired the creature and, obtaining
permission from the Rowan to import 'a few' more, several families in
the compound now enjoyed their endearing antics.  Rascal
condescendingly tolerated their presence in his established haunts,
like the Gwyn-Raven house.
     'Ringle likes you,' Afra told her, then sighed.  'Now what should
I do with you, minxlette?  Your mother really needs the rest.' He
turned his head towards the doorway.  He looked back to her again with
a smile.  'How about you and I play together for a bit?' Damia greeted
the suggestion with a delighted burble and held up her chubby arms to
this new playmate.
     'She's much more articulate than either Jeran or Cera at the same
age,' Afra told the Rowan one night two months later as he passed an
evening in the Gwyn-Raven quarters.  The two older children were
happily doodling crayon scrawls on a large piece of paper spread across
the floor.  Damia was asleep, cradled in his lap.
     'Articulate?  She won't talk for another six months!' 'But I can
isolate definite concepts in her mind and hear sounds that are almost
words,' Afra replied equably.  'You know, like the shorthand speech
Jeran and Cera have developed, not quite standard Basic but certainly
real communication.
     The Rowan placed a hand lightly on his shoulder and chuckled.
     'This child of mine has bewitched you, Afra.' She shook her head.
     'When she starts to talk, even baby talk, I'll know.' The Rowan
frowned, wrinkled her nose with a dismayed sniff.  'Sorry, I didn't
catch her in time and you've just been anointed.' Afra looked down at
the sleeping form, whose face took on the drowsy smile of a baby who
has relieved an uncomfortable hydrostatic pressure.
     'Won't be the first time.' The Rowan laughed, shaking her head.
     'You should be having children of your own, Afra.' He cocked his
head at her.  'In my own time.' 'But you'd make such a marvellous
father.
     You shouldn't be limited to l.ping.  Just look at how Damia
succumbs to your charm,' and the Rowan indicated her sleeping daughter.
     'I can't get her to do that.  You didn't "encourage" this nap, did
you?' she said in a half-accusatory voice.
     'Heavens, no,' Afra replied, raising his hands to protest his
innocence.  Everyone in the Tower had been made aware of how the Rowan
felt about any subtle mental control of her children.  They were to
grow up as normally as possible, with no mental tamperings, until
Talent manifested itself in the due course of their development.  That
all three children were potentially high Talents had been established
at their births but the Rowan didn't want their abilities forced, as
hers had been.
     The Rowan gave him a suspicious glare.
     'Honest, Rowan!' Candidly Afra thought that a little adroit mental
control might minimize the problems she'd been having with Damia but
she was the parent.  And Damia was definitely cut from a different
mould than her older brother and sister.  'You saw yourself how Rascal
and the Coonies wore her out playing.' The Rowan had to admit that.
     'Will they survive her, I wonder?' 'They survived Jeran and Cera.
     Actually, I think they have more fun with Damia.  She's more
inventive.' She had laughed as much at Damia chasing barque cat and
Coonies as Afra had.  Damia had been so intent on catching one or the
other and all had eluded her until she'd collapsed in fatigue.  Now the
Rowan snorted in amusement at the recollection.
     'Shhhh!  You'll wake her.' He peered down at the beautiful face of
the sleeping child.
     Jeff Raven 'ported himself into the room.  Afra looked up in
greeting while the Rowan gave him a frosty glare.
     The Rowan had definite views about Talent protocol.
     'Use the door!' the Rowan said, reproving him.
     'That would've roused the baby,' Jeff replied, unrebuked.  'She is
asleep, isn't she?' When Afra nodded, he let out a sigh of relief.
     'This one's worse than the other two, All: she has the uncanniest
knack for waking up only on those nights we're shagged.' Jeff looked at
his lifemate.  'Let's take a breather after this one?  OK, love?
     We need sleep.' The Rowan shook her head -vigorously.  'I want a
big family, Jeff.  I know what it's like to be lonely.' Jeff scowled in
pretend horror.  'What?  Greedy?  Three bonuses aren't enough?' FT&T
substantially rewarded Talents who produced offspring, in hopes of
increasing the numbers of the Talented throughout the League.
     Afra absorbed their repartee like a moth circling a candle: eager
for the warmth but fearful of the flame.
     Within this circle, he enjoyed family life - however vicariously
and coveted these evenings, secure in the affection of both the Rowan
and Jeff: the sort of family life that he had never had, never imagined
was possible.
     Jeran and Cera paused long enough in their mildly competitive
application of colour to blank paper to smile at their father.  He
patted them affectionately, for Jeff had no trouble being demonstrative
with his children.  Then he became the host, offering to top up glasses
before he poured one for himself and settled next to the Rowan on the
circular couch.
     'Has David calmed his Administration down?' Rowan asked.
     Jeff gave a shrug.  'I sincerely hope so.  Van Hygan and that
ordnance fellow proved - to me, at least - that the factories are
working overtime to turn out the components, that the Fleet is
scheduled to move as soon as they have sufficient units, so it's only a
matter of time before Betelgeuse, too, is securely ringed with early
warning devices.' 'Which leaves Altair, Capella, and all the systems in
between still struggling?' 'That's it,' Jeff said with a sigh, and he
sipped his wine.
     'Not that there's been a peep on any DEW unit.' His knee started
jiggling, an indication of inner anxiety.  The Rowan laid a hand on it
and Jeff gave her a sheepish grin, instantly covering her hand with
his.
     Afra looked away, suffering a pang of jealousy for the bonding
between his two best friends.  Yet, if after long lonely years and
vicissitudes, these two had found each other, perhaps he shouldn't give
up hope.  Kama had certainly indicated often enough her willingness to
be more than bedmate and sometime confidante.  He liked her, but his
affection for her was a dull gleam beside the radiance that suffused
Jeff and the Rowan.  He stared down at Damia's small face, trying to
imagine the features older, the mind mature.  Detachedly he wondered
what her life would be like, who she would marry, which Tower she would
run (for he was certain she had Prime potential), whether he would have
the joy of bouncing her babies on his knee.  Would she be a handful
like her mother or would she take after her father and he a biddable
child like Cera and Jeran?  Afra was willing to bet the former - with
suitable individualized embellishments - but he was now deftly
accustomed to handling the Rowan's outbursts with a carefully
controlled silence.  But here now was this wondrous baby, just
beginning her life and she was sleeping on his lap!  Afra marvelled
that any soul could be so trusting of him.  As he had told both Jeran
and Cera, when they had been babies sleeping on his lap, I love you,
little darling!
     'Afra!' The Rowan's voice broke his reverie.  For a moment he
feared that she had 'heard' him but he gathered by her tone that,
instead, she had been trying to gain his attention.  She was standing,
hands reaching down towards baby Damia.  'I'll take her.  It's time she
was properly put to bed.' Afra was reluctant to yield her.  'If you
pick her up, she'll wake,' he said.  'Then goodness knows how long
it'll be before you get her to sleep again with her batteries partly
charged.' The Rowan wearily conceded his point.
     'Just this once, 'port her to bed.' The Rowan's expression altered
and anger clouded her eyes.
     'Mra, you know .  --' 'I think Afra's right.  Or have you
forgotten how long it took you last night -'She had a touch of colic,'
the Rowan said by way of excuse.
     'She doesn't tonight, and she's asleep,' Afra said.  'We've a
heavy schedule tomorrow.  She's so soundly asleep she won't even know
she's been shifted.' The Rowan hesitated, torn between stated ethic and
opportunity 'Just this once?' And Jeff added his encouragement: the
warm look in his eyes and the slightly sensual curve to his smile
suggested to Afra, as well as to the Rowan, what plans her husband had
in mind for her.  'And, appreciating your scruples in the matter, my
love, I'll 'port her.' She wavered lust long enough and suddenly the
warm weight of the sleeping child was lifted from Afra's lap as Jeff
took advantage of her hesitation.
     'I'd better make sure .  . .' the Rowan said and hurried from the
room but, as Jeff and Afra grinned at each other, neither heard any
loud protest from the 'ported sleeper.
     Jeff clapped his hands together, attracting the attention of the
older two.  'C'mon, put your crayons away.
     Bedtime.' Without protest, Jeran and Cera broke off their activity
and began to stuff their colours back into the box.  They were already
dressed in their nightclothes and each with solemn expression held out
a hand to their father to be led away to their cots.
     'Say good night to Afra.' "Night, Afra,' the two chorused
dutifully.
     'Sleep well, Jeran, Cera,' he replied politely.
     'Thanks, Unk,' Jeff said with a grin as he led his children off.
     Afra finished his wine, somewhat regretting the absence of Damia
on his lap.  She was a great leg warmer.  Sighing, he rose and made his
way back to his own quarters.  He treasured these evenings for they
anchored his soul and countered the depression he often felt for not
being able to establish a similarly satisfying 'marriage of true minds'
for himself.
     Over the years he had consoled himself with being the brother the
Rowan had lost in that avalanche, keeping philia and eros separate.  He
had also come to recognize the unexpected reward of his upbringing on a
Methody world, despite its legacy of emotional control and detachment.
     Although he had learned to break out of the rigid undemonstrative
demeanour that his parents had instilled in him and could, on occasion,
express his emotions, that early training kept his unrequited love for
the lonely Rowan separate from his affection for Angharad GwynRaven.
     The tense atmosphere of the busiest Tower in the League was no
place for a person to act like a pressure vessel.  So, with Kama for
his sexual needs, the Rowan for his intellectual comfort and Gollee
Gren for his still irrepressibly rebellious nature, Afra managed to
keep himself balanced.
     Afra could tell by the way the Rowan walked into the Tower that
she'd had another bad night with Damia who was teething.  With Jeff on
his annual Tower Inspections throughout the Nine Star League, the Rowan
was having a spate of unrelieved childcare.  Some of her personnel,
Afra included, devoutly hoped that this would certainly delay, if not
deter her, from considering a fourth pregnancy, which was on her
agenda, if not on Jeff's.  The Rowan's first priority ought to be a
smooth-functioning Callisto Tower.
     'Bad night?' Afra asked sympathetically.
     The Rowan rolled her eyes.  'The other two weren't like her at
all,' she said, a hint of despair in her voice.
     'My firstborn was like her,' Brian Ackerman added, handing the
Rowan the sheaf of flimsies for the morning's outgoing traffic.  'One
night I caught myself holding Borrie at arm's length and screaming at
him to shut up.' Brian scratched behind his left ear, embarrassed to
relate that reaction.  'She'll grow out of it, Rowan.  You'll see.'
'But when?' The Rowan's tone was both wistful and rueful.  'Will I last
long enough?' 'Ah, it seems a long time when you have to go through
it,' Brian said with the encouraging, slightly patronizing smile that
the survivor will give the victim.  'But it won't be long now.' 'Why
don't you have Tanya cope with her tonight?' Afra asked.  The very
competent T-8 who managed the pre-school creche had established a good
rapport with Damia who napped quite easily when required to do so under
her care.  One of the other mothers had suggested, within Afra's
hearing, that perhaps the Rowan, being so highstrung, was unconsciously
stimulating her daughter into these wakeful nights.
     The Rowan rolled her eyes expressively.  'I couldn't do that,
Afra.  Tanya has to cope with her all day long.  I can't ask her to
take night-duty as well.' 'Ask,' suggested Afra.  'She can only say no
'I don't wish to make her feel she has to because I can't cope.' There
was a slightly hysterical edge to the Rowan's voice.
     'What about a pukha?' Afra suggested.
     The Rowan stared as if she couldn't believe her ears.
     'My daughter is perfectly normal.  She is not the least bit
traumatized.' 'I didn't mean to imply she was,' Afra said at his
calmest because he could see the dangerous glint in her eyes.  'But
pukhas do soothe the restless child.?
     'She's teething, I said.' 'Gotta better idea,' Brian said, hoping
to divert the brewing of a Rowan-storm.  'We don't have any live
traffic this ( morning.  Nothing Afra and me can't handle.' Somewhat
gingerly, he took the Rowan by the arm and turned her back towards the
Tower door.  'Also, right now Damia' 5
     Tanya's responsibility, all legit, no favours required.  So, you
go get yourself six good hours of sacktime until the outer system stuff
comes through.  Right?' Almost magically, the fury went out of the
Rowan and she put her hand on Brian's shoulder, expressing her
heartfelt relief at his entirely sensible suggestion.
     'Oh, could I?' Quick to take advantage of her compliance, Afra
made a shooing gesture, and 'pathed her a firm nudge, planting the
image of her stretched out on her bed, her hands folded virginally
across her chest 'Don't lay me out quite yet, please,' she replied with
some asperity but then she managed to grin.  Before I change my mind,
she added to Afra and half-ran out of the Tower and down the link to
her quarters.
     Afra followed her mental touch until the door to her shielded
house closed behind her, but he had no doubts that she made her way
straight to her bed.  He'd been maladroit to bring up the subject of a
pukha for Damia but he hated to see the Rowan so dragged out.  She'd
handled alien monsters with less strain.  He set the remote alarm to
ring in her room in six hours and then went up to the Tower room to
start the day's business.
     There was indeed nothing that he and Brian couldn't handle with
full gestalt and a little assistance from the higher T-ratings in the
Tower.  Sometimes he wondered why so many single cargo pods were
routed.  It'd take less time and effort to link same-destination
packages together and flick 'em out in one lot.  Afra made a note to
suggest the idea to Jeff on his return to Earth.
     Some four hours into Rowan's respite, Tanya contacted him.
     Afra, the Rowan didn't by any chance remove Damia from daycare,
did she?
     No, Tanya.  Why?  Afra felt the first spurt of panic.
     Damia isn't anywhere in the creche.  She was asleep in her cot
when I last looked.
     Did you ask Jeran and Cera?
     Oh, them!  Tanya's tone was disgusted.  They told me she went out
waving her wand.
     Hold it a moment, folks, and Afra spoke to everyone in the Tower,
missing person problem.
     Damia?  Brian asked and groaned.  Why did kindly notions dissolve
into disasters?  Can't you spot her, Afra?
     If you'll give me the quiet to do so.  Afra had already begun to
cast his mind about.  He could usually 'hear' her infantile stream of
consciousness anywhere.  Whether or not he could trace her wherever she
had got to in the compound was another matter.  He'd better or the
Rowan would skin him for garters.  Afra started at the daycare rooms,
casting about the main compound.
     Then Brian and Joe Toglia came stamping up the stairs to the Tower
and began flicking on the screens to interior monitors, examining one
area after another of the four domes that comprised the station.  The
screens showed no small figure trundling about.
     'How long's she been walking?' Brian asked Afra.
     'Long enough to be pretty good at it.' Cursing under his breath,
Brian programmed a decko of the tunnel links.  There were so many
places that could shelter a small body from the optical sensors.
     'She's not tall enough to reach the doorplates, is she?' asked
Joe, thumbing through views of the basement levels of the supply
section.
     'Wait a minute!  And, with sudden inspiration, Afra leaned across
the console and accessed the remote in his own quarters.  And there
Damia was, toddling about his living-room after Ringle and two other
Coonies, trying to bean them with the dowel-wand in her hand.  'And
that's how she activated the doors .  - waving her wand!' Afra 'ported
into the room, sweeping the stray child into his arms.
     'Al'a!  Al'a!' she squealed with delight, patting his face with
her free hand and waving her 'wand' furiously with the other.  He
carefully unwrapped her fingers from the dowel before she stuck it in
his eye.
     'Damia shouldn't leave Tanya!' he said, knowing how futile
scolding this imp could be.  Merrily she grinned up at him, her huge
blue eyes rounder than ever with her excitement.
     'Al'a!  Al'a?' She began to squirm free, 'Ingul, Ingul,' and she
twisted her head to find Ringle, arching her back to get free.
     'No Ringle now, Damia.  I'm taking you back to Tanya.
     'Tan'a?  Tan'a.' That name emerged as a sort of guttural grunt and
the twisting became more violent.  'No, Tan'a.
     Ingul.  Wan Ingul.
     'Not now, baby!' Bearing in mind the Rowan's dislike of exposing
her children to Talented actions, he secured her writhing form in his
arms and walked her back to the creche where an anxious Tanya waited at
the door.
     'Ingul, Ingul,' Damia was saying over his shoulder, suddenly
ceasing to fidget.  'Ingul.  Goo Ingul.' Turning his head, Afra saw
Ringle dutifully following him.
     'How could she have got out, Afra?' Tanya said in a near wail as
she reached out to relieve Afra of his burden.
     'She had a wand, a dowel stick with a star on the end of it,' Afra
told her.
     'And used that to activate the doorplates?' Tanya was amazed.
     'The little minx.  Well, I'll get Forrie to touch code them
tomorrow.
     She won't try that one on me again.
     Where's the Rowan?' Tanya anxiously looked across the compound.
     Afra could well imagine how she had dreaded confronting an irate
mother, especially a Prime, whose child she had just misplaced.  Damia
tried to launch herself head down out of Tanya's arms, both arms
reaching for Ringle who had entered the creche.  Deftly, Tanya righted
the child, placed her on her feet so that she could reach Ringle who
scampered off, Damia following as fast as she could churn her short
legs.
     'The Rowan arrived this morning looking like hell warmed over,'
Afra began.
     'She did look exhausted when she dropped the children off,' Tanya
remarked, and made a rueful noise with her lips.
     'So we sent her back home for some rest.  Afra did not mention his
abortive mention of acquiring a pukha for Damia, though these 'comfort
toys' could be programmed for any number of responses to soothe a
fretful child.
     'Tanya, how do you get Damia to take her naps?' The girl regarded
him with surprise.  Not for the first time Afra thought that she was
little more than a child herself, for all he knew she was twenty-nine.
     She was a daintily made girl, all brown: brown eyes, brown hair,
light brown skin, with small hands and feet.  If Gollee Gren hadn't
expressed an interest in her, Afra would have been tempted to try his
luck.
     'Well,' and Tanya pointed to the rocking chair just visible in the
nap alcove, 'if she won't settle, I rock her and sing a lullaby.  She
goes right to sleep for me.' She caught her lip with her teeth, looking
sheepish, and fluttering one hand in dismay.  Afra could 'hear' her
distress at seeming to criticize her Prime.
     'Just a lullaby?' 'Just a lullaby,' she replied firmly.  'You know
how the Rowan feels about mental coercion.  Actually, any song will do
the trick.  I use different ones so I don't get bored.' 'I know how the
Rowan feels but what she doesn't know, won't hurt,' Afra said, having
come to a decision.
     The Tower demanded some adjustment to her directive.
     He called Ringle to him.  'And it will sure help all of us.' Brown
eyes widening, Tanya's jaw dropped in consternation.  'Afra, I don't
think we should.' 'We both know that a mild therapeutic post-hypnotic
suggestion doesn't in the least inhibit the developing mind of the
Talented child,' Afra said as he reached down to stroke the obedient
Ringle.
     Trotting up behind him came a giggling Damia, dark curls bouncing
on her shoulders.  So Afra captured his victim and asked Tanya to teach
him the tune and the words.  By the time he had learned them and
implanted the command in Damia' 5 mind, she had yawned herself to sleep
in his arms.
     'I'll send Forrie to change the ps, Afra said and went whistling
back to the Tower, crisis over.  At least, he amended privately, this
one.
     When the Rowan, much refreshed, returned to the Tower, everyone
was very careful not to think of the morning's brief crisis.  And Afra
waited for an opportune moment to suggest a sure-fire remedy for Damia'
nocturnal restlessness.
     Brian listened, his mouth slightly ajar, as Afra recounted a
totally fictional account of how his sister, Goswina, had dealt with
his sleepless nephew'A rocking chair?' the Rowan asked in surprise.
     'Rocking chair,' Afra said and implanted the appropriate image in
his mind for her to see.  Then set it moving, and placed a Rowan and a
Damia in it.  'Between the motion of the chair, the repetitive rhythm
in his mother's reassuring voice, my nephew was soon fast asleep.' 'I'm
willing to try anything.  But I don't know any lullabies.  Jeran and
Cera never needed any.' 'I know a good one,' Brian said.  'My mother
used to say how often she had to rock me when I was teething.' In a
rather strong baritone voice, he launched into a rendition of an
ancient folk tune about what a daddy would buy his ll'l baby if it
would hush.
     Afra countered with Tanya's 'Rock-a-bye baby'.  'That one was a
sure-fire sleep-inspirer.' What's going on in the Tower?  asked Jeff
Raven.  It is working hours.
     Sony, boss, Afra said with absolutely no remorse.
     Ready, my lovely?  Jeff asked the Rowan, we have some paying
customers.
     And, instantly and of one mind, Callisto Tower turned into a
smooth functioning facility.
     'Wanna play,' Damia told her two siblings.  They were all in their
home play-room while their mother was in the kitchen, preparing lunch.
     Jeran and Cera were building a complex structure of blocks.  Damia
had been in a corner crooning to herself as she trotted her herd of
ponies about an obstacle course and in and out of their stable.  The
intense silence of her siblings' concentration attracted her.
     'G'way,' Jeran told her.
     'Y'g'way,' Cera added, waving her sister off.
     'Wanna play,' Damia repeated.  Then changed her tactics.  'Can't I
play with you?' Jeran blinked at her, recognizing grown-up syntax for
their parents never used baby-talk.  'No, Damia,' for he could speak
just as good grown-up as she could, 'Cera and I are playing together.'
He waved towards her corner.  You play with your horses.' 'Ponies,'
Damia corrected him absently in a vague hope of provoking further
attention from her brother.  But Cera nudged him, indicating a block in
her hand and, in their private garble, requesting his opinion on its
placement.
     Recognizing the futility of enticing them from their game, Damia
turned away.  She looked at the corner where her toys were strewn.  She
thought of calling Rascal who always came to her, or the Coonies but
she'd already spent half her morning with them.
     'Bored!  I'm so bored!' She looked about her.  The baby gate
blocked her exit from the play-room.  But that was the way out, to more
exciting play.  She walked over to it, examining it carefully.  She had
watched her mother putting it up many times now and observation had
shown her how it worked.  The gate was braced in place by a simple
lever that locked down.  A simple jerk up would release the brace and
the door could be pulled aside or knocked over.  Normally Damia could
do nothing with the information she had acquired because the lever was
on the outside which she could not reach.  Today, however, her mother
had inadvertently reversed the gate and the lever was inside.
     Tentatively, more from curiosity than plan, Damia tapped the
lever.  It jerked up and the baby gate fell softly on to the carpet in
the hallway.
     Jeran heard the noise and looked around at her.  'Damia ha'guh.'
Cera added, scowling, 'Dam ha!' Against this censure, Damia could not
bring herself to explain that she'd only touched it: getting it to drop
out of the door was an accident.  However, the gate was down, Jeran and
Cera wouldn't play with her, but Afra would.
     He always did.  She would find Afra.
     Safety was a paramount consideration on Callisto Station and
reigned over security.  Consequently all doors were the automatic
sliding type, with ultrasound sensors.  Early in Jeran's babyhood, the
Rowan had ordered the sensors raised so that the boy could not leave
the house.  Jeran never wanted to, nor did Cera.  As the Rowan hadn't
heard about Damia's adventure with her 'wand', it hadn't occurred to
her to alter the sensors to touch-control plates.
     All Damia had to do was find something long enough for her to
break the circuit.
     A long stemmed flower from the dry arrangement on the hall table,
acquired by climbing up on a chair and removing a suitable one from the
vase, made a good substitute for her wand.  The door slid politely out
of her way Every dome had a hallway where the personnel tubes connected
and where elevators, freight and human, expelled their cargo.  Below
ground were the powerplants, hydroponics garden, life support,
recycling machinery, gravity generators - all the equipment required to
keep Callisto Station operating.  Also in the basement were the
long-term survival units awaiting a catastrophic disaster.
     The personnel tubes were plasglas covered, allowing personnel
access between the four lesser domes.  Along the tubes were personal
safety capsules to guard against the unlikely event of a pressure
breach.
     Damia had travelled all the tubes but always in the company of
adults.  Now she spent many moments carefully considering each tube.
     With a determined look plastered over her misgivings, she started
off down her chosen tube.
     She stopped several times to look back yearningly towards her home
but always she trudged onward.  She had chosen correctly: the tube
opened up on to the large park that was the 'doorstep' for Callisto
Quarters.
     To her right was the large gymnasium with its indoor pool, to her
left the two-storeyed Married Quarters and straight on, through the
park with its dwarf trees, was the three-levelled Bachelor Quarters.
     As most of the residents were indoors, eating or involved in other
chores while Jupiter occluded Callisto, no-one happened to notice her
progress.
     'Afra!' she cried in cheerful anticipation, toddling as fast as
her slender legs could carry her.
     However, she had left her long stemmed flower behind her and had
nothing close to hand to trip the sensor.
     She grew quite frustrated, poking at the undemonstrative door,
jumping up and down, hand above her head, trying to reach the plate.
     Afra!  Afra?  she said, unaware that, in her anxiousness to
contact him, she used an ability that she ought not to have discovered
so prematurely.  She had also launched her mental call into his
quarters, not realizing that Afra was lunching with Brian, nor that
she'd have needed more 'volume' to reach him.  However, she did startle
Ringle awake.
     With an understanding chitter of acknowledgement, the Coonie
started towards the door.  As the Coonies all needed access to the park
for their toilet, maintenance had equipped them with ultrasound
collars.  Ringle walked up to the door, paced by it and it opened.
     'Afra!' Damia entered jubilant and halted her headlong progress
into the room when only Ringle greeted her.
     'Afra?  Afra, play with me!' She toddled off to find her playmate,
not noticing that the door silently closed behind her, having been open
long enough for any animal to exit.
     'Where is Afra?' she asked Ringle who had followed her in her
perambulation.
     Ringle chittered, turning away from her and pacing towards the
kitchen.  He was always hungry and Damia had given him sufficient
tidbits on previous visits here to allow him to hope for more.
     Emergency!  the Rowan 'pathed on the widest band possible.
     She stood on her front steps, the baby gate dangling from one
hand.  Damia's got out.  I don't know where she's got to.
     I've checked every remote screen and there's no sign of her How
long's she been gone?  Afra was the first to ask.
     How do I know?  the Rowan exclaimed, half despairing, half angry.
     I was getting lunch.  She'd been safely in the play-room with
Jeran and Cera who, in their fashion, and that was added in a terse
tone, have no idea where their sister went.  Jeran said she knocked the
gate down.
     Remembering all too well Damia's tendency to seek him out, Afra
replied.  If you haven't seen her on the remotes, then I've a good idea
where she might be.
     Relieve my mind?  the Rowan asked cryptically.
     Afra had no trouble seeing her tapping her foot with impatience.
     My place.
     How in the world would she get there?
     Walked, was Afra's laconic answer.
     I'll meet you there.  And the Rowan's tone was severe.
     Afra 'ported himself from Brian's dining area to his living-room
and sure enough, Damia was busy feeding Ringle leftovers from his
refrigerator.  She was convulsed with the giggles because Ringle was
'washing' each handful before he popped it into his mouth.
     The Rowan arrived only a moment later, anger and relief warring
for dominance.  But Damia's laughter was infectious and, as Afra saw
the Rowan's expression soften, he allowed himself to grin.
     Suddenly aware of observation, Damia swivelled about.
     'Afra!' Abandoning Ringle, she raced to him, only then aware of
her mother.  She teetered to a stop, her expression one of total
innocence.  'The gate fell over, Mommy.  Honest it did.  They never
play with me and I was bored!  Afra always plays with me.' Grabbing his
hand, Damia tilted her head up.  'Don't you, Afra?' He squatted down to
her level.  'I do when it is the time to play, Damia.  But you must
wait for me to come.  Do you understand?  You mustn't come looking.'
She nodded solemnly, one hand bringing her comfort finger to her mouth.
     The Rowan hunkered down, too, her eyes on a level with her
fractious daughter.  'You know you're not supposed to wander around the
station, Damia.  Don't you?' Damia shook her head.  'I wanted to play.
     Jeran and Cera won't play with me.  Ever.' She tried to squeeze a
tear out of her eyes.
     'How'd you get in?' Afra asked, knowing that Damia was trying the
wrong tactics on her mother.
     'Ringle let me in!' Damia pointed to the Coonie who was now
finishing his impromptu meal.
     Afra and Rowan exchanged surprised looks.
     'Ringle heard me,' Damia went on, 'he let me in.' 'How could he do
that?' Rowan asked Afra then looked accusingly at her daughter.  'You
must tell the truth, Damia.' 'I tell the truth,' and Damia's face began
to contort as a prelude to tears over such adult intransigence.
     'If Ringle heard her, he'd come to the door,' Afra said quickly,
to forestall Damia's tearful reaction.  'His collar would open the
door.  It'll close automatically.' The Rowan let out a long,
exasperated sigh and gathered her daughter in her arms.  'All right,
Damia.  Now don't cry.  But you mustn't run about the compound on your
own.  Promise, you won't leave the house without someone with you?'
Clinging to her mother in an excess of contrition, Damia vigorously
nodded her head.
     'Now, your lunch is ready, young lady,' the Rowan said, hoping
that she had made her point without frightening her wayward child.
     'Ringle's had his, and I'll go back to mine, Afra said, ushering
the two out of his apartment.  And I'll get a cat-flap put in my door.
     Damia's too big to crawl through one of those.
     There was relative peace for a few weeks.  Afra was not the only
one nervously anticipating the next Damianism.
     As it happened, there was a great deal of traffic in that morning,
heavy stuff that needed careful handling.  Tanya's frantic cry for help
was therefore not welcome to anyone in the Tower.
     I can't stop Damia, Afra, the girl cried.  And I know the Rowan's
terribly busy but I'm afraid Damia will hurt someone Afra signalled for
Joe Toglia to take over as he spun his chair over to the nearest free
monitor and called up the remote in the daycare centre.  He could see
Tanya, cowering by the communitas the other children cringed under the
small-scale furniture.  Jeran and Cera serenely played some intricate
game while a stream of toy bits and parts, and occasionally something
heavier, was rained at them by an enraged Damia who was blubbering in
fury.
     'Play with me!  Look at me!  Talk to me!' she was screaming.  As
soon as she exhausted the objects on the shelf beside her, she moved to
the box of connectable shapes.  Fortunately her aim was skewed or - and
Afra couldn't quite believe this - Jeran and Cera were deflecting the
projectiles, for most items dropped well short of targets who blithely
ignored her.
     Instantly Afra 'ported the box out of reach and, when she squealed
in outrage, cleared the next likely ammunition out of range.
     No, Damia, he said in as disapproving a tone as he had ever used
with her.  That is not allowed.
     'They won't talk to me!' Damia cried, sobbing with frustration.
     'S'not fair!  They never talk to me!  They never play with me.'
Then she ran to the pile of things that had fallen short of their mark
and would have pelted Jeran and Cera with them if Afra had not made a
clean sweep.  'And that's not fair, Afra.  That's not fair at all!'
Tanya!
     Afra called.  Grab that little minx and make her take a nap!
     Damia, you will go with Tanya this instant and stop making such a
display of bad manners.  Such a temper for someone who will run a
Tower!  He was slightly appalled to hear one of his mother's favorite
admonitions emerge from his lips.
     To his amazement, Damia gulped back the next of her indignant sobs
and submitted to Tanya's ministrations.
     She was asleep before Tanya got through the first verse.
     Jeran and Cera continued their game as if nothing had happened.
     'I think, Rowan, that you had better speak to Jeran and Cera,'
Afra told her when Jupiter occluded Callisto and everyone could take a
break.
     'Why?  What have they done?' So Afra explained the scene in the
daycare room.  'It's my opinion that they do that deliberately, knowing
it will upset her.  She does indeed feel left out.' The Rowan
considered this, slightly defensively.  'They have this bonding.  And
Damia is much younger.  -'That doesn't give them the right to exclude
her, especially when they do it deliberately.' -'She shouldn't lose her
temper that way.' The Rowan set her mouth firmly.  'She's constantly
demanding attention.' 'Perhaps, but Jeran and Cera could include her in
their games once in a while.  You know they never do.  And don't tell
me they're more advanced.  Damia's advanced, too.
     The Rowan had to admit that, for Damia's vocabulary was at least
as extensive as her siblings', and certainly her small muscle control
was excellent.  So she did have a talk with her elder children, quietly
and positively, and, after they had listened attentively to her, they
had one of their short-speak conversations that so excluded her she
experienced reluctant sympathy for her youngest.
     'We will teach Damia to play one of our simpler games, Mother,'
Jeran said in his prosaic way.  'That should satisfy her.' The Rowan
told Afra later that it had been all she could do to keep from giggling
at his pomposity.
     'You see, then, Damia had a valid complaint,' Afra said.
     'Yes, she did,' and then the Rowan sighed deeply.  'I want all my
children to love and understand each other.' Afra gave a derisive
snort.  'Wait till they're old enough, my dear.  Right now, they're
cruel, heartless, mean little monsters.  Rowan gave him a startled
stare.  'Well, they are, but I'm sure they'll grow out of it.
     Tanya contacted the Tower ten days later - tactfully waiting until
the break.
     'Jeran and Cera played a new game with Damia, and with half the
other children,' she told the Rowan, trying very hard not to laugh.
     'Then why-' 'Because the game was colour-oriented,' and now Tanya
did burble with laughter.  'Your three are green and the others are a
sort of pied-piper of whatever other colours were left in the
water-paints.  I can't get nine children clean by myself so could
parents be excused for fifteen minutes?
     Fortunately it is a water soluble emulsion.  And they did take
their clothes off first.' That mischief had not originated with Damia
but she did her own variation several days later when she tried to
paint Rascal and every Coonie in the compound.  This time with an
oil-based paint she had evidently found where the maintenance man had
left it while he ate lunch.
     Everyone was annoyed with her for that one and the Rowan insisted
that she help the owners clean their pets' fur.  She also insisted that
everyone let Damia know how much they disapproved.
     'Maybe she'll come to realize that she could hurt the animals with
a trick like this.  They've feelings, too.' Damia was indeed much
chastened by human censure but neither Rascal nor any of the Coonies
seemed to avoid her.  In fact, there were half a dozen who would
happily throng to her at her peculiar warbling whistle.  During the
outdoor activities that Tanya conducted every afternoon, Damia was
usually surrounded by the pets while she waited for her turn.  As her
brother and sister could ignore extraneous matters, Damia could inhabit
a world that consisted of herself and the animals.
     One afternoon, while others were gathered around Tanya, Damia was
cajoling her four-footed cohorts to try and catch the ball on a string
that she was dragging behind her as she ran pell-mell around the park.
     She ran out of breath by the pool door which someone had left
slightly ajar.
     She peered inside.  This pool was much much larger than the one in
her house where she often swam with her parents.  While she knew that
the pool was here, she'd never had occasion to visit it.  And, at this
time of the day, it was empty.  Suddenly Ringle batted her string ball
through the door, on to the tiled surface around the pool.  The string
whipped out of her hand and Ringle triumphantly carried it off down the
pool side.
     'Ringle, that's not playing the game,' she said, running after
him.  But the soles of her sandals were slick and she skidded, her feet
going out from under her.  She fell heavily on her shoulder and tipped
over into the pool with a huge splash.
     She was competent enough in water not to panic, and surfaced.  The
Coonies shrieked at the top of their lungs and Rascal, who'd been the
last one in the pool, responded by throwing himself into the water,
raising a wave that hit her right in the face, swamping mouth and nose.
     She started to choke, couldn't get her breath and became
frightened.
     Afra!  Help me!  she cried, flailing her arms about in panic,
trying to reach the pool ledge.  The Coonies, m trying to reach her,
got in her way and she went under the water.
     The next thing she knew, hands were dragging her to the surface,
hauling her from the pool, pounding her back to open her airways.
     It's all right, baby, it's all right.  Afra's here, and she was
held against a wet but reassuring human body.
     DAMIA!  cried her mother and suddenly the Rowan was there,
reaching to take her from Afra, holding her so close that Damia was
amazed to discover that her mother could tremble.  She could 'feel' her
mother's fear and that so shattered her confidence that she burst into
tears.
     It took time to calm her down, calm the Rowan down, dry soaking
Coonies and Rascal, and then more time for Damia to insist that it had
not been their fault.  The door had been open and she had slipped on
the wet edge.
     'But you know you're not supposed to go into a pool room without
someone with you, Damia,' her mother said, with an edge to her voice
that Damia now recognized as disapproval.  'And Coonies do not
constitute someone else!' 'I wasn't going swimming, Mommy, I was
playing with my friends.' Over her head, the Rowan looked hopelessly up
at Afra who was wringing out his shirt.  'She's never in the wrong, is
she?' 'Actually,' and Afra paused to towel his sopping hair, 'she often
isn't.  She's simply inquisitive, inventive, isolated.' 'Well, I'm
doing something about that!' the Rowan said, 'with or without Jeff
Raven's complete cooperation.  Damia needs a companion.' Afra managed
to hide his grimace in the towel and then stopped rubbing his hair as
he reviewed her phrasing.
     'With or without Jeff's complete cooperation'?  He dropped the
towel and stared at her.
     'Angharad Gwyn-Raven, do you mean what I think you mean?' She gave
him a wide-eyed stare of innocence, still rocking her daughter.  'I
want my children to have a happy childhood, and not feel excluded or
forced to play with animals.' 'Damia loves the Coonies.' 'Exactly!  I
want her to have a brother to love.' When told of the afternoon's
escapade, Jeff sighed deeply.  'She's like me at the same age.  Mother
couldn't keep me in the yard with a logging chain.' 'So how did she
keep track of you?' Jeff grinned in reminiscence.  'Dad was good at
training animals ' He laughed when he saw the exasperated expression on
the Rowan's face.  '. . . He sicked a wolf bitch on me as guardian.
     She followed me everywhere and if she thought I was likely to get
in trouble, she'd trip me up, knock me down, sit on my back and howl.
     Sometimes she was bowling a long time but I didn't come another
cropper even if my knees and ribs were always bruised from being
knocked flat by 30 kilos of white wolf.' 'Barque cats and Coonies are
sufficient livestock in a dome.' 'Oh, I know that.  Merely apprising
you that Damia' 5
     escapades follow a well-established genetic pattern.' 'We can't
have more animals but we can provide her with another sort of suitable
companion,' the Rowan went on, bringing the conversation neatly to
where she wanted it.
     'I gather that you are in the process of providing that
companion,' Jeff remarked with a bite in his tone.
     The Rowan took a backwards step, nervously biting her lip.  'How
did you know?' 'It's been what?  Two months?  It shows.' Jeff returned.
     He stepped forward, laid a hand on her belly.  'How did you do
it?' The Rowan dipped her head.  'A lady must keep some secrets.  It's
a boy, you know.' 'To give Damia someone to care for.' 'Beside Afra,'
the Rowan added.
     'Her affection for him is natural.  He's family.' 'But she called
him, not me.
     Jeff perceived her conflict.  'And how many times have you
impressed upon the children that they are not to call you when you're
in the Tower?' The Rowan slumped disconsolately.  'But I have to make
them understand that.' 'I agree.  So Afra becomes the next best person
to turn to.  Let us be thankful that he is also willing and extremely
able.  We might even get him to like the feel of trusting young arms
about his neck enough to do something about starting his own family.'
'Your last effort at matchmaking did not work?' The Rowan was secretly
pleased.  'You should leave matchmaking to the women of your family,
love.' 'I don't recall any efforts on your part.' 'I've yet to meet a
woman good enough,' the Rowan said brusquely.  When Jeff raised an
eyebrow in turn, she added, 'Afra should have someone really special.
     I owe so much of my happiness to him.' Her pregnancy was not going
well.  She had managed to endure three months of morning sickness,
clinging to the consolation that those symptoms would gradually ease.
     But they persisted; her waspishness grew to uncontrollable
proportions, her ankles hurt abominably and she was absolutely
convinced that the gravity in Callisto Station was set too high.  She
blamed everyone in sight for her condition, including Brian Ackerman
who defused it with his best 'would that it were true' look, but
especially Damia for her requirement of a little brother and Jeff for
not stopping her in her wilful theft of his sperm.
     Her condition established a vicious cycle where her temper would
set off the children and depress the station staff such that her temper
would get worse and so the effect would escalate.  By the sixth month
of her pregnancy, the staff was completely gaunt-faced and jittery.
     What she absolutely hated, and could not admit to herself, was the
fact that Afra would not get irritated with her no matter how irascible
she became.  She longed for the chance to rant at him so desperately
that she knew it was completely irrational.  He was nearly obsequious
in his genuine concern for her and always caringly thoughtful of her
needs and condition.
     In her pregnancy with Damia and Cera before her, Afra had always
been willing to take the children off her hands so that she might rest
as best she could in her condition.
     This time, however, she was unwilling to let Damia out of her
sight, letting, instead, the elder two stay with 'Uncle Afra', Afra
took the whole situation phlegmatically which irritated the Rowan
because it did not irritate him.  He even went to the extreme of
getting Damia's solemn promise to be extra careful of her mother in her
gravid state, a promise which the child carried out faithfully until
the Rowan shrieked at her one day as she attempted to serve breakfast
in bed.  After that Damia became a sullen, dispirited child prone to
unprovoked fits of crying.
     But a prolonged sulk was not in Damia's nature.  Heartened by the
solicitous nature of the Coonies and by Rascal's steadfast loyalty, she
took to exploring the nooks and crannies of Callisto Station escorted
only by the felines.
     She was not 'heard' by anyone as she traipsed about on her great
adventures because she had learned of necessity to shield herself from
the Rowan, projecting a totally false image of her surroundings:
generally her own room.
     So while her ailing mother thought her safely playing at home, she
conducted her personal rebellion.  She loved the personal safety pods
the most.  These lined the corridors and subterranean ways of Callisto
Station, provided against catastrophic pressure loss.  Gaining entrance
was easy: she merely walked up to one and the translucent panel slid
open.  Inside there were marvellous accoutrements: a plush seat with
all sorts of computer controls adorning a keypad, a computer ready to
aid her in any emergency and room enough for her coven of Coonies.
     Best of all, the computer would carefully and patiently explain
every aspect of the capsule until she had it memorized.  She would play
in these for hours; Damia Queen of Space, Damia Space Police, Damia
Rescue Run.
     At the end of every game, where Coonies played medics, pirates,
injured and police at her whim, Damia would carefully peer outside her
capsule and, the coast clear, quietly exit it, carefully closing the
door and observing the green 'A-OK' light.  Then, depending on the hour
and her hunger, she would either return to the Rowan's quarters or
traipse on to the next capsule and the next game.
     Her discovery of the cargo cradles at the base of the Tower was an
eye-popping revelation.  She scrunched herself tight up against the
corridor wall, watching in awe as the cradles magically filled and
emptied again as cargo was shunted back and forth to the large
composite ships waiting patiently in orbit above for their cargo to be
marshalled and the Rowan to push the result off to its destination
planet.
     Cargo capsules were long and box-like, exactly the same as those
used on ships and trains for surface transport on worlds.  Passenger
capsules were different and came in many shapes and sizes.  All had
airlocks at various strategic locations and most had view panels.  But
most intriguing to Damia were the personal safety pods which blistered
the sides of the larger passenger transporters.
     She was sufficiently sensitive psychically to know that the
capsules were being manipulated by various Talents in the Tower.  Once,
with a thrill of recognition, she felt Afra's sure mental touch as a
string of passenger capsules were separated and landed in individual
cradles.  Small domes enclosed them and soon maintenance personnel were
busy, working around them.
     'That Altairian freighter's late!' the Rowan snapped at Afra up in
her Tower.  The expedient of reducing the gravity on Callisto had eased
the weight on her swollen feet but did nothing to alleviate her temper.
     Afra turned carefully to face her, eyes showing the strain of his
mental manipulations.
     'There's a problem in the life support system of the passenger and
crew quarters,' he explained.  He closed his eyes in concentration,
something he normally did not require and looked back up at her.
     'Powers is handling it.
     'We're going to blow the whole day's schedule!' the Rowan replied
in what was nearly a wail.  She directed her frustration solidly at
Afra.
     'No, we're not.' Brian Ackerman returned steadily, relieving Afra
of the brunt of the Rowan's ill-will.  'I've already worked around the
problem.  I've got a fifteen minute window before things start piling
up.' Afra considered that and nodded.  'Should be about '5' right.' He
sent a thought to Powers.  'Bill says it'll be tight but he'll push for
it.' 'In the meantime, Rowan, while it's not normally your task, if you
could pull apart that Procyon composite that'll keep Afra free to
stitch together the Altairian.
     The Rowan started to protest but Ackerman gave her such a pleading
look that she relented.  'Where're the sheets?' 'On two.' The Rowan
turned to her second console and, referring to it, commenced to pull
the capsules off the Procyon ship Lysis.
     The passenger capsules called to Damia.  They screamed of
adventure, of far off places, of Damia Star Guard.  She glanced
backwards at the cats for support, ignored Rascal's counsel of caution,
and proceeded boldly forward towards the tunnel leading to the first
passenger capsule.
     Bill, Bill, she'll blow a fuse if it's not ready!  Ackerman sent
privately to the Assistant Supercargo.
     Powers' response was laced with strain.  We're pushing it now,
Brian.
     In the Tower, unseen, Ackerman nodded approvingly.
     Just keep it up.
     Damia marched unconcerned by techs and maintenance personnel on
her way to the passenger capsule.  The cats followed her at a discreet
distance, blended into the landscape in the way of all cats.
     One of the shipboard personnel looked at her and mistook her for a
passenger 'You'd best get back aboard, little lady,' he told her
politely.
     'I don't know how,' Damia replied.
     The technician took pity on her, no matter that the station
personnel were throwing a fit, and led her aboard the passenger
capsule.
     'You know your way from here?' he asked, worried that he would
lose too much time if he had to search out her parents.
     'Oh, yes!' Damia responded, eyeing one of the safety capsules
eagerly.  Damia Space Guard on a real spaceship!
     'Have a good journey!' the tech called as he left.
     'Thank you, I will!' Damia said as she had heard Tower personnel
do so many times.  The tech left, shaking his head at the excellent
manners of the child.
     Quickly, Damia scampered into a personnel capsule, holding the
door open long enough for all her feline entourage to enter.  When the
door closed, the capsule activated.
     'Wollen Sie des Hilfr?' the computer asked politely.
     'What?' Damia had never encountered any language other than Basic.
     'How may I help you?' the computer replied, shifting languages.
     'Oh, I know what to do.' The response fell into one of many
distressed voice ranges the computer was programmed to detect.  It set
its System Alert flag.  Had the passenger capsule been attached to the
composite ship, a ship-wide alarm would have been sounded.  As it was,
the circuit was broken and would remain so until the capsule was
connected with the ship.
     Hurry, Bill, hurry!  Ackerman called urgently.  Afra must have
picked up a bit of spill from his message for the Capellan raised an
eyebrow.  She's got that ship all put back together again and she's
looking for something else to throw!
     Done!  Powers said proudly.  Beside Afra the display board
chirped, red lights turned green.
     'The Altairian's ready, Rowan,' Afra informed her, mentally
casting a call to the generator technicians to prepare for the load.
     He glanced at a clock; Powers had left five seconds to spare.
     'About bloody time!' the Rowan snarled.  'Wait a minute, the
ship's not together yet!' I'm taking care of that now, Afra responded
calmly.
     Privately, however, he was irritated that the Rowan would choose
to misinterpret his statement.  She knew that he still had to stitch
the ship together.  He lifted the first capsule from its cradle but
paused, there was something familiar about it.
     I'll do it!  the Rowan snapped waspishly, snatching the capsule
brutally from his mental 'hands' 'Bumpy ride, Captain,' Ackerman warned
on his comm link.
     All three capsules were slapped on the stern of the Altairian
freighter at once by the Rowan in her temper.
     'Ready for boost,' the Rowan announced.
     'Red light!  Red light!' the captain shouted over his comm link.
     But it was too late, the generators rose to a shriek and suddenly
Afra!
     A terrified voice cried from the void.
     Damia!  Afra's response was immediate, with a speed he had never
needed before, he lurched for the fleeting child, twisting the Rowan's
thrust and snatching Damia from the pod.
     'Emergency!' Ackerman snapped.  'Kill the generators!' Get that
ship back!  the Rowan cried, flailing to maintain her grasp on the
massive freighter.
     Afra!  Damia wailed.
     I'm here!  Afra called.  Come here, baby.  And there she was,
falling into his arms.  He grabbed her, clutched her fiercely.
     'Afra!' Ackerman shouted, pointing to the Rowan.  The Rowan was
slumped, knuckles white as she strained by sheer power of will to hold
the hurtling ship.  With a cry of fear, Afra launched every ounce of
his mental powers to one mind: Jeff, help!
     And then he was there, a reassuring presence surrounding them all,
body almost visible in the room.
     Damia's safe!  Help the Rowan!  Afra cried, sagging to the floor,
his arms lapping Damia's fright-stiffened body.
     I'm here, luv.  Let me in to help!  Jeff called from across the
void to Earth.
     Ackerman watched amazed as near visible forces flickered through
the Rowan and once again she and Jeff Raven joined souls.
     'Gods above!' a voice crackled hoarsely through the comm link.
     'In-again-out-again-gone-again Finnegan!  What did you do with
us?' Ackerman looked out above the Tower and saw the Altairian hovering
in view.  He let out a deep ragged sigh.
     'All I can say is that I'm glad it worked out all right,' Captain
Leonhard of the Altairian freighter said as the situation was explained
to him.  'As far as my passengers know, we had a shipboard
malfunction.' 'You're very kind, Captain,' Jeff Raven replied with
sincere gratitude.  They were in a shielded conference room in the
bowels of Callisto Tower.  Ackerman and Afra were also seated around
the table.  The Rowan and Damia were at home, both recovering from the
traumatic incident.
     'However, it worries me some - what would have happened if your
wife had not kept "touch" with my ship?' Jeff?  The touch of his
mother's mind distracted him as he prepared an answer.
     'Excuse me,' Jeff told the captain, closing his eyes to indicate
that he was 'pathing to someone.  I gather you heard it, too?
     The whole galaxy heard that shriek.  What happened?  Isthia asked
as calm as ever.  Jeff sketched her the complete details quickly.  Afra
pulled her off the ship?  Isthia exclaimed as Jeff finished.
     What surprised me most was that he could!  I don't know whether or
not it's good that she obeyed our injunction that she doesn't bother
her mother in the Tower.  This was the moment she should have.
     A two year-old child, even your Damia, would not understand such
distinctions, Isthia replied in a sad tone, then she continued more
briskly.  What is surprising is how Afra got all that power to make the
save.  You say he nearly knocked the ship out of Rowan's hands?
     it Jeff Raven frowned.  I hadn't thought of that.  He brushed
frathers.  He wants to know what would have happened f the Rowan had
lost her grasp on his ship.
     What will you tell him?
     The truth, of course, Jeff responded promptly.
     That his ship would have been lost in limbo for all time?  I don't
think that's something you want known.
     No, it's not, Jeff said grimly.  I'll tell him that we would have
gone looking for him instantly.
     That's clever and very true!  His mother's tone became thoughtful.
     Should I come?  Angharad seems unusually distraught, not that I
don't think I'd be in a similar situation.  I'm forever thankful I had
a planet on which to raise you lot.
     This pregnancy has got her down, Jeff said, allowing his mother to
see the anxiety he took great pains to hide from everyone else.  But
not quite as much as Damia appealing to Afra in extremis .
     That's not quite it, I think, Isthia remarked in an enigmatic
fashion that Jeff did not have time to query for, beside him, the space
captain coughed politely.  We'll take this up later.  The frathers are
hackling.
     Well, don't you get upset, dear, Isthia said in farewell.
     'Staff interruption,' Jeff remarked by way of apology to the
waiting captain.  'As to your question: why we'd initiate a search
immediately.
     The captain heaved a sigh of relief.  'That's good to know.' 'And
remember that we've never lost a ship,' Ackerman added jovially.  'You
can't say that about the old reaction drive days when I dunno how many
ships went missing.
     Never heard from again.' 'No,' the captain responded, shaking his
head, and glad he lived when ships could expect safe transfer, 'I
suppose you can t.' He rose.  'I've taken up too much of your valuable
time.' He nodded at Raven and the others.  'I don't like interrupting a
Tower's busy schedule longer than necessary but I had to clarify the
problem in my own mind.  The passengers, you know, will need
reassurance.' 'Of course they will,' said Jeff, rising to grip the
captain 5
     hand firmly, 'and please convey the Tower's apologies for that
minor glitch.
     'Minor?' Ackerman muttered under his breath as the door closed
behind the captain.  'Minor?  With one generator seized up and cargo to
be cleared up all over the place?' 'Be grateful the damage can be
cleared up, Brian,' was Jeff's last comment on the incident.
     Pleading extreme exhaustion, Afra took the rest of the day off.
     The curious chittering of Coonies greeted him as he entered his
quarters.  He smiled wanly at the anxious expressions on their masked
faces as they pressed in on him.
     Had Damia sent them to him?  No matter, he appreciated their
company which, since Damia had monopolized them as playmates, he had
little of.
     But he didn't have the energy to respond to their overtures and
dropped down on to the wide couch to stare unseeing at the fireplace.
     He was exhausted, but that was not why he needed time off.  You
could have killed her!
     He shouted at himself in white hot rage.  Do you realize the awful
risk you took, grabbing at her?  And grabbing at a child instead of the
ship which was equally at risk?
     The door chimed.  'Come in, Jeff,' Afra called, knowing beyond
prescience whose hand was on the buzzer.
     Jeff Raven, slightly haggard underneath his outward diffidence,
entered Afra's apartment airily, noted the collection of Coonies and,
receiving a gesture from the Capellan, took a seat in a chair opposite
him.
     'I know why you're here,' Afra said quietly.  Without any regard
for etiquette he summoned the nearest piece of paper to him - oddly it
was a sheet of fine origami paper and a pen.  He scrawled a date, a
short sentence and signed it without any change in outward temperament.
     'Here.' Jeff raised an eyebrow, examined the message, balled the
paper up and threw it across the room.  The Coonies took it as a toy
and commenced to dribble it about the apartment.
     'I've had enough guff from a distraught wife and hysterical
daughter.  I'm not about to tolerate nonsense from you, too, Afra.'
'But I broke the most important law of Tower protocol - I interrupted a
thrust and nearly caused the loss of a passenger ship.' Jeff stopped
him with a look.  'Saving my daughter in the process.' 'But what if you
hadn't been able to retrieve the Altairian .  . .' Afra persisted.
     'We did but if you hadn't hauled Damia, she would have been very
dead.' Jeff shuddered uncontrollably at that thought and saw that Afra
had blanched to a grey.
     'If I hadn't encouraged her to use the Coonies and Rascal as
playmates, she wouldn't have taken to wandering about 'So it's the
Coonies' fault, too?' Jeff asked amused.
     'No, I'm at fault,' Afra said, unwilling to unload responsibility.
     'Oh?  And you led her to believe that the passenger capsule was a
good place to play with the Coonies?  C'mon, Afra, let's permit a
little common sense to infiltrate the breast beating.' 'No matter,' and
Afra dismissed his arguments with a chop of one hand, 'the fact is that
I broke the gestalt with the Rowan - I could have killed her and still
not saved Damia!' Afra's control broke with those last words, his voice
rising in self-contempt and loathing.
     Jeff waited for the yellow-eyed Capellan to collect himself.
     'Have you thought to wonder where you got the strength to do what
you did?' 'Where?  What-?' Afra broke off, his eyes widening in
surprise.
     He looked to Jeff who nodded in slow affirmation.
     'Consider what would have happened if Damia had tried the jump
blind without your aid.' Afra did and his skin blanched pure white.
     'I came here to thank you for saving my daughter's life,' Jeff
said slowly, 'even if you had to get a two year old to help you save
herself.  And those bloody Coonies.' He paused, watching those same
animals playing soccer with crumpled paper.  He let out the rest of his
held-in anger.  'I most certainly did not come here to listen to silly
twaddle about who's guilty for what and who's responsible for
everything else in this system!' He launched himself out of his chair
suddenly, clasping Afra tightly by the shoulder, shaking him firmly in
emphasis.
     'You're family, man, right or wrong, up or down, in or out.  Get
it?  Now, what have you got to drink?  I'm parched,' Jeff grinned at
him.  'All that fast talking with Captain Leonhard.' Afra instantly
rose.  'I could make some tea or coffee?' Jeff cleared his throat
noisily.  'Surely you've something stronger, Afra?  Or maybe I should
start sending you a case or two the way Reidinger did for Brian.
     Though I've known a time or two when there's been some pretty good
rotgut available on this station.
     From the kitchen, Afra produced a clear bottle containing a clear
liquid.
     'I use it for colds.  It's effective.
     'Well, I felt damned near frozen today for a few seconds there,'
Jeff remarked.  He downed half a glass and his eyes bulged.  'First
class,' he managed to say on a forcefully expelled breath.  He waggled
the bottle at Afra.  'You need some, too.
     'No,' and Afra shook his head, making a cup of a soporific tea
that had often soothed jangled nerves.  The rotgut was too much of a
stimulant in his present condition.
     They arranged themselves in the high chairs surrounding the
bar-height kitchen table.
     'Have you eaten?' Afra asked as his manners continued to surface
out of the reaction to the day's trials.
     'No, have you?' Afra had to think for some moments before shaking
his head.
     'Let me,' Jeff offered, noting the other's exhaustion and added
with a grin, 'I'm not a bad cook!' 'Chinese doesn't take much time,'
Afra suggested.
     'Rowan got you on that cuisine, too, huh?' Jeff said.
     Then he shook his head.  'Actually, I think I'll have dinner sent
up, if you don't mind.' Afra looked puzzled.  'Luciano has obliged me
on several occasions.' 'He has?' Afra was surprised.  'Though I wonder
about rich food on my stomach - it hasn't settled yet ---' 'I'll
advise Luciano to prepare something restorative for nerve and mind.'
Jeff sent a quick mental cast to Gollee Gren back on Earth, who had the
good sense to swallow his curiosity and promised to expedite the
request.
     'While we're waiting,' Jeff continued, 'we can talk about our
problem child.' 'She didn't mean t(H' Jeff raised a hand.  'I know
that.' He sighed, an admiring look on his face.  'She's very much like
her mother, you know.' 'But different.
     'The Rowan can't handle her,' Jeff remarked almost rhetorically.
     'Nor can Tanya.' 'Are you suggesting some hypnotics?' Afra
wondered.
     They had used only the most subtle hypnotic suggestions to keep
Damia from becoming completely unmanageable.
     Afra had instigated the first.  This successful implant had been
followed, always with Jeff Raven's full knowledge and approval, by
others, but only after certain restrictions became necessary.  As today
had proved, Damia appeared to be one jump ahead of everyone's estimate
of her capabilities.  She was also growing increasingly resistant to
the more 'delicate' suggestions and, with the Rowan firmly opposed to
'tinkering' with her children, stronger impositions would be
noticeable.
     Jeff sensed Afra's uneasiness and shook his head firmly.
     'No, I don't think hypnotics are the solution.' Jeff?  Isthia
Raven's 'voice' distracted him.
     'Mother, I'm here with Afra,' Jeff responded, speaking aloud for
Afra's benefit and echoing telepathically Hello, Afra.  Isthia
responded, widening her telepathic 'voice' to include him.  Are you
recovering from that remarkable rescue?
     Somewhat, Afra replied.  He had long since given up at pretence
when dealing with the Raven matriarch.
     Except that he's torturing himself with guilt in the process, Jeff
added.
     Tut!  Isthia chided.  Guilt's for small souls, Afra.  Your
immediate response was nothing short of heroic and I won't allow you to
escape that designation.  I'm sure Jeff agrees.
     Oh, I do, but he won't.  He's threatened to resign.
     Nonsense!
     You are not Tower, Isthia Raven, Afra replied, rousing from his
lethargy.  You cannot be expected to know that I broke one of the
strongest rules of Tower procedure Saving a child?  Priorities always
supersede mere procedure.
     There was such a trenchant criticism in her retort for bureaucracy
that Afra had to grin.  At least you heard the child.
     Damia did not call the Rowan, Afra replied glumly.
     And how is Angharad?  As if in answer to Isthia's question, the
station's generators screamed to full power, crescendoed, then rose
again to another crescendo and another as cargoes were hurled
rapid-fire to their destinations.
     I'd say she's decided to work off fright and anger constructively,
Jeff responded mildly.  He winced at the shriek of the generators as
they hit launch peak.  Fortunately Ackerman's giving her cargo.  At
that, some of the fragile goods are going to be worthless.
     Oh dear!  Isthia's response included a soft caress of
understanding.  What do you plan to do?
     Afra and I were just discussing that, Jeff replied.  We've ruled
out more hypnotics.
     Good.  I doubt they'll work, the child's too quick.  Across the
light-years, Isthia frowned.  What alternatives have you considered?
     None, yet, Jeff replied.  We were going to try the full stomach
method of meditation.  Then I'll have to see what the Rowan wants.
     She may not want me, after this, Afra said dispiritedly.
     Stop it, Afra Lyon!  Isthia shot back hotly.  Mind you, not even
Angharad will tolerate your wallowing in such a slough of
self-recrimination.  Isthia paused briefly.  Well, now, maybe a good
yell will shock you back into appropriate manners, you Methody
Capellans being so fierce about proper conduct.  But then, Angharad's
not likely to consider protocol more important than her daughter's
life.
     Afra was dumbfounded.  But I nearly lost that Altairian freighter.
     If Jeff hadn't.  Lord above!  He's really into this guilt trip,
isn't he?  Jeff Raven demanded rhetorically.  If it would make you feel
any better, I'm perfectly willing, as head of FT&T, to dock your annual
salary for whatever amount you feel will compensate us for your
interference with the conduct of traffic on this route.
     But, as Earth Prime, I'm obliged to point out to you, Afra Lyon,
that it's highly unlikely that Angharad Gwyn-Raven will accept your
resignation.  Jeff paused to regard Afra's unyielding expression and
sighed in exasperation.
     Isthia sighed, like an echo of her son.  I'd thought that years of
exposure to Reidinger and Angharad would have eroded your Methody
upbringing.  What is it offenders have to wear on Capella?  Sackcloth
and ashes.
     Afra shook his head, then propping it into his hands, made a
deliberate effort to break out of the fugue which tormented him.
     Of course, actually, as Earth Prime, I'm not supposed to interfere
with local Tower discipline so I won't.
     That is, said Isthia, no further than you've already done.
     Listen to the generators, Afra, and Jeff grinned.  She's working
it all out of her system.  Maybe you should, too.  No?
     I guess that's only sensible.  You're shagged.
     Afra, dear, Isthia put in, I love you incredibly but you really
must pull out of this negativity.  It simply doesn't suit you.
     Then she grew thoughtful and added, No, you're fighting something.
     . . resisting with every ounce of your mind.  That's why you're
displaying so much negative emotion, isn't it?
     Afra blinked.  He had not actually been indulging in self-pity, or
- the notion amused him - wearing mental sackcloth and ashes.  In fact,
he wondered that Jeff had not perceived what did, terribly, worry him.
     Now that he had shown Damia how to use her innate telekinesis, he
had opened an avenue of escape for her that would lead to far worse
expeditions than today's.  He'd already done the Gwyn-Ravens
irreparable harm with that in utero link between Jeran and Cera: the
link which caused that pair to so isolate themselves from Damia that
she was excluded from any natural relationships with them, an outcast
within the family unit that should have sustained her.  She was also
the youngest of the pre-school children but so much more advanced than
the nearest child in age that she had no suitable playmates.  If there
had been even one station child who'd been compatible, he knew that
Damia would have been content and certainly less trouble-prone.  Afra
groaned, shaking his head in his hands.
     What is it?  Jeff asked.
     The Rowan will not like it, Afra responded obliquely.
     His shielding was sufficient to keep long-eared Isthia from
penetrating his tired mind.  Or perhaps she had arrived at a similar
conclusion.
     Aha!  she cried triumphantly.
     I know that sort of an 'aha' from you, Mother and it means trouble
for someone, Jeff said with a groan not unlike Afra's.
     Wearily Afra explained.  I was thinking that most of Damia's
problems would be solved if she had other Talented children nearer her
age and accomplishment.  She is the youngest in daycare by over a year.
     If she had a human playmate her own age - I don't want her down on
Earth, Jeff began, and the only place where there' re more is-.  He
stopped short and regarded Afra solemnly.  You're right, the Rowan
won't like it.  Not at all.
     But she must see the sense of it, Jeff, Isthia said.  This isn't
the first time Damia has instinctively appealed to Afra as a source of
reassurance and assistance.  He can't be bailing her out of every
little scrape.  Or if he does- Isthia kindly left the thought unspoken
but Afra could still see the Rowan's desperate lunge to grip the
Altairian freighter and could imagine what would have happened had not
Jeff Raven been there to help her prevent the freighter from plunging
into the void unguided.
     'How do you feel about this, Afra?' Jeff asked the tall Capellan
softly.
     Afra's response was a long time coming.  'It is not what I feel
that matters, Jeff.  It is what is best for Damia.' 'It'll be hard on
all of us,' Jeff said in response to Afra's unspoken plaint.  Mother,
not a word of this to anyone!
     Particularly not within Angharad's hearing.  Thank goodness she's
involved in slinging cargo about the galaxy, Isthia replied.  There are
quite a few Talented children nearby.  And a shower of second and third
cousins who could be .  -- if anyone bothered to show them a thing or
two.  I'll see what can be contrived here on Deneb.  Especially if
Damia's just become kinetically active.  More to Afra than to Jeff, she
added, I promise that I will help this difficult grandchild of mine
whom you find so adorable.
     With strong and sensitive fingers, Jeff massaged deep into the
Rowan's neck, kneading out the worst of the knots in her tense muscles
late that night.
     'If it hadn't been for Afra!' she exclaimed.  'Oh!  That's it,
right there!' She swivelled her neck to aid his efforts.
     'Ah.' She pulled away from his grasp, taking his hands in hers and
gently squeezing them.  'Oh, thank you!  That's much better.
     'Anything to oblige,' Jeff replied with a slight bow as he sat on
the edge of the bed.  The Rowan was below him on the floor, tucked
between his legs.  She jumped up, brushed his forehead with a kiss,
then dragged him up as well.
     Jeff responded with a firm hug and a tender expression.
     The Rowan stopped him with a stern expression and a finger on his
lips.
     To his puzzled expression she said: 'Let's talk in the kitchen.'
She turned and, fingers twined with his, dragged him after her by the
hand.
     The kitchen presented two good places to sit: the barstools and
counter near the stove and the larger circular table where they usually
ate (or tried to) breakfast with the kids.  Jeff raised an eyebrow
enquiringly at his love but she resisted his gentle probe until she
dropped into one of the seats surrounding the kitchen table.
     'Jeff, I'm scared,' the Rowan began.  'If it hadn't been for Afra,
we might have lost Damia completely.' 'The ship was going to Altair,
luv, not the Horsehead Nebula,' Jeff chided her gently.  'They would
have brought her back.' 'What if she had panicked?' The Rowan wrung her
hands together.  'What if Afra hadn't been there?  Hadn't handled her
kinetic thrust?  She could have been lost for ever.' She flung out her
hands despairingly.
     Jeff captured one in both of his, stroking her palm gently with
his fingers.  He smiled up at her.  'But she wasn't, luv Afra caught
her.' Her answer came in a sob.  'He did, didn't he?  Why didn't she
call me?' Her eyes watered.  'Oh, Jeff, am I such a terrible mother?'
'No!' Jeff's answer was emphatic, firm.
     'Then why didn't she call to me?' the Rowan cried.  She pulled her
hand out of his.
     'You were too intent, Rowan.  You had a freighter to 'port-' 'So
did Afra!' she broke in.  'He had that load too!  But she called to
him, not me!' Again she pulled her hand free to wave it over her head
in more wild gesturing.
     'Rowan, love, who knows what goes on in the mind of a two-year-old
child - especially Damia's.' 'She's almost three!' the Rowan corrected
him almost absently.
     Jeff shook his head.  'No matter, she reacted out of panic, called
to the first person to come to her mind.  At least, she's learned not
to bother you when you're working.' 'You see, I am a terrible mother!'
she wailed.
     Jeff let out a hot hiss of breath and turned away, angry with the
Rowan for her futile outburst of self-contempt.
     'Well, it's certain that you're not doing your new son much good,
getting yourself all rolled up like this,' he remarked when he had
schooled his emotions.  'Damia's a spirited child which makes her a
handful.' He grinned, flicking a finger accusingly in her direction.
     'If I recall correctly, you were just about the same age when you
startled a whole planet which is much more than your daughter's done.
     The Rowan blinked and managed a small chagrined smile.  'Our
situations were somewhat different but I take the point.' Then she
sighed in despair.  'Only I have no trouble coping with Jeran and Cera
'Who are even-tempered to the point of being phlegmatic and totally
engrossed in their small selves to the exclusion, I might add, of their
younger sister.  Damia, on the other hand, requires the same delicate
understanding you received from Lusena.  But we don't have a Lusena
here, who can devote every waking hour to the care and companionship of
our Damia.  Who is, it has been pointed out to me, very much like her
mother.  Opposites attract, luv, and alikes set sparks.  And, in
turning to Afra in time of crisis, Damia's only following her mother's
good example, isn't she?' He waggled his finger at her.  'Imitation is
the sincerest form of flattery.
     Rowan drew breath to contradict, then let it out in a long
defeated sigh.  Their eyes locked and a long silence ensued.  'If it
happened-' she began.
     'It'll happen again,' Jeff finished, nodding.  'We may not be so
lucky the next time.
     'What can we do?' Jeff was a long time forming an answer and, when
he did, his voice was rueful.  'For all my fingers in Talent pies, I
haven't been able to find a T-6 nanny.  And I've offered all kinds of
enticements.' 'You didn't tell me Jeff rolled his eyes at her
vehemence.  'We'd need someone anyway with the new one on the way.  And
come on, luv, after today, you wouldn't have complained if I had found
someone suitable.' He exhaled and made a less palatable suggestion.
     'We could try hypnotic'No!' the Rowan's response was emphatic.  'I
will not have my children tampered with!' Jeff continued down the list
of possibilities.  'What about a pukha?' 'Damia has not been orphaned .
     .
     'She has been through a rather traumatic experience 'She doesn't
need a pukha.  She's got a mother and a father .  . -' 'Remotes, then?
     There're some excellent robotic-' 'A robot minding Damia?' Rowan
was horrified.  'A thing with no sensitivity Why even a pukha would be
preferable!' "Bots can't be distracted from the job they're programmed
for.  Then Jeff shrugged that notion aside before the Rowan gathered
her contradiction.  'I admit the notion doesn't appeal to me but-'
'Hideous notion!' 'There is one possible alternative,' Jeff began,
careful to sound tentative.
     'What?' 'It worked with me, Jeff began, judiciously choosing his
words, 'though even a whole planet might not be large enough.  We could
ask Mother to take all three of them.
     At least until you've delivered this child.' 'What?  Admit to all
Deneb and the Nine Star League that I can't look after my own
children?' 'No, admit to the Nine Star League that you are having a bad
pregnancy, yet you honour your commitment as Prime.  But, because your
children are special, you are willing to sacrifice your daily contact
with them to ensure that they grow up as happily as possible,' Jeff
corrected her.  'Besides,' he continued on a fresh breath, 'what do you
care for the opinion of others as long as the children are happy?' 'But
your mother can't possibly-' 'It's not just mother who'd be involved
but my brothers, sisters, cousins and nieces,' Jeff corrected.  'They'd
all be ecstatic.  It'd be a good thing for Deneb.  You know how many
undeveloped Talents you found in the city.  Even young as our kids are,
they've had more training than anyone there.  Deneb's been reorganizing
- give the planet examples of Talented children to stimulate interest
in that natural resource.  And,' Jeff added, reaching over to pat her
belly lovingly, 'you'll be able to concentrate on him wholeheartedly.'
'Maybe if I hadn't-' 'You got pregnant for Damia, if you recall,' Jeff
gently reminded her.  'Mother would be over the moon.  And Ian's a good
lad: he'd certainly be happy to have nephews and nieces to play with!'
The Rowan had to smile at the incongruity of a seven year-old uncle.
     Ian was the last born of Isthia Raven and the first baby the Rowan
had had a chance to handle.  She could in fact visualize him as a good
companion for six-year-old Jeran who was much too preoccupied with a
sister fifteen months his junior.
     'Jeran could do with an older brother and I'm sure Ian would be
glad to oblige,' Jeff remarked, neatly accessing the Rowan's thoughts.
     'Jeff-' the Rowan began in preparation for a protest.
     He raised a hand to forestall her then placed it over hers.
     'Sleep on it, love.' Gently he led her from the kitchen to their
bedroom.
     In bed, the Rowan rolled over.  'Jeff?' 'Mmm?' 'Don't mention this
to Afra, just yet.' 'Of course not, not until you've made up your
mind,' Jeff responded ingenuously.
     As the week progressed and the ripples from Damia's 'accident'
spread throughout the Nine Star League, with shipments late or lost,
the Rowan found it increasingly harder to resist the suggestion.
     'It's just that it's so unnatural!' the Rowan railed late one
night to her husband.  Eyes tear-rimmed, she turned to him.  'Why can't
I look after my own daughter?' Jeff patted her soothingly.  'Hush, luv,
you could, if you'd nothing else to do with your time.  But look at the
demands on you.  Three highly Talented children, another on the way,
long hours in an FT&T Tower.' 'But I don't want to be like Siglen Jeff
regarded her with astonishment, then laughed, rocking her in his arms.
     'Luv, you're no more like Siglen than .  . . than Brian Ackerman's
a Reidinger clone.  Sometimes, when I think how that woman repressed
you, babied you, gifted you with a load of rubbishy phobias, I wonder
you've turned out as well as you have,' Jeff exclaimed.  He cradled her
possessively.
     'You've chosen not to repress or overprotect your children and
they're really rather marvellous.  It's just that,' he added ruefully,
'a young Gwyn-Raven marvel is a handful for anyone!' The Rowan sighed
in agreement.
     'And you've three handfuls with a fourth on the way.' Jeff moved a
hand to rub her belly soothingly.  'And then there's this disturbing
report from Elizara.' 'Hmm?' The Rowan stirred uneasily at the change
of topic.  'Oh?  That, well, yes, she mentioned something about
anomalies in my latest lab results.' 'Oh?' '7' The Rowan dismissed
them.  'Elizara said she'd come back to me.  It does happen.
     'I'd really rather know a.s.a.p' Jeff said with gentle insistence.
     'I can't think why,' and he grinned, 'but you're very important to
me.' He draped an arm about her shoulders and peered down at her
half-hidden face.
     She gave him a long, enigmatic look out of the corner of her eye.
     'I could .  . .' she hesitated, 'take a leave of absence from the
station!' Before he recovered from his surprise, she added, 'Afra could
take over with you to give him a hand with the live and heavy stuff.'
The suggestion bowled Jeff over.  Sympathetically he drew her against
him as he mulled it over, digesting the notion - and also the Rowan's
reason for making such a drastic proposal.  He knew how important the
Callisto post was to her.  And, in the normal way of things, she ran it
faultlessly.  He'd seen Reidinger's private notes about her management.
     The Altairian freighter episode was unique in every way.  He could
feel through her that he had delayed an answer long enough to cause her
to fret.
     'You could.  You're entitled to leave,' and he stroked her hair,
grinning.  'None of us Primes take even a quarter of the leave we're
allowed.  I could transfer Saggoner and Torshan here .  . . And, with
the index finger of his free hand, he prodded the bedspread, miming the
moves he would have to make.  Then he frowned.  'Of course, they've
become indispensable to Altair and that system hasn't got DEW yet .
     Gollee could be spared to assist Afra here .  . .' His voice
dropped out while he considered the ramifications.  Then he made
eye-contact with the Rowan and tightened his arm about her.  'There's
another possible solution.  Mother!' The Rowan poked at him in disgust,
physically and mentally because he was concealing something.  'Your
mother can't run a Tower.' 'No,' and Jeff's grin was wide if the sense
of him was tentative, almost wary, 'but she sure raises kids well.'
'After all she's had to raise?  You'd saddle her with Damia ?' 'And
Jeran and Cera,' and Jeff was dead serious now.  'If Damia has learned
to 'port, that pair are too competitive not to mimic the kid sister's
trick.' The Rowan's expression mirrored the fearful tension Jeff could
feel in mind and body.  'We're so far from Deneb -' the Rowan began
defensively.  Abruptly she gave him a sharp poke in the diaphragm that
made him grunt: her look altered as she jabbed him again, harder.
     'You devious unrepentant dark!  That was all pretence about
shifting T-ratings.  You had this in mind all along!
     You're no better than Reidinger now you're Earth Prime.
     The Callisto Station runs best through me.  . . even when I'm
spewing my guts with morning sickness.' Jeff coughed delicately.
     'Actually, the highest efficiencies and throughput were achieved
when I was Prime.' The Rowan glared at him, words unneeded.  Jeff
shrugged.
     'Well, you could run Earth!' 'Jeff!' she growled, launching
herself on top of him.  The Rowan broke off the ensuing play fight with
a groan.  She pushed herself away from him.
     'Are you OK?' Jeff asked solicitously for her complexion had
turned an odd grey.
     The Rowan nodded raggedly.  'Uh, our little one decided to join in
the fun.' 'I'm calling Elizara,' Jeff said in tones that brooked no
argument.  'And the children are going to Deneb.' When the Rowan
started to protest, he held up a hand.
     'This pregnancy is not proceeding normally and I won't risk losing
you.' Elizara arrived so promptly that, despite the Rowan's
protestations that Jeff was being overprotective, she was alarmed.
     Elizara immediately reassured both parents that the child was not
under any stress.
     'You are,' she said, pointing an accusing finger at the Rowan.
     'I've checked, and double checked, the lab reports of your latest
tests.  You have developed what's known as gestational diabetes,
Rowan.' 'Diabetes?' Jeff sat down heavily on the bed beside his wife,
drawing her into his arms as if his protection would mitigate the
illness.
     'It's not uncommon in pregnancies, though it usually manifests
itself in the first or second.  The condition passes when the baby is
born.' She was readying a hypospray as she spoke.  'This injection
should balance your glucose levels.' 'But I've always been so healthy.
     I've had three easy pregnancies ---' The Rowan was stunned.
     Elizara nodded.  'So you have.  This time you're not.  You will
have to watch your diet and your workload.  Stress must be reduced or
you can do yourself, and the child, serious harm.' She turned to Jeff.
     'I know that Callisto Station is a vital link in the FT&T network,
but I have to insist that the Rowan's schedule is lightened.
     'As of right now,' Jeff said and he 'pathed through the
restriction to Afra and Brian Ackerman.
     Elizara caught and held the Rowan's gaze.  'Right now, Rowan?' She
nodded, no longer able to deny the consuming weariness she had
struggled to ignore.  She lay back on the pillows and wanted to weep.
     'Oh, Jeff.  I'm so sorry.' 'Sorry?  What for?' Jeff enfolded her
in his arms, alarmed to see tears streaming down her face.  'Not your
fault, luv, that your body's done gone and let you down.  Mind you,
there're not many pregnant women who could hold a megatonne freighter
in sheer determination not to let it drop forever out of sight.  Not to
mention all the other minor little crises you seem to deal with every
day.
     Then, too,' and his grin turned to sheer mischief as he realized
that sympathy was not helping, 'if you'd allowed me to produce this
embryo in the time-honoured fashion He cocked his head, hoping that
he'd taken just the right teasing note with her.
     She stopped crying and glared at him.  'You can't blame the whole
thing on me!  Sperm's sperm no matter how I acquired it.' Then she
caught his expression and began to giggle.  'Oh, all right.  I did do
this on my own and I'm paying for it!  And it is my fault.  But you
wouldn't help me.  Damia is such a caring child.  Look how she treats
Rascal and the Coonies 'Paints them pretty colours 'But she cleaned
them up.  She just wants what Jeran and Cera already have: a sibling to
care for and play with.' 'And you're having your own way, and now we'll
take over,' he said, squeezing her affectionately and rubbing his cheek
against hers.  'But we'll get you sorted out.  We'll make sure that you
get lots of rest, all the best exercise, he sniggered suggestively,
'and no hassles.' 'The children?' she asked almost fearfully, though
she 'felt' that he had also taken that decision from her.
     'Are going to Deneb.  I've already talked with Mother and she's
got some ideas that ought to solve her problems and our problems.
     And,' he paused significantly, pulling back enough to catch her
eyes with his, 'you'll agree to give yourself a long break before you
ask me politely and in the normal fashion - for another baby.' He eyed
her sternly 'Oh, I will!' the Rowan replied, earnestly wide-eyed.  'I
will!
     Afra caught up with Jeff Raven.  Brian Ackerman was right behind
him.  'She will be all right, won't she?' 'Elizara told you
everything?' Jeff asked, allowing Afra to 'see' the concern he had kept
from the Rowan.  'She must keep her metabolism balanced.  Elizara had a
private word with me before she went back to her clinic.
     Rowan did not wait long enough between pregnancies to get her
metabolism back to normal.  If we keep her occupied with a decent
workload, less than she does normally but enough to keep her pride
intact, and if we keep her emotions in check - you know better than I,
perhaps, how unstable her emotions have been in this pregnancy ' He
grinned as Afra rolled his eyes expressively and Brian exhaled a long
and hard-used sigh.
     -- then she should be fine.' 'What'll happen next time?' Ackerman
asked sceptically.
     Jeff nodded.  'Elizara has hopes.  Nothing can be done now but
afterwards there are treatments which can prevent a recurrence.'
Ackerman looked dubious.  'I thought that another pregnancy would
always cause permanent diabetes.' 'Used to,' Jeff said.  'But Elizara
assures me that this is no longer so.  He regarded them thoughtfully.
     'The children are going to Deneb.  We'll have to do that quickly.'
He looked directly at Afra.
     'If it's to be done, 'were better swiftly done,' Afra said,
agreeing and forcing a grin from Jeff at the misquotation.
     'Today.  Brian and I can organize transport.' 'Sure, sure thing,'
Brian answered, wondering why he was being seconded to an unenviable
chore, but Afra would have his own reasons.
     'I'm not sure what tack to take in breaking the news to Damia,'
Jeff said, twisting his mouth in dismay.  'The poor little thing's been
so subdued lately.' 'I'd be surprised if she wasn't,' Afra said.  'How
did you get the Rowan to capitulate the children away?' 'That freighter
debacle helped almost as much as realizing she's risking the baby if
she doesn't take care,' Jeff said.  'I just don't want Damia connecting
her disobedience with her summary exile.' 'Why will she?  If Jeran and
Cera are to go with her,' Afra asked.  'Emphasize that the Rowan's sick
- which Damia certainly senses already.  Jeran and Cera probably do,
too.
     They may be self-involved but they're not insensitive to their
surroundings.
     'No, they're not.' In fact, Tanya had told Jeff how agitated the
pair had been following the freighter episode.
     And they had known that Damia had been in trouble.
     They'd even spontaneously involved her in more than one game in
daycare.  'When?' Jeff asked, his decision made.
     'Today,' Afra responded immediately.
     'Isn't that precipitous?' Jeff worried about the Rowan 5
     reaction to what seemed, even to him, like an almost indecent
haste.
     'Your mother is ready and waiting,' Afra added, giving Raven the
distinct impression that Afra had been in private collusion with her.
     Jeff Raven sighed, nodding and thinking of all the matters
awaiting his attention back on Earth.  'Very well.
     Let's do it today then.' Damia had practised very hard at being
good for two whole days.  Tanya collected her in the morning because
Damia already knew that Mother was very tired and was resting all day
in bed.  Damia wondered if something was wrong with the Tower.  Mother
never stayed away from there for very long.  So, because Daddy had said
that Damia must be quiet, she expanded that request to include her
hours at the daycare.  Occasionally she would glance around to be sure
that Tanya noticed how well she was behaving.
     She had not meant to cause trouble; she had just got frightened
when the ship lurched so suddenly.  Her voyages had always gone
smoothly.  Then she had 'felt' her mother involved in the lurching and
she became afraid that Mommy was mad at her.  So, she'd had to call
Afra for help.  She was sure that he would explain to Mommy and then
everything would be all right.
     But everything was still not right; Damia suppressed a momentary
surge of anger at Afra for not making everything better.
     Damia?  Someone 'called' to her.  Afra!  It was Afra!
     She turned around.  'Afra!' she called aloud, rising to run over
to him.  She knew she was supposed not to 'call' rather than speak but
she could not help a little hopeful echo.  Afra?
     Afra squatted down and hugged the small child.
     'You've come to play with me because I've been very good and
quiet,' she cried in happy expectation.  She gave him a coy, beguiling
look, blue eyes peering up through jet black hair, trying to think
which game she could involve Afra in.
     'Tanya said you have indeed been quiet and well mannered,' Afra
replied.  'So if we can play something while I talk with you Happily
Damia led him over to her corner, a small hand wrapped around his big
finger.  'We can play station,' she decided, having discarded several
other possibilities as they walked.  'I'll be the Prime and you be my
twic.
     'Twic?' 'Two-I-C?' Damia tried again.
     Afra chuckled.  'Second-in-command!  Certainly,' he gave her a
mock bow from his cross-legged seat on the floor, 'your wish is my
command.
     Damia placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head at him
irritably.  'Afra!' 'What?' Damia waggled a finger at him.  'You know.
     Now play right.' Afra obliged, working up a manifest of cows, cats
and clam chowder for their first load.  They did three loads before
Afra decided that she was sufficiently relaxed.
     'Where's the next load?' Damia asked, a pout at the ready.
     'How would you like to be a load?  A proper one, just like those
you've seen leave the station.' Damia hesitated, not sure she really
wanted to play in the pods right now.  'You'll have a proper carisak to
take on board for your trip.' 'Trip?' Damia was not enthusiastic but
she knew she could trust Afra.  If he felt she should be a proper load
'Jeran and Cera will be going too.' Damia was not happy about that.
     She'd rather do something that they didn't.  They were so mean
about sharing with her - though they'd been much nicer the past two
days.
     'Are you?' she asked, looking up hopefully but Afra shook his
head.  'Then I don't want to.' 'Ah, but you see, your grandmother has
especially invited you to come.  You'll like her.' Suddenly sensing
that Afra was not playing the sort of game she liked, Damia threw
herself at him, clutching his neck fiercely with her arms.  'I want
you!' Afra gently disengaged her, his hands wrapped around her tiny
waist, holding her from him so that he could keep eye-contact as well
as reinforce his words through touch.  'Damia, you need to go on this
trip,' he said in his gentlest, most persuasive tone.  'Your
grandmother has made such special arrangements for you.' He ignored her
pout.  'You'll have cousins your own age.  . . cousins who'll include
you in all their games.  Indeed, knowing you, you'll probably be
leader.' 'I would?' Damia was captivated by that prospect.  Being
youngest, she wasn't allowed to lead anything here.
     'You'll have a whole planet to play on, not a bunch of domes that
restrict you to one measly play area and dank tunnels.' 'But I like the
tunnels 'That's only because you haven't seen the wonders of a planet
that your Uncle Ian-' 'Uncle?' She wrinkled her nose in perplexity.
     'Your Uncle Ian.  He's seven.' 'He's not my age then.  He's older
than Jeran.' She frowned suspiciously at him.  'Who's my age?' Afra
laughed because he hadn't enquired about such details.  'Well, there're
so many I quite forget who's who and how old but your grandmother will
introduce you.
     She's waiting for you, you know, on Deneb.  Where your father
lived as a child.' 'I'm staying here,' Damia declared stoutly, crossing
her arms over her chest in bold emphasis.
     'Which toys do you want to bring?' Afra asked, looking around at
the pile.
     'Why can't I stay here?' Afra considered his next argument.
     'Well, you know that your mother's not well?' When Damia nodded,
her little face assuming a solemn expression, he went on, 'It's because
of your brother to be.' 'I'm going to have a brother?' Damia brightened
considerably.
     Afra nodded wisely.  'Don't tell your mother I said so, but yes.'
'Will he play with me?' 'I imagine so,' Afra returned.  'Are you going
to be nice to him?' Damia did not commit herself immediately.  'Will he
play with me like Jeran plays with Cera?' 'That depends on you,' Afra
replied, giving her a quizzical look.  'If you love him like Jeran
loves Cera then he'll play with you the same way.
     'I'll love him!' Damia declared excitedly.  'When am I going to
see him?' 'Well, he hasn't been born yet-' 'You mean he's in Mommy's
belly?' Afra nodded.  'And she's got to get him out?' Afra nodded
again.  'Is that why we're going to Gran?' Again Afra nodded.  'Then
why didn't you say so?' Afra, who had already had experience with her
precocity, wondered why he had tried the oblique approach with her.
     'We started to play a game of stations, remember?' he said,
teasingly.  'Let's gather your toys.
     'Don't my cousins have toys?' 'Yes, but surely you'll want to
share yours with them?' 'I guess so, if they're going to play with me,'
Damia replied cheerfully.
     Damia's mood changed perceptibly when it was time to strap down in
the personal capsule.  'I don't want to go by myself,' she cried to
Afra.  Jeff Raven, lips drawn thin in tight control, stood close by.
     'Daddy, make Afra come with me?' 'No, honey,' Afra told her.
     'I've got to stay here with your mother.' He picked her up and set
her beside her brother and sister, strapping her in against her
squirming.
     'I don't want to go!' she declared.
     What about your brother?  Afra asked her privately.
     Don't want a brother!  I want you!  She shot back so strongly that
Afra was startled by her vehemence.
     The 'noise' attracted the Rowan who 'ported in the direction of
her daughter's 'voice' Damia?  What's wrong?  What's going on here?'
she demanded.  Her eyes widened as she took in the tableau.
     'Jeff!  Not yet!  It's too soon!' 'Luv, you should be resting.'
'You weren't going to let me say goodbye?' the Rowan cried.
     Jeff took her hands in his, shaking his head.  'You're not saying
goodbye.  You're saying bon voyage.  The children will only be in
Deneb.  You can hear them no problem.' 'Jeff!' she started, accusingly.
     She saw Afra.  'You!
     You're in it too!' 'Rowan-' Afra started, stepping towards her,
arm outstretched beseechingly.
     'No!' 'Mommee!' Damia cried, struggling against her straps.
     'Oh Jeff, how could you?' the Rowan gasped.
     And then Damia disappeared out of her straps and into Afra's arms.
     The Rowan's eyes widened in shock as she saw her youngest
disappear, then her jaw dropped as she saw where she reappeared.  She
turned to Jeff, hurt amazement on her face.
     'She's got the hang of it, hasn't she?' Jeff told her quietly.
     'What if she were to jump into the vacuum?' The Rowan blinked,
wetted her lips and looked back to her daughter, speechless.
     Say goodbye to your mother, Damia, Afra said on the tightest
mental band he could exercise, and with such authority that he felt her
objections melting in the absence of any option.  He took her to her
parents.
     And my brother?  Damia begged in what Afra knew was a last ditch
delaying tactic.
     Very quietly, he said, without letting up on his authority.
     Damia stretched from his arms to wrap her own around her mother's
neck.  'I'll be good, Mommy,' she promised, planting a pair of wet lips
firmly on her mother's cheek.
     'For my brother.' The Rowan hugged her back, suppressing the agony
of separation.  Any weakness on her part would undo all the preparation
Afra had managed.  'I'm only just a thought away, Damia dear.' 'Even in
the Tower?' Damia asked anxiously.
     The Rowan closed her eyes briefly against that soft query.
     'I promise, darling, that while you're away - and, if you're a
good girl - you can even speak to me in the Tower.' 'Oh!' Damia's voice
was charged with relief and she smiled broadly.  'Daddy, too?' 'If you
remember that we might be too busy to talk long,' Jeff said, holding up
a warning finger.
     'Afra?' 'Well, minxlette, I'm not as good at long distance as your
parents are, but I'll listen real hard.' 'I'll call real big.' Then she
squirmed to be released from Afra's restraint.
     He sensed what she wanted to do and let her down.  She put her
hands on her mother's abdomen and said with an amazingly narrow shaft
of thought, I'll be the best sister anyone's ever had.  Her face
radiated a contentment that he had never seen on her face since her
baby days.
     To his intense surprise, Afra became aware that neither the Rowan
nor Jeff had heard Damia's promise.  He was more relieved than ever
that she'd be away from the hazards of a domed station.
     'Now,' he said, taking charge of matters again, 'let's just get
you settled,' and he picked her up and started to settle her back into
the capsule.
     'When can we go?' Jeran demanded with a flavour of impatience for
all this delay Cera glared briefly at Damia.
     'As soon as I'm feeling better, your father and I will come visit
. . .' the Rowan began, speaking to forestall tears, so she was
grateful for the suggestion Afra 'pathed to her, ' .  . . and see you
being the leader of all your new friends ' But she fully intended to
tell him just what she thought of his part in this hasty exile of her
children.
     'Will you visit me too, Afra?' Damia demanded.
     'Of course,' he replied, 'we're to play stations, aren't we?' As
the capsule closed, her submission vanished.  'No!
     NO!' she shrieked, voice muffled inside the capsule.
     Damia!  Jeff had been ready for such a reverse and he clamped such
a hold on her mind that she was rendered powerless.
     Afra!  Afra!  I want to stay!  Please?  I'll be good.
     Ready the generators, Jeff ordered the Tower personnel.
     Afra?
     The generators rose in pitch.
     Be good now, sweetheart!  Afra felt her fear, like an icicle
against his heart but he firmed his mind against her plea, trying to
deny how treacherous she must perceive him.
     Aaaffffrrra!  The squeal of the generators rose to a crescendo.
     The capsule disappeared.  The generators wound back down.
     They're here!  the distant voice of Isthia informed them calmly.
     My, can she scream!
     Afra let out a long-held breath in a ragged sigh.
     The Rowan threw herself into Jeff's arms, weeping bitterly.  'I
feel the most complete traitor,' she cried.
     'You're not the only one,' Jeff replied, noticing the haggard look
on Afra's face.  'But we had to.  You know that.' 'I do, but oh, Jeff!'
Suddenly the Rowan looked up, her expression radiant, despite the tear
stains.  'I can hear her!
     I can still hear her!' Afra turned away.  'I can't!' And he
'ported himself back to his resoundingly lonely quarters, hearing
Damia' s prattle echoing from every corner.
     It had taken Deneb seven years to recover from the Beetle attack.
     City was a thriving centre for the whole planet which now had two
other metropolises: Riverside and Whitecliff.  Both were seaports
located close to extensive mining operations on the other continents.
     Roads were still mostly the illusion of roads elsewhere in the
Nine Star League, but sea-going vessels plied a great trade on the high
seas and railroads connected smaller villages along the coastline to
the larger cities.
     Deneb's Tower was located at the same site the Rowan had renovated
so many years ago and it was near here that Isthia and the Raven clan
had their town dwelling.
     This was built around the original smaller house that had
partially survived the Beetle bombardment.  Wings had been added on as
the Raven clan grew and expanded.  These now enclosed a large central
garden, perfect for a play area.
     The dwelling was on a large parcel of land, with hills rising
through forest to one side, farm land and barns on another two and the
City skyline visible in the distance.
     Many lessons had been learned since the Expansion from Earth.
     Denebians, indeed all colonists, had a greater feel of husbandry
for the land than had early Earth dwellers.
     Forests had been marked off as reserves for oxygen generation,
mines were always tunnelled when bacteria leeching techniques were not
viable, and, most importantly, the clean quiet flitter for medium and
long distances had replaced noxious internal combustion-powered,
wheeled vehicles.  Shorter trips made use of small, sturdy and
tractable ponies who thrived on the rough grazing and wandered
unchecked in small herds.
     Deneb, and all colony worlds, started life indebted for the large
cost of the initial colonization of the planet.  As such, all colony
worlds sought rapidly to provide export goods while at the same time
limiting imports to the bare essentials.  The best export items were
those that commanded the greatest prices for the least effort to ship.
     Rare or high quality finished goods, objects d'art, music,
literature all fitted the category perfectly.  Knowledge and useful new
engineering techniques, patentable to the planet of origin, were even
more exportable but much rarer - the great engineering solution of one
planet was often inapplicable on another.  Raw materials, valuable but
bulky, were a poor last choice of a cash-starved colony.
     Talent, particularly those rare people who could hurl objects
through the depths of space instantaneously, was the greatest boon to a
colony's cash flow.  Talent was in short supply everywhere and in every
kind, from the metal finder who could locate high grade ore precisely
and perform remote assays which would cost a regular crew millions of
credits and years of time in scant seconds, to the electronic
specialist who could detect faults in circuitry by its 'feel' The Raven
clan had produced a number of such Talents but, until the Penetration
had tapped these hidden resources, such natural abilities had gone
relatively untrained.  The Rowan had identified some useful faculties
besides the medical Talents of Asaph and Isthia's sister, Rakella, when
she'd had to rebuild the Tower in the days after Jeff's accident.
     Sarjie had a metal affinity which she now used in the rich
Benevolent Mines that supplied much of Deneb's cash balance.  Morfanu
had been struggling to manage kinetic Talent and had been tested as a
T-3.  He now handled most of the FT&T transfers to the planet, though
he needed assistance.
     Besseva was telepathic but her range was limited.
     Of the untrained Talent of Deneb, Isthia Raven was the strongest
but she knew herself that she dabbled in too many things to perfect
one.  So, to bring her grandchildren here in the safest possible
fashion, she had assembled everyone on Deneb known to be Talented.
     She'd hovered so closely in Morfanu's mind when he 'caught' the
capsule from Callisto, that he'd had to kick her shins to divert her.
     It took no Talent at all to hear Damia bawling or the fierce
remonstrations of her brother and sister.
     'Why are you crying?  You're perfectly safe!  And it's your fault
Mother and Father sent us away!' irs NOT!  IT'S NOT!  Damia was as loud
mentally as physically.
     No, it's not, Grandson Jeran.  I, your grandmother, specifically
invited Damia, and you and your sister, to come live with me on Deneb.
     To Isthia's relief, Damia's bowling abated.
     I had to argue long and hard with your parents to allow this
visit.  Now, are we going to start off on the right foot by being
pleasant, or do I send away the ponies I brought for you to ride home
on?
     Ponies?  Damia asked, now merely sniffling.
     Ponies?  And Cera showed a glimmer of interest.  What kind of
ponies?  The kind Damia's always playing with?  Her tone was scornful
as well as sceptical and her sudden very private aside to her brother
on this matter caused Isthia some concern.  That bond she and Afra had
initiated was far stronger than she'd been given to understand.
     Why don't you all put on your best faces and party manners, and
we'll see, shall we?  Damia?  I've told everyone about you and how
wonderfully well-mannered you all are.  Don't disappoint me.  Isthia
employed the same positive tone she had always found useful in dealing
with her dozen children.
     These three, after all, were also Ravens.  Are you ready?
     She motioned for her son, Ian, to stand beside her.  He'd been
jiggling with impatience to see his nieces and nephew.
     Being the youngest in his family, he envisioned the fun he'd i86
     have bossing someone around the way his older siblings had bossed
him.
     The capsule split, the top rising upwards to reveal the inside.
     Isthia was relieved to see that, while not beaming, Damia was
attempting to smile around her wide-eyed curiosity.
     'Welcome to Deneb,' Ian piped up on cue, he looked to each one in
turn, 'Jeran, Cera, Damia.  I'm Ian, your uncle.' He did not giggle but
his eyes were bright with suppressed laughter.  He swept an arm back to
his mother in continuation of his carefully rehearsed greeting.  'And
that's Morfanu who 'ported you here, and your Great Aunt Rakella, and-'
'Ponies?' Cera said, looking accusingly at Isthia, 'you promised ponies
'We did, didn't we?' Isthia said mildly when Ian looked at her for
guidance.  He hadn't introduced half those he was supposed to.  'As
promised, ponies,' and she nodded to Ian.
     Grinning from ear to ear because he could get to show off so soon,
Ian 'called' the ponies from where they browsed on the grass growing
among the cradles.  Obedient to the summons, they trotted to him while
the children, still in the capsule, stared with wide open mouths and
eyes at the little troop.
     Damia was out of the capsule like a shot, Jeran and Cera not a
split second behind her.  But Damia stopped just short of the first
pony, taking in his flaxen mane and tail which Ian had plaited that
morning, the darker 'beer' of his hide, his dainty hooves, his bright
black eyes, alert with interest.
     'Just hold out your hand - flat so Jupiter can't catch your
fingers - and let him sniff you,' Ian instructed.
     'What's this one's name?' Cera asked, already holding her hand out
to the lighter-coloured mare nearest her.
     'And this one?' Jeran asked, wanting his answer from Ian before
Cera had hers.
     'The mare is Birdie, Cera, and, Jeran, your gelding is Cricket,'
Ian said, genuinely enjoying his role.
     If Afra had been told about the ponies, Jeff, Isthia remarked to
her son later that night when her grandchildren had finally been put to
bed, there'd've been no fits on leaving.
     I forgot you still had to use those wretched beasts, Jeff said
ruefully for he had stopped riding the moment he had learned how to
teleport accurately.  Afra will be immensely relieved.  He was talking
about sending out a Coonie or two to keep her from being too lonely.
     Thank you, no.  There's enough livestock to be cared for about the
place.  As it is, it took a lot of persuasion to get Damia to sleep in
her bed instead of out in the paddock with Jupiter.
     Jeff chuckled.  Jupiter?
     Yes, Damia was so pleased by that.  She has a remarkable
appreciation of her environment, doesn't she?  Anyway, reassure
Angharad that all's well.
     I will, but I may not mention that she's been displaced by
runty-legged manure-makers.
     The Rowan knew that the children had arrived safely and were
settling in but she'd given himself and Afra such a bollocking for the
way they had practically abducted her children that he decided not to
risk another storm.
     She was resting now, more deeply than she had in many months.
     That was something he wouldn't mention though he was intensely
glad to see how effective the lifting of her maternal burden had been.
     Those run legged manure makers are the best possible antidote for
unsealed kids.  Damia had firm control over Jupe in about five minutes.
     Cera wasn't all that pleased with the effect of a long ride on her
tender behind but Besseva slathered her with an appropriate salve.
     Jeran's being pompous.  He's so much like your father at moments!
     Jeff chuckled because he knew exactly what his mother meant.  Then
I shall expect to see him much improved when we get a chance to visit.
     Ah, about that!  Leave it a while.  Angharad really oughtn't to
travel - too much stress.  And let the children settle in completely.
     Rhodri and Ian took half a dozen tapes which I'll get Morfanu to
zip off to you.  That should reassure you both.
     I am, I am, Mother, and can't thank you enough for pitching in
like this.
     Oh, I had my reasons.
     But when Jeff probed to find out what they were, Isthia refused to
admit him.
     Besseva, noting Isthia's smug grin, raised her eyebrows
enquiringly.
     'I've reassured the doting papa that his little ones are safely
asleep in their cots,' Isthia said and resumed her smile slightly.
     'We're going to have to watch that youngest one,' Besseva said.
     'Oooh, but she's powerful.' 'Hmmm, yes.
     'But really, Isthia, aren't they a bit young?' 'Not at all,'
Isthia replied stoutly.  'They'll have fewer inhibitions.' 'And get
into more trouble, too.
     'Besseva, we've got to develop our own Talents, and that requires
Talent.  One blind man can't lead another effectively.' 'But they're
children!' Besseva's voice rose slightly in protest and Isthia,
mentally and physically, shushed her.
     Ian was working in the corner, giving his niece's saddle a good
soaping to soften the leather.
     'And a little child shall lead them,' Isthia said, her eyes
sparkling.
     'You are the absolute end, Isthia Raven.
     'On the contrary, I'm the beginning,' Isthia replied.
     'And, if I'm going on as I mean for them to begin, I'm going to
need a good night's sleep.' She gave a gusty sigh.
     'Why do children have the reserves of energy people my age so
desperately need?' 'Huh!' Besseva said in contradiction to that
complaint.
     Lying in a new bed into which she had been tucked by her
fascinating grandmother, Damia was still reviewing all the wonderful
things that had happened since the capsule had opened.  Being on Deneb
was much better than hearing Daddy talk about it.  And why hadn't he
ever mentioned that Deneb had ponies?  She sighed and, to make sure he
was all right, she 'reached' to touch Jupiter.  He'd stopped eating and
was idly flicking his tail, as much to discourage the minute
nightfliers from settling on Birdie's head as to keep them off himself.
     His mind was drowsy with sleep.
     Just like Rascal's when he was curled up on her bed.  Was Rascal
missing her?  Damia wondered.  He'd have no-one to sleep with.  A sad
feeling made her throat constrict.  Poor Rascal!  Maybe, just tonight,
Daddy would let him sleep on the foot of their bed.  She loved having a
pony but a pony couldn't sleep at the foot of her bed and she missed
the comforting presence.
     'Mrrow?' came a plaintive call from outside her door.
     Damia had been given a proper bed without railings.
     She crawled out from under the covers and opened her door.
     'Mrrr?' 'Who are you?' Damia called sleepily.  A large orange and
white cat marched into the room, rubbing himself against her leg.  'Oh,
you're beautiful.' Though the animal was as tall as her waist, Damia
hoisted him into her arms, once again exerting kinetic energy without
realizing what she'd done in her wish to do what she needed.  'There,'
she said, '9' glared ferociously at Damia so that she knew she'd suffer
his retribution, too, if she tried any of her tricks.
     Damia was far too entranced with her new friends to think of any
'tricks'.  She listened, very carefully, to the instructions Linna
Maybrick gave the class - hearing it on two levels - and sometimes
puzzling at the contradictions.
     But when she saw the others obeying what was said aloud, she
followed their example.
     At the morning break, she let Jorg lead the way to the playground
where the four tablemates played together, climbing all over the
'mountain' and down into the 'tunnels' and swinging over the rivers'
and revelling in noise and happy dirtinesses, for the play area was
dirty and full of shavings.
     Linna Maybrick, their teacher, watched carefully from the doorway.
     Alla climbed to the top of the 'mountain' and hesitated for a
moment at the top of the slide down for it was, for a child, a huge
drop.  One of the more aggressive older boys was behind her and he lost
patience, giving her a push on her way.  His thrust was off-centered
and caught Alla just as she was bent to sit on the slide.  Thrown
off-balance, she teetered to one side, a two-metre free-fall to the
playground below.
     Alla screamed.  Damia, who had been waiting at the bottom, gave a
horrified shout, then 'concentrated'.  Linna, who had started running
the moment she saw the boy shove Alla, came to an abrupt halt as the
little girl bounced gently on to the hard ground.  Damia rushed over to
her friend and helped her up.
     'Are you OK?' Alla nodded shakenly.  'I got pushed.' Then she
cocked her head.  'Did you do that?' Damia turned suddenly shy.  If she
admitted to doing any 'tricks' she wouldn't be able to ride Jupe.  'Do
what?' she asked ingenuously.
     Alla narrowed her eyes at Damia.  'Well, someone did something.
     Jorg, who had watched the whole incident wide-eyed, looked at
Damia critically.  'You're not from here.' 'I am, too.  I live with my
grandmother and my uncle.' She pointed towards Ian who was playing with
older boys on an adjacent field.  Jorg peered in the direction but his
eyes were suspicious when he turned back to her.
     'I know about the Ravens.  My dad says they're all FT&T freaks.'
Damia didn't know the word 'freak' but she did know FT&T.  Everyone she
knew worked for FT&T and were proud of it.
     'Why, thank you very much,' Damia said while Alla gawked at her in
stunned surprise.
     So did Jorg, having anticipated a far different response to the
insult.
     'But you're a freak!' he shouted and she picked up on the
pejorative this time.
     'There's no need to shout,' Damia said, dismally aware that the
three of them were suddenly the centre of attention.
     Abruptly Jeran and Cera made their way through the tight knot of
children.
     'Who called my sister a freak?' Jeran demanded, fists clenched at
the ready.  Beside him, Cera assumed a similar stance.  Jorg nervously
retreated.
     'Actually, he said I was an FT&T freak, Jeran,' Damia replied,
worried lest her brother realize she'd done something that could be
accounted a 'trick' even if it had saved Alla from injury.
     Jeran frowned intently at his sister for a moment and then,
bracing himself again, unerringly settled on Jorg as the culprit.  But
the recess bell sounded and Jorg was the first one into the school.
     Back in class, Jorg quickly spread the rumour that Damia was a
freak.  She felt miserable, especially as Alla wouldn't even look
across the table at her.  On the other side, Jenifer's grin turned
slightly malicious and she kept staring at Damia.
     When Isthia collected her after school, she naturally asked how
Damia had liked her first day at school, and was taken aback by the
fierce answer.
     'I hate it.  I'm not going back.' On the flitter ride to the Raven
compound, Isthia deftly drew out the reason for Damia's discontent.
     She was both saddened and angered that her grandchild had had such
an unfortunate encounter on her very first day.
     'Jorg is wrong.  You are not a freak,' Isthia assured her, 'even
an FT&T freak.  And you were very quick about saving your friend from
injury.' 'She's scared of me now and Jenifer just stares at me,
grinning!' 'Stare back at her and I'd suggest you give Alla a little
time to get over being rescued.  She must have been surprised to bounce
on the ground when she expected to crash.' Damia considered that.
     'Yes, I guess she was more surprised than anything else.  Least
she wasn't hurt.' Isthia ruffled her hair affectionately.  'That's
right.' Damia regarded her grandmother solemnly.  'Then rescuing Alla
isn't a real trick and I can still ride Jupiter?' The incident, as
embellished by Jorg, set Damia apart from the others and while in time
even Jorg was glad of her unprejudiced use of Talent to protect her
playmates from the worst ravages of the playground, Alla was willing
only to be her acquaintance.  The lack of a close friend disturbed
Damia and worried Isthia.  To compensate, the youngster would often
accept greater challenges in school and, at home, would often take off
on Jupiter for lengthy adventures.
     I fear she is a solitary soul, Isthia remarked in a conversation
with her parents.
     That's not a Raven trait!  Jeff, who had always had a pack of boys
to lead on excursions, replied.
     No, its more apt to be a Greyn trait, I'm afraid, the Rowan said
bitterly.  I thought that it was just being Ward of the Planet and
having much older foster siblings, but perhaps it is a personality
thing.
     You bestow your affections frugally, Angharad dear, Isthia said
gently, but where you do you are selfless.
     But I was so lonely!  the Rowan cried.  I didn't want Damia to be
lonely, too.
     It may be in Damia's nature to be solitary, Isthia replied.
     But she's not lonely.  There's Jupiter to ride about on, most of
the workdogs when they're free, and Marmalade on her bed at night.
     She's not lonely.  She does have companions at school even ,f she
hasn't established a true-blue friendship.  That'll probably take a
little more time.
     Well, maybe she'll be happier for a brother.
     How are you feeling?  Isthia asked hopefully.
     The Rowan responded with a mental sigh.  Jeff added, She hates to
admit it but she's been doing much better since the children left.
     Isthia could feel the mental nuzzle Jeff sent to his love.  She
can concentrate on growing this new one, can't you, luv?
     I should be able to manage as much as you did, Isthia!  the Rowan
complained guiltily Ah, yes, but I was not running a power Tower nor
was my husband absent all day long on another world.  Then again, as
soon as my el&st was able, I had him minding babies.  Your Jeran's a
solidly responsible boy, Angharad, and I love him dearly but he's not
quite ready to baby-sit Dam:a.
     The Rowan chuckled at the thought of the self-contained Jeran
trying to handle his wild-mooded sister.  Well, maybe he'll be able to
sit for this one.
     Damia awoke with a gasp.  Someone was crying.  Someone felt bad.
     Instinctively, with a sense of compassion which was fundamental to
her nature, Damia reached out to calm the person.  Her mental 'hand'
stretched far, farther than she actively remembered.  Whoever was
crying was upset because it was cold and wet and had been warm just a
few moments ago.  Something rough was rubbing against it.
     It's a towel!  Damia exclaimed as she identified it.  It's all
right, you'll be warm and dry in a moment!
     The someone was awestruck.
     It's all right, Damia repeated soothingly.  You'll be all right
now.
     The someone was calmed, felt sleepy.  Warm and sleepy.
     Damia continued to send soothing thoughts, herself growing drowsy
in her efforts to send the other to sleep.
     She yawned, turned over and drifted off.
     'I've never seen anything like it!' Elizara exclaimed to Jeff
Raven as they took a late celebratory libation, 'That child was all set
to cry his lungs out and then-' Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.  'Did
you do anything?' 'Me?  No,' Jeff replied, confused.  'I had thought it
was you.  It certainly wasn't the Rowan.' 'No!' Elizara agreed.  'Not
under anaesthetic.' 'Will it take her long to recover from the
Caesarean?' Jeff asked, the thoughts turning from his newest son to his
greatest love.
     Elizara shook her head, grinning.  'This isn't Deneb where some of
your obstetrics are still pretty archaic.
     Microlaser surgery heals seamless.  She'll be fine in three to
four days.' She raised a cautioning hand.  'But it will be months
before the abdominal muscles recover from the intrusion.' 'So if it
wasn't you, it wasn't me and not the Rowan, who?' Jeff, reassured,
returned to the original topic.
     'Afra?' Elizara shook her head.  'It was a female touch.
     'Then it was Damia!' Jeff announced firmly.  'That little minx!'
'Really, doting Daddy,' Elizara said in one of her rare moments of
mischief, 'isn't that a long way for such a young child?' Jeff shook
his head slowly, his smile rueful.  'I don't think any place is a long
way where Damia's emotions are concerned.' For the first few months of
young Larak's life, both his mother and father 'felt' his sister touch
his mind, causing him to smile.
     'Has to be wind,' Brian replied sceptically when the Rowan
remarked on her daughter's range.
     Afra would smile.  'She promised she'd be the best sister ever.
     'It's not as if he has much conversation, Afra,' Brian protested.
     'Ah, the heart needs no words,' Afra replied and, with a totally
uncharacteristically dramatic gesture, placed his hand on his heart.
     Then he picked up the colourful origami birds he was arranging as
a mobile for Larak and, with delicate movements, tied them to the
string harness.
     Brian shot the Rowan a puzzled look before he left the Tower.
     However, at some point in Larak's first year, Damia found out that
Alla loved ponies as much as she did, and the two became inseparable.
     The incidence of contact diminished slightly but occasionally, and
for no apparent reason, Larak would giggle.  His laughter was so
infectious that he could set off anyone else in the house.  But every
time his parents, or Tanya or Afra, tried to explain these bursts of
hilarity, they found nothing, not even Rascal, to account for them.
     'Damia checking in,' became the standard explanation.
     'A merry child,' his mother said, 'is a double delight.' Afra
forebore to mention that Damia had been a merry child, too.  But he did
not object to merry Larak and he had become adjusted to the lack of
Damia in his life.
     'He's here!' Damia cried excitedly, turning to her teacher 'My
brother's here!' 'Shush, Damia,' the teacher scolded, for the girl was
old enough to respect classroom manners.  'Continue with your studies.
     You can see him after school.' Damia fidgeted her way through
school and burst out to the waiting area.  Rakella was there.
     'Isthia sent me,' she said, grinning at Damia's radiating
excitement.  All the girl knew was that she would be seeing her beloved
brother.  Today, even Jupiter was cast in shadow.  Damia hopped into
the flitter, practically 'pushing' Rakella to exceed the speed limits
in the built-up area.  She bubbled all the way back to the Raven
compound and burst out of the flitter almost before Rakella had set it
safely on the ground.
     'Where is he?' she called excitedly, but unerringly she headed
toward the kitchen, slamming open the door.  She stood there a moment.
     'Larak!' What young Larak saw was a slender figure a head taller
than himself with sparkly blue eyes and long black hair.
     What Damia saw was a splendid dark-haired brother.  She held out a
hand entreatingly, sensing his sudden shyness.
     Cautiously, the toddler took it.
     'Now that you're here, c'mon!' Damia cried.  'I've so much to show
you and tell you - She started for the back door, all but dragging him
after her.
     'He's only a baby,' Isthia began, laughing at Damia' 5
     single-mindedness but the girl's enthusiasm was contagious and
Larak didn't so much as hesitate a step.
     He happily followed his magical sister.  'Oh, let them go!' Isthia
said when someone moved as if to stop her.
     'She'll take good care of him.  It's what she's waited for for so
long, isn't it?' 'All I can say is, thank goodness Jupiter's too placid
to buck any more.' Damia had planned for Larak to meet Jupiter first
but they were halfway to the paddock when she began to feel a
reluctance, a hanging back on her little brother's part.
     Looking anxiously over her shoulder, she saw him staring wide-eyed
at the wide-spreading branches of the nearest tree.  He certainly
hadn't seen the ponies sheltering under it.  Damia was utterly charmed
by his reaction.  What fun it was going to be to show her little
brother everything she knew and loved about Deneb.  She looked down at
him.
     'That's a good tree, isn't it, Larak?  Bigger'n anything in the
park at Callisto.' "Listo?' Larak asked, his expression dissolving into
worry.
     'Who needs 'Listo when they're on Deneb,' Damia said, quite
forgetting her own recalcitrance, but she had imbued her reply with
such enthusiasm that her brother's face altered to a happier mode,
though he kept staring up at the tree.  Abruptly, her original plan to
introduce him immediately to Jupiter underwent a selfless change.
     'D'you wanna know something, Larak,' she whispered
conspiratorially to him, 'I've got a special spot right at the top.
     Wanna see?' Big-eyed, Larak could not find a voice to speak and
mutely nodded.
     'Come on!' Damia replied, waving an arm.  She was up three
branches before she looked back and saw Larak standing still on the
ground, looking up at her with a puzzled expression.
     'Ooops, sorry!' Damia clambered back down, lifted him up to the
first branch, pushing on his bum until he was firmly perched on it and
then scrambled up beside him.
     'You've never done this before, have you?' Larak shook his head.
     'Uhuh, 'Mia.' Damia giggled.  'Damia, not 'Mia.  Try it.' Larak
worked his tongue but only got out: "Mia' again.  Damia shrugged it
off.  'You can try again later.
     Let's climb!' It was quickly apparent to her that his legs did not
have the length of hers and, while the branches of the tree shot out of
the trunk at steppable intervals, her small brother would have trouble
continuing.  So, since they were high enough up in the tree not to be
visible to anyone, she 'lifted' them both to the top to her special
spot, just where the branches narrowed to diameters that would not
support even her slight weight.  Then she parted the branches to give
her brother the full view of the realm they surveyed.
     Pointing out features - where Alla lived, where she had found a
brookside cave she'd show him in the morning, the Tower which was
conspicuous on the horizon, the smudge of the City - she finally ran
out of breath and looked at him hopefully.
     'Isn't Deneb great?' Larak gave her an adoring look.  'Great !' He
managed the 't' as a separate syllable and grinned at his success.
     I love you, Damia sent shyly in the quiet 'voice' she had
addressed him in for the past year.
     Larak's eyes widened, first in fright then in recognition.
     His face burst into a beaming smile.  Love you, Damia!
        'They're inseparable!' Linna complained.  'She cries and he
just sits there, weeping silently.  Which frankly I find harder to
endure than her bowling.  Put them together and they're sweetness and
light.
     'Didn't we 'go through the same thing with Cera and Jeran?' Isthia
asked the concerned teacher.
     Linna nodded.  'Yes, we did but the solution was to hold Jeran up
a bit for Cera to catch up.  But that won't work with Damia and Larak.
     She's too smart to be held back - she really should be encouraged
to go forward at her own speed.' 'Is Larak bright enough to catch up?'
'He's bright but, really Isthia, it would be most unwise to force his
pace to accommodate her.  That sort of individualized instruction
simply isn't possible in a classroom environment !' 'Not in a classroom
environment, eh?' Isthia repeated thoughtfully.
     'Isthia Raven, what are you thinking of?' Linna demanded in her
best teacher's voice.
     Isthia was impervious since she'd taught Linna the trick.
     'And you do agree that there are now twelve other youngsters in
this school district that have Talented leanings?' Linna didn't quite
grimace, and her sniff wasn't exactly disapproving, but her eyes were
sad.  'The freaks.' 'FT&T freaks,' Isthia corrected her.
     'Where do children learn such words?' 'I'm sure I don't really
need to tell you that, Linna, but I am thinking that it's about time we
let our freaks get what they deserve here on Deneb.' 'Not that special
school you've been trying to wrest out of the Education Committee?'
'Don't you agree it's needed?' Isthia retorted.  'The Education
Committee's not the only one to complain about lack of funds but they
sure tie the purse strings when I advance the notion that a little
expenditure now on proper training and we'd have marketable assets to
improve our economy.
     'Our economy?' Linna echoed weakly.  'What about our sanity?'
'Linna Maybrick, are you trying to tell me that Talented children are
more difficult to teach than regular children?' 'Oh cripes, no!
     Children are impossible without exception,' Linna responded
emphatically.  'But how will you get permission?  And the specialized
teachers?' Isthia cleared her throat.  'Each one, teach one,' she said
cryptically, and bent a fond eye on Damia who was patiently showing her
small brother how to hold a crayon.
     Linna never did hear how Isthia got round the objections of the
Education Committee but somehow the Council found enough money to pay
the salary of a T-4 teacher whom Earth Prime had located for them, and
Isthia Raven agreed to underwrite his living accommodation.  'So we
saved a little on salary,' Isthia told her sons and daughters.  She
also reorganized living space in the Raven compound to house the
Denebian Special School for the Talented until the construction of the
permanent facility in five years' time, at which point the Education
Committee should have the funds to build it.  'I had to compromise,'
Isthia Raven said when Jeff and the Rowan came to visit their children,
'but it could be worse.' Jeff rather thought she got what she deserved.
     'You said "If you want it done right, do it yourself!"  once too
often, Mother!' The school was understaffed, the new teacher overworked
but Isthia worked as hard as he did.  'And learned more, she said.  'I
just wish I had had the opportunity I'm providing my grandchildren.'
Damia loved it because it meant that she and Larak could share classes.
     In fact, she had to teach him several subjects, including
mathematics.
     She got to be quite good at mathematics herself from such
exercise.
     Larak was not her only pupil, nor were only Talented children
entered in the school but Isthia chose a careful mix from families
whose views did not run to 'freaks' or fear of Talent.  Children from
Larak's age to sixteen, who would be physically and mentally challenged
by the opportunity of 'unstructured' classes were asked to enrol.
     So Damia found herself learning to control her temper at the
difficulty some older students had in learning what she had to teach
and her jealousy at younger students who stamped their feet at her
'slow' pace.
     It was the sort of school only a gifted computer could plan for:
with students and classes to mix and match in such complex calculations
that it yielded a doctorate for the T-4 in record time.  Physical
therapy and physical exercise, mental therapy and mental calisthenics
all vied with the more regular curricula of other schools.
     Damia learned quickly the fallacy of judging a person on the
colour of skin, the condition of body or the attractiveness of face.
     She also learned, just as quickly, the art of moving cargo
containers, juggling bricks and reading waybills, much to the amazement
of her teachers.
     Cooperation was a primary requirement for all Talented people:
civil discord was something intolerable in one with Talent.
     Damia's favorite sport was team dodgeball.  It was played both
strictly with Talented children and with mixed groups of Talented and
non-Talented children.
     The rules were simple: if you were tagged by the ball, you were
out.  The object of team dodgeball was to have at least one team member
not tagged out at the end of the game.  The Talented members of the
team were permitted to 1) gain control of the ball by superior strength
of mind; 2) pull themselves or pull their teammates out of the way of
the ball.  There were, however, limits to a 'port: a Talent was not
allowed to lift a non-Talented teammate higher than three feet off the
ground, or more than two feet laterally, or outside the playing field.
     Games with only Talented players were brilliant displays of
unexpected lifts or the wild orbiting of the foam ball as players
jockeyed for its possession.  Games with mixed teams were perhaps less
showy but more fun for the non-Talented and exceedingly good exercise
for the gifted.  However, particularly in mixed dodgeball, score was
kept with one point for each team member still left when the other
teams were eliminated.  The size of the teams was arbitrary: some very
small teams won more regularly, even on points, than larger ones.
     There were two unbreakable rules in team dodgeball: no player
should be injured, and teams had to be evenly mixed boy-girl,
Talented-non-Talented.
     Damia grew closer and closer to her little brother, always
wanting, but never quite achieving, the amazing rapport which Jeran and
Cera shared.  She would brag immensely about their combined
capabilities and Jeran, who had grown rather less tolerant of his
youngest sister as he grew older, would always take special pains to
prove to her just how wrong she was.  By the time Damia was nine and
Larak nearly seven, the rivalry had grown to full scale war.
     'My little brother's better than your little sister!' Damia would
taunt Jeran, who, being older, would invariably agree: 'Yeah, Larak's
better than Damia any day!' To which Damia could only shriek with
anger.
     Jeran had just reached puberty and had started to notice girls in
a different light so having one so truculent was particularly annoying
to him.
     'Larak and I can beat any four of your friends!' Damia declared
one day 'Cannot!' Cera rejoined, coming to the defence of her adored
older brother.
     'Can too!
     'Prove it!' Cousin Channa challenged.
     Damia paused, not expecting this tack.  'All right, dodgeball.
     Who's your fourth?' Jeran's mouth fell.  He floundered for a
suitable way out of the challenge but Channa was Marci's best friend
and Jeran just had to make Marci notice him.  The trouble was that
Channa was not all that good in dodgeball, being only moderately
Talented and massively clumsy.  Worse, the obvious choice of partner
for Channa was Teval, her current male interest, and Teval was not only
not Talented but an incredibly gawky adolescent.
     'Fourth?' Jeran taunted.  'You said you could beat us all!' 'We
can!' Damia returned, chin jutting defiantly.  'All the cousins!' 'How
many teams?' Jeran demanded.
     'One team!' Larak put in.  And so the lines were drawn.
     The time was after school and the place was in the field beyond
the river boundary of the Raven compound.
     'It'll be a slaughter!' Teval declared from the sidelines.
     Not being a member of the Raven clan, he was excluded from the
tournament but invited by Channa who hoped to impress him with her
abilities.
     'I hope no-one gets hurt,' Marci Kelani, standing beside him, said
nervously.
     'No way.  Just little Damia's pride!- Teval chuckled.
     'The others are OK but she's a little busy britches.' She had
tutored him in language class the year before and he had failed to
respond to all her best efforts, refusing to learn from a 'little
girl'.  From the corner of her eyes, Marci gave him an appraising look
and, with a flick of her eyes heavenward, decided she did not like what
she saw in the boy.
     Out in the centre of the field, Jeran looked around at his team of
twenty-one cousins with concern.  Some of them were a bit too happy to
team up against Damia and Larak.  He swallowed nervously.  'Are you
sure you still want to do this?' Damia rose above the doubts she felt
because, absolutely, there was no way that she could salvage any pride
if she backed down in front of everyone.  Steadfastly she nodded her
head.  'We're sure.  Why?  Are you scared?' Jeran licked his lips but
shook his head.  'You can call quits any time.' He pulled out the
little foam ball.  As usual it had a dye bag inside it so that anyone
hit would be marked with a fluorescent orange dye that washed off.
     'Shall we flip for possession?' 'Smallest team always gets
possession!' Damia declared hotly and somewhat scornfully that her
brother's understanding of the rules was faulty.  Jeran let the ball
go, Damia 'caught' it and let it hover between them.  With a
contemptuous mental 'nudge' Damia burst the dye bag.  A splurt of dye
filled the air.
     'GET READY!' she yelled.  'On three!  One!  Two!
     Three!' Ready, Larak?  she shot at him.
     If the answering thought wobbled a bit, the boy's face was as
determined as hers.  Ready, Damia.
     The ball became a vibrating blur which flew in an intricate
pattern at the waiting throng of cousins.  Damia knocked out three with
the first pitch, then lost control for a moment as the remainder
reacted and wrested it from her grasp.  The bag came back firmly at her
but she 'ported out of its way and shifted her power to Larak who, to
the chagrin of the older players, looped it back around in a tight arc.
     Two more defenders were knocked out.
     'She's good,' Marci noted from the sidelines.  Alla, Damia's
friend, rode up on her brown pony.  The moment she pulled him up, he
dropped his head to graze.  'Is she all right?' she asked Marci.
     Teval snorted.  'Little brat!  They'll show her, that's for sure!'
But the cousins were faring badly: in two separate passes Damia and
Larak had managed to knock out two more, leaving only fourteen on the
opposite side.
     The cousins were forced to switch completely to the defensive,
hoping to tire the two youngest.  They didn't attempt to 'take' the
ball, only to dodge it without being blopped.  The tactic began to take
its toll for both Damia and Larak were soon panting and sweating
profusely in their efforts to keep the ball both in the air and
vibrating with the special effort that kept it out of the 'reach' of
the other cousins.
     Three more cousins were knocked out in the five minutes it finally
took for Larak and Damia to lose 'control' of the ball.  Heedless of
the danger, Larak dropped to the ground, panting.
     'Larak?' Damia called, turning to him.  She started towards him.
     'They're finished!' Teval cheered triumphantly from the sidelines.
     The ball, now in the hands of the remaining cousins, hurled
unerringly towards the prone form of the panting boy.  But the light
ball was thrust upwards and just over Larak.
     'Oh, good, Damia!  Good!' Alla cried from the sidelines.
     Damia took another step towards her little brother.
     'Come on, Larak,' she called encouragingly.  The others scooped
the ball back up from the dip it had taken after Damia had diverted it
and brought it back around in a circle.
     'I'm tired!' Larak gasped to his sister as she approached him.
     'Perfect, two targets together!' Teval chortled.
     Damia helped Larak up to his feet.  'Should we quit?' she asked
him.  Larak shook his head feebly, drawing away from her to stand on
his own feet.  Damia looked about her, saw the incoming ball and batted
it aside with a mental 'frick' 'Give up?' one of cousins called out
hoarsely.
     'No way!' Damia returned.  She zoomed the ball at the speaker.
     Either he didn't see it or he, too, was tired but the ball caught
him squarely in the chest.
     'This is going to go on for ever,' Marci moaned.
     'Why don't they quit?' She waved a hand at the remaining cousins.
     'Quit?  Against a little girl?' Teval sneered.  'They just need a
hand.' He picked up a small rock.
     'Teval, no!' Marci cried but the rock was launched right at
Larak's unprotected head.
     'Damia!' Alla screamed, throwing herself at Teval.
     Turning at Alla's shout, Damia saw the rock and flung herself at
Larak, arms outstretched.  She pushed him out of the way but the rock
caught her squarely at the base of the skull.  She fell silently to the
ground.  Spun about by the force of his sister's arms, Larak whipped
around and screamed when he saw her lying there, her head bleeding
profusely.  Damia!
     Jeran was running as fast as he could towards her when the dye
ball bit him.  It flicked past him and hit all the remaining cousins
with such blinding speed that no-one was spared.  Then it made a
spiralling loop before it slammed into the vengeful smile on Teval's
face.
        It was dark.  The air was bad.  Her head felt awful and They
were trying to get her.  Damia moaned silently as she struggled away
from the dark and back towards the light.  But They would not let her.
     They tried to keep her down.  They chittered at her, not like
Coonies, but like evil scraping claws on harsh metal.  They were after
her.
     They wanted revenge.  They tried to suck her out of her body,
tried to eat her soul.  Damia whimpered in fear, searching blindly for
something, someone.  There!  Far away, far, far away, like a beacon!  A
blip of light.  She lost sight of it, searched for it, drew it to her,
crawled towards it.  There!
     They were afraid of the light, it scared them.  If she could just
get to the light!  The light!  The soul-eaters would never get her if
she could just get to the light.  She cried to the lighthouse, cried to
the keeper.  The beacon flared, light streamed steadily towards her.
     She was getting nearer or had the lighthouse moved to her?  Damia
did not know, did not care.  The light bathed her, burnt the
soul-eaters and the lightkeeper soothed her with warm words and his
warm light.
     'Depressed skull fracture,' a voice mumbled in the distance.
     Damia ignored it, wanting to bat it away with her hands but she
was so weak, so weak from crawling.
     'Will she be all right?' a tenor voice asked worriedly.
     The lightkeeper!  She heard his voice!  She willed her lips to
form a smile.  See!  I've found the light, see?
     'Look!' It was another voice, one she felt she should know, a kind
voice.  'She's smiling!' The voice approached, beams of kindliness
washed over her.  'Oh, Damia, you're going to be all right!
     Sweetheart, you'll be all right!' The mumbler coughed.  'We'd
better let her rest.  I'll have the nurse look in on her later' 'I'm
staying here,' the lightkeeper responded sharply in tones that brooked
no argument.  A hand touched hers and she felt the warm yellow glow
light its way up her arm, fill her body and knew that the lightkeeper
had found her, had driven away the soul-eaters.  And she remembered
that the lightkeeper had a name.  Afra?
     I'm here, the lightkeeper whispered.  Rest, Damia.
     The hand let go and the darkness crept into the shadows of her
sight.  Afra!
     The hand grabbed her again, light flared and banished the
darkness.  I'm here, love!  Rest.  I'm here, there's nothing to worry
about.
     A smile formed on her lips and she rolled over, small soft tanned
paw still in Afra's warm rough green hand.
     'Afra!' It was dark, Damia awoke with a start.
     'Here.' Her hand was squeezed gently by his bigger one.
     'Rest.  It's night.' Damia went to sleep, secure in the soft
mental touch of the yellow-eyed Talent.
     The bright sun of morning woke her.  Damia turned in her bed,
scanned the room and was startled to find no-one there.  She
double-checked frantically.  When the door opened she nearly jumped
with fright.
     It was Isthia.  'Ah, you're awake!' 'Where's Afra?' 'He went
back.' Isthia caught her expression.  'He was burnt out, sweetie, and
desperate to give your mom the good news.' Damia started at Isthia's
choice of words: burnt out.
     'We've all been worried,' Isthia went on, not noticing her
granddaughter's reaction.  She shook her head.  'Your father and mother
were frantic.  They've been here but Afra stayed.  You seemed calmer
when he was in the room.' 'He had the light,' Damia murmured,
incredibly drowsy but she forced herself to get the words out.  'Can he
come back?  Would he come if you said I needed him?  He hasn't visited
Deneb but half a dozen times in all the years we've been here.' Isthia
clucked at her.  'Afra's been very good to come as often as he has,
Damia.  He has other friends to visit than young girls who make
impossible challenges.
     'Was not impossible!  Neither Larak nor I had been hit when Teval
threw that stone!' 'He's not likely to throw another,' Isthia said, her
expression grim.
     'Why, what did you do to him?' Damia asked with a certain
understandable vindictiveness in her voice.
     Isthia shrugged.  'I did nothing.  Didn't have to,' and she let a
smile twitch at her lips.  'I wouldn't have thought a foam ball could
be flung that hard.' 'Who?' 'Larak, of course.' 'You see, it wasn't an
impossible challenge.  It's so good to make Jeran eat crow .
     'You eat your meal, young woman, or you'll find me an unpleasant
challenge!' Isthia said and set down the tray she was carrying.
     When Damia had finished the light meal, she lay back, wondering if
she dared ask for Afra again.
     Oh, she's all right, Damia heard her grandmother saying,
projecting tremendous relief.  And, fortunately, all she understands
about that wretched game as that she and Larak won.
     She hasn't an inkling of what that exhibition demonstrated of her
potential.
     How could she?  and Damia recognized the weaker voice of her aunt
Rakella.  Not even Jeff could explain it and Angharad still doubts it.
     Afra had a theory, and Damia heard her grandmother mulling it over
in her mind before she projected her answer.  He thinks that Damia is a
catalyst: she steps up anyone else's ability.  Afra says that's what
she did when he rescued her from the capsule that time.  THAT was why
the power surged in the Tower: Damia tapped it.  He didn't and neither
did Angharad.
     A Talent with an extra gear?  Rakella asked.
     Something like that.
     Then both voices drifted out of her 'hearing' and she drifted off
to sleep again.
     A week after Damia was allowed back to school, she had an
unexpected visitor.  She was in her room wondering if she dared sneak
out and visit Jupe when she heard Isthia's voice giving directions:
'Her room is the one at the end, on the left.  I'll bring down some
drinks later.' Whoever it was paused for a long while at her door.
     'Well?' Damia called, her curiosity overwhelming her.
     Teval's head slowly peered around the door.  If the light wasn't
deceiving her, his nose was thicker and there were discoloured patches
and barely healed cuts on his face.
     'Damia?' 'What do you want?' she demanded, suddenly deciding
boredom was better than this guest.
     Teval shook his head, entering the room.  A heavy schoolbag swung
from one hand, nearly dragging the carpet.
     'I've been assigned to teach you self-defence,' he said, looking
miserable.
     'I can learn that watching a tape!' 'You've also got to pass a
practical so I got assigned as your mat partner.  aNother thing; you're
supposed to be my teacher.' 'Your teacher?' 'Remedial language,' he
mumbled, blushing in his misery.  'I failed my exams.' He held out the
text-tape.
     That didn't surprise her but she decided it wasn't fair to kick
someone when he was down.  Damia upended the bag.  'Am I supposed to
teach you all these, too?' 'Not exactly.  I've got to bring you your
homework assignments and help you catch up on what you've 55
     He looked sheepish.  'You're taking almost all the same stuff I
am, except maths and language and you're way ahead of me there.' 'What
if I don't want you?' 'You've no choice, Damia Gwyn-Raven!' Isthia
called from beyond the door, entering the room with a tray of beverages
and a light snack in her hands.  She put the tray down and looked at
her granddaughter critically.
     'Actually, you do,' she corrected herself.  'If you don't take
Teval Rieseman here as your tutor and you don't tutor him on those
subjects assigned, we will have no choice but to release him from the
Special School.' Damia looked horrified.  'Expel him?' Isthia nodded.
     'Fighting is against school rules,' she said sternly.  'He threw
that rock without any provocation whatsoever.  By rights he should
already be expelled.  But someone intervened on his behalf' Both Teval
and Damia were surprised.  'Who?' they asked, almost in unison.
     'Afra Lyon.' 'Afra?' Damia was confused, almost angry.  How could
Afra do that?  Didn't he know that this was the boy who had tried to
hurt her Larak?  That he'd cracked her skull?
     Then she knew that, of course, Afra had known the whole thing.  So
why?
     'Why?' Teval beat her in asking the question.  'I thought he was
her uncle.' 'He used to be my special friend!' Damia exclaimed
heatedly, glaring fiercely at her grandmother to answer the question.
     Isthia handed her a note.  Damia opened it, turned it around,
frowned, turned it over and finally looked up at Isthia.
     'I can't read it.' She handed it back to Isthia.  Isthia glanced
at it.  'I can't read it either.
     Perplexed, Teval leaned over and looked at the writing.
     'That looks like the printing in some old books my grandfather
used to have.  He was Russian, I think.
     'What's it say?' Teval lifted his shoulders with an indifference
that didn't match the emotions which Damia suddenly felt roiling in his
mind.  'I don't know!  My family was killed by the Beetles.  I only
recognized the script, not the words.' Damia could feel the pain
emanating from him and, while she had always thought Teval was a dark,
in that unguarded instant she learned that she had misjudged him badly.
     He'd had a little sister, just about the same age as Larak, when
the Beetles came: he'd had a mother and father, and the Russian
grandfather.  Now he lived with an uncle who worked too hard to have
much time for his nephew.  It was like Afra to know more about Teval
Rieseman than she, Damia Gwyn-Raven, had bothered to find out in the
years they'd spent as classmates.
     'Why don't we study Russian as your language?' she suggested
gently.  'Then we'll find out what this message says.
     It took them many months and they were good friends, but still not
without their quarrels, when they finally translated the one-line
message.  It read: 'Friends don't fight with rocks.' 'Let's go hunt
Beetle junk!' Damia suggested one day to Larak as Deneb VIII sweltered
in an unusual heat wave.
     'Uncle Rhodri said he'd found all the near stuff.' Larak, at
eight, sometimes questioned his sister.  But it was so hot, he didn't
like the idea of hunting Beetle metal.  It stank and, if you touched
it, it went 'sting-pzzzt'.  He hated the feel.
     'I need new stirrup leathers and that takes cash.  Uncle Rhodri
pays good for Beetle metal.  And I don't have enough money.
     Grandmother's stingy.' 'I'll lend you my cash,' Larak said, more
so that he wouldn't have to go hunting than because he was generous.
     'No, Larak, that's very nice of you but I'd rather spend money
I've earned.  And, besides, if we keep sitting here, Gran'll discover
another nice cool job for us.' She could see that that appealed to her
brother.  They'd already been nabbed for some dirty, dusty garden
chores.
     'But we're not supposed to hunt Beetle metal unless we tell Uncle
Rhodri.' 'We'll tell him when we find it so he can send the 'copter to
collect it,' she replied.
     'Do I get to ride in the 'copter again?' Larak began to be
enthusiastic now.  He'd been allowed to ride back in the big navy
vehicle the last time they'd found some Beetle metal.  He was going to
learn how to fly a 'copter when he grew older.
     'If we find metal, you might, Damia replied, not specifically
promising the treat but she saw the anticipatory shine of her brother's
eyes.  'OK, here's what we do .  .
     It was, after all, easy to slip out of the compound, even with
backsacks carrying 'provisions'.  She'd got handlights as well as food
and made Larak roll up a blanket though he'd protested that it was too
hot to need a blanket.
     'Well, we might lust need to stay the night,' Damia said in
explanation.  'I've food enough.  And the forest's always cooler' Larak
agreed, though he demurred when she wanted him to bring a shirt, too.
     'Against branch lash,' she said curtly.  'Now, go get ready.  And
be quiet.  You know what long ears Gran has and we don't want her
stopping us with more jobs to do.
     Meet me at the paddock.' So Larak went 'quietly' to gather the
things his sister wanted him to get.  Larak liked being with Damia.
     Which was more than he could say about the company of his older
brother and sister.  For all his efforts, Larak had never been able to
establish a good rapport with his older brother.  He had astutely
identified Cera as the source of his older brother's apathy.  Since
Damia was a lot of fun to be with, he'd given up on the other two.
     Anyway, Jeran was now on a probationary assignment to Deneb Tower,
taking on-the-job training and Cera, moping about the place without
him, was no fun to be around at all.
     They met at the paddock where the ponies drowsed in the heat of
the afternoon.
     'Now, we know there's nothing to the east, south or west of us
because Uncle Rhodri says those directions are all clear of
sting-pzzzt,' Damia said, 'so we'll go north, through the woods, which
will be cooler.  No-one's really done much that way.  Not even Jeran
when he organized his search party.' She was slightly contemptuous
because Jeran had been so sure that he'd find tonnes of the stuff.
     So, let's be off!' Taking Larak's hand, she struck off across the
paddock, and into the first of the trees.
     They were panting from the heat but the moment they got in the
shade, they could feel an appreciable difference in the torrid heat of
the day.
     'Hey, it's cooler,' he exclaimed, delighted.
     'Told you it would be.  Come on!' Damia led on, weaving her way
due north, with little variation despite the press of trees.  She
signalled their first break when they crossed one of the logging roads.
     Revived by the rest and drinks from their travel bottles, they
continued.
     Larak would have liked to stop longer and enjoy the coolness but
Damia insisted that they wouldn't find any Beetle metal this close to
the compound.  And no Beetle metal meant no 'copter ride.  Larak got to
his feet and trudged along behind her When they came to a brook,
gushing down a rocky bed, Larak did insist that he had to cool himself
down.  So they shucked out of their clothes and splashed about in the
pool.
     Damia shared out one of their sandwiches and ordered him to fill
his canteen again.
     Shortly after they resumed their march, they broke through the
forest into a lovely mountain pasture.  They quartered this because
Damia thought it the very spot where Beetle metal might have dropped.
     Then she had to explain to Larak, once more, how their mother and
father had destroyed the Beetle ships, breaking them open and
scattering the pieces far and wide, thus saving the whole world, and
beyond.
     By then they had reached forest again and, of course, had to sit
to enjoy the coolness, have a cool drink, eat a few biscuits.  The sun
was lowering but Damia knew they had a good few hours of daylight.
     'We'll find a cave, with a stream,' Damia told her brother as he
gamely plodded on behind her.  'We'll have a great night out.' 'When'll
we find Beetle metal?' Look asked plaintively.
     'Why, we could trip over it any time now."
     'I don't want to trip over it.' 'Well, then, let's just
concentrate on locating some good sting-pzzzts, huh?' Obediently Larak
cast his mind about and that kept him occupied until the blister on his
left heel began to do the stinging.
     'I gotta stop, 'Mia.  I gotta blister.' 'We'll stop when I've
found us a cave and a stream so you can stoop that blister cool,' Damia
said, with a patient sigh over Larak's blister She hoped he could hang
on a while longer.  She had no idea how far they had tramped but it
wasn't far enough for they hadn't found Beetle metal yet.  She was
determined to find some.  Meanwhile, raising her forearm, she rubbed
her forehead dry of sweat and, shifting her backpack, went on.
     Larak was a real trooper, she thought, when she saw him limping
though he didn't complain.  He was the best brother.  She was getting a
bit anxious about a suitable camping site.  Uncle Rhodri had taught all
his young relatives basic woodsman ship when he'd organized his Beetle
metal hunts.
     They found the stream first so Damia suggested that Larak take off
his boots - the cold water would ease his blister - and they'd walk
upstream until they found a campsite.  Maybe not a cave, but a nice
clearing.
     By the time Larak had slipped and fallen into the stream four
times, and bruised his toes, he was ready to quit just when they
rounded a bend and found that an old rockslide had indeed formed a sort
of cave.
     'What if there're animals?' Larak protested nervously, peering
into the shadowed opening.
     Damia had not considered that aspect and was miffed.
     Uncle Rhodri had shown them tapes of all the animals on Deneb,
mainly small, but some had poisonous bites.
     Some nocturnal species could be most unpleasant, trying to creep
into a camper's sleepsac.  But they only had blankets with them.
     Nevertheless, caution was advisable.  She pulled the handlight
from her belt and shone it into the cave.
     Carefully, she looked in every corner.  'See?  Nothing there!
     Now, let's get this camp organized.  I'll get us firewood, you can
set out our supper.' The first attempt at fire starting did not go
well.  They had built it in the cave, which immediately filled with
smoke.  So, against Damia's better judgement, they built another fire,
in front of the cave.  Soon they had a good roaring blaze going.  And
none too soon for night had fallen and the woods closed in about them,
with only the gap above the stream to let in starlight.
     So they happily munched on the rest of their sandwiches before
Damia grandiosely extracted a half sack of marshmallows from her sack,
scrupulously divying them up.  Larak limped over to a sapling to pull
long enough branches to roast the marshmallows on.
     'Now,' Damia said, dropping her voice into the creepiest tone she
could affect, 'all we need is a good ghoulie story!' Just then her
marshmallow fell off her stick.  'Rats!' 'Rats aren't very ghoulie!'
Larak complained.
     'Of course they're not.  I said "rats" because I lost my
marshmallow.
     'I'll tell you a story,' Larak declared and launched into the
telling of the Headless Horseman which had scared him the first time
he'd seen the tape.  Larak was a good story-teller so Damia didn't mind
hearing it again.
     Towards the end of his recitation, her attention wandered and her
eyes darted to the edge of the dark.  A light night breeze had come up
and there was an odd scraping sound: a dim memory tugged at her.
     'Now, you tell me one!' Larak demanded when he had finished.
     'Soul-eaters,' Damia muttered to herself, for the scraping noise
reminded her of her nightmare terror.
     'Soul-eaters?  What are they?' Larak's eyes grew round.
     'Nothing.' Damia gave a convulsive shudder.  She really didn't
want to remember that awful dream.
     'No, tell me!' 'That's too scary and it's not a story.  I'll think
of another one, a better one.' 'No, I want to know about soul-eaters,'
Larak insisted 'Where did you hear about them?' Damia shook her head.
     'I didn't hear.  They came after me.
     'Sure!' Larak snorted derisively.
     'When I was hit on the head,' Damia continued, more to herself.
     She sat on her haunches, not really wanting to, but nevertheless
reconstructing her recollection.  'It was dark.  They were darker.
     They chittered like beetles on the outskirts and they tried to
drag me away.' Her voice went shrill and she gripped her arms about her
knees.
     'They were going to get me, to eat my soul!  Chittering,
chittering!' She had dropped her voice, not as part of a story-teller's
effect, but because she was succeeding in scaring herself with the
memory.
     'Damia!  Stop it!  You 're scaring me!' Larak threw his arms
around her, his mouth trembling, his eyes watering with nervous tears.
     'Damia?  Tell me this is a story.  Tell me there aren't any
soul-eaters out here!' But Damia had triggered the recollection and was
trapped in it, talking her own way out as she had struggled in the
dream.  'They got me by the foot, then slithered up my leg, and always
making this awful chittering.  I could just make out a light.  I knew
that if I could only reach the light, I'd be safe.  But they kept
holding me back; they got my other foot and then I saw the light-'
'Light?' She didn't register the pure panic in Larak's voice, didn't
see what he was doing.  'Then, I reached the light and Afra had it!  He
turned them away!  Turned them back!  He scared them with his light and
then he touched me with it and-' Her eyes refocused and she shook her
head, shielded her eyes.  There was much too much light, illuminating
the cave behind her, the clearing around her.  'Larak?' Larak was at
the edge of the clearing, a burning faggot in one hand, spreading the
flame to every dry branch and root he could find.  To make enough light
to keep the soul-eaters at bay.
     Larak!
     More scared than singed, Angharad, Isthia assured her
daughter-in-law when the situation was finally under control.  Overhead
a water-carrying 'copter made another pass at the remains of the forest
fire.  We pulled them out as soon as Damia's scream woke us.  She was
too disoriented to 'port.
     What caused the fire?  Jeff wanted to know.
     Larak.  He used a firebrand to light the forest.  Said something
about soul-eaters and light.  He was scared witless.  Isthia replied.
     He's sleeping now.
     And Damia?  another voice, which Isthia placed as Afra's, asked
with some strain.
     She's all right, Isthia quickly reassured him.  What time is it on
Callisto?
     Early, Jeff said with some acerbity.
     I was awake.  Couldn't sleep, Afra replied and a mental yawn
followed.  I'll turn in now.  Rowan, Jeff, Isthia.  Isthia felt Afra's
touch fade out.
     Well!  the Rowan declared tetchily.  When is that child going to
stop playing her 'tricks'?  I really don't want Ezra learning from that
sort of example.
     I think she's been well and truly frightened, luv, was Jeff s
verdict.
     I would remind you, Angharad, Isthia said, her tone stern, that
Damia didn't start the fire: Larak did.  She has always looked out for
her younger brother and protected him.  Or have you forgotten the
incident with the stone?
     Anyway, Jeff interposed quickly, she's due to start Tower training
so she'll be too tired for night-time treks.  How far did you say she
hiked?  Isthia detected a note of admiration in her son's tone.
     Once she learns how to 'port over distance, the Rowan said
thoughtfully, she could actually commute from here to Earth everyday.
     Just as you do, Jeff I'm not sure the galaxy is soft once Damia
learns how to 'port distances.
     The Rowan mulled that over.  Well, I do feel that now is the time
for Damia to return to Callisto and start using some of the skills
she's learned.  Isthia, we've impinged on your good nature far too long
Nonsense, Angharad.  It's been - educational, Isthia responded with a
chuckle.  Because of Damia, and Jeran and Cera and Larak, I got the
Special School I wanted and Deneb is now actively looking for Talents
to train.
     Was that your reason for offering to take my children?  the Rowan
asked.  She'd always known that Isthia had had some devious reason.
     Not the main one, Angharad.  There was Ian to be considered, too,
you know.
     Jeff guffawed.  And he's tested out a T4.  You did well by the
brother!
     What do you test out these days, Isthia?  the Rowan asked.
     I've never really wanted to know, Isthia replied smoothly.
     Best leave with honours even, luv, Jeff said.
     But I think it is time for us to give Damia the benefit of working
in a busy Tower environment.  Know that I - we - are deeply grateful to
you, Isthia.  And the Rowan was entirely sincere in that.
     Isthia gracefully accepted the thanks for she was as fond of the
mother as she was of the daughter.
     She's starting to sprout since you were last here, Isthia told
them.
     So soon?  Jeff mentally counted on his fingers.
     Let's say that she's germinated, then, and should shortly sprout,
Isthia amended her original statement.
     Are there any suitable candidates there?  Jeff wondered.
     T-is?  The Rowan's tone was frankly contemptuous.
     Love, when a woman's fancy turns to men she does not always stop
to check their pedigree, Jeff remarked carefully.  Isthia could feel
the Rowan's cheeks redden across the light-years.
     There are no candidates here, Jeff, Isthia said in response to the
original question.  In fact, with Larak here it's as well you consider
bringing Damia home.
     Both parents were shocked.
     Goodness!  Isthia chuckled.  You two think the worst things!
     I meant that Damia would be ambivalent about dating a boy if it
might compromise the special relationship she and Larak have for each
other.  Tsk!  Tsk!
     I take your point, Jeff said, somewhat abashed.  It would be
easier for her first romance if she did not have to worry about the
jealousy of her little brother.
     Exactly, Isthia replied.
     Jeff made his mind up.  Very well, send her back when term is
over.  I'll arrange for her continued education here.  Not that it will
be as good as what she could get on Deneb, of course, he added with a
wink in his 'voice' Of course!
     It was only after contact was broken that Isthia recalled what she
had wanted to ask Jeff.  Or rather Afra.  To intercede on her behalf
with Capella to find a high T-rating who would teach on Deneb.  There
was something positive to be said for a Methody upbringing.  She hoped
that a little more Methody might rub off Afra on to Damia when she
returned to Callisto.  Isthia was rather sure that he'd have a hand in
her education.  From comments that Jeff had dropped and her own
observations of Angharad, Afra was likely to have taught her the
self-control she'd needed to run Callisto Tower as efficiently as she
did.  Jeff had provided the emotional security Angharad required.
     Isthia sighed, remembering his father and wishing, as she often
did, that Jerry was still alive.  But he wasn't and she was.  And this
wasn't furthering the aims she had set herself for next year: delving
more deeply into metamorphic manipulation.  Unfortunately, Capellans
didn't believe in that.
     The hands which were thrust into Afra's view were no longer those
of a small child but were still slender, graceful just like their
owner.
     'What do you think?' Damia asked, turning her hands palms up and
palms down for his inspection.  Afra looked up from where he had been
kneeling, into the intense blue eyes in an oval face framed by long
raven-black hair.
     Damia had let her hair go long in the four years since she had
returned from Deneb.
     'Think of what, witch?' he asked, flicking to her back the one
strand of white that emphasized the blackness and lustre of her hair.
     'This!' Damia stretched to her full height, running hands
alongside her body.  It was only then, with the girl standing boldly
upright, one leg slightly before the other, that Afra realized she was
not wearing her swimsuit.
     She quirked an eyebrow at him provocatively, daring him to look
away.  Afra responded by scrutinizing her body carefully from graceful
neck, to firm breasts, to graceful hips, sculpted legs and finally to
delicately boned long toes.
     'You're maturing nicely, Damia,' Afra told her when his inspection
brought him back up to her eyes.  He patted the water beside him.
     'Water's warm.
     Clothing in the gymnasium at Callisto Station was strictly
optional and decorative rather then veiling.
     Damia stamped a foot and squealed, 'No!  The tan!
     Afra, the tan!' Afra looked back at her body.  He cocked his head:
it was slightly darkened.  He put a green arm up next to hers and shook
his head.  'Not my shade, I think.
     Damia let out a screech of indignation.  Afra!' She stamped her
foot so hard that her breasts shook.
     Afra gave her a teasing smile.  'Yes?' She pulled a bottle off the
nearby deck chair and handed it to him.  'Will you put this on me?' she
asked, her tone turning sweet.  'I don't want to lose what little tan
I've got.
     Afra took the bottle of before-swim tan lotion and eyed the
adolescent carefully.  He sniffed the bottle, put a little on one
finger and rubbed with his thumb.  'How much and where?' 'Just enough
to get me oily and everywhere, of course.
     Her tone was just short of patronizing.
     Afra obliged, starting with her backside.  'Your hair will get
oily.' 'I don't care!  I'll wash it later.' She lifted it out of his
way with a hand.  She twisted her head back slightly to watch his
expression.  It annoyed her that he merely laved her down gently,
working from shoulder to buttocks to ankles with no change of
expression.  Her eyes twinkled in anticipation when it was time to do
her front but Afra was just as careful and just as nonchalant when he
lathered her breasts as when he lathered her nose.
     Still, he did avoid one area.  Damia coughed discreetly 'You
missed a spot.' Without batting an eye, Afra oiled up his hands and
dutifully went over the indicated zone.  'I guess you'll wash that,
too.' To her intense pique, Damia blushed.
     Afra avoided her face until she had recovered, spending the time
ostensibly fumbling with the bottle's top.  He hefted the closed bottle
and, with a gesture, asked, 'Put it back over there?' 'Oh, sure,' she
replied absently.  She patted her firm belly for attention.  'Do you
think Amr will like it?' 'Your belly?  I can't see particularly why,'
Afra said, peering wistfully to the empty pool beside him.
     'Afra!  Not my belly!  The muscles!  Look!' And she tensed,
revealing an exceedingly well muscled body, with abdominal muscles
showing clearly under soft tanned skin.
     'Nice,' Afra replied absently.  'Let's swim!
     'Oooh!  I should know better than to try to compete against a pool
with you!' And with that she dived in.
     Hours later, she appeared in his apartment.  'What do you think?'
she asked, twirling around to let the skirts of a diaphanous purple
evening dress swirl about her.  She had done her hair up in a bun, with
her witch's streak spiralling around the outside.  Long dark lashes
accentuated piercing blue eyes.  Dimples formed around her mouth as it
curved gently in a smile.
     'I think,' Afra said as he strode into the living room with his
dinner, 'that you were taught to knock.' Damia pouted but her eyes
twinkled mischievously.
     Afra knew that look.  'You know how your parents feel about you
'porting around the station.' 'Are you going to tell?' Afra shook his
head immediately.  'I told you when you returned that you were welcome
any time, anyhow.  The door is even keyed to your retinal pattern.' He
gave her a measuring glance.  'But it is good manners to knock.' He put
his plate down on the coffee table and gestured at her dress.  'I do
like it, you know.' 'It's for our date tonight.' 'Date?' 'Me and Amr'
'Sweet sixteen is a good age to start dating.  Where are you going?'
Damia's face fell.  'Well,' she hedged, fishing in a rush, 'Amr's
picking me up at Earth Station.' 'So this is not merely a fashion
parade.  Do your parents know?' 'They won't have t.
     'What are you hiding from them now?' Afra asked with some
exasperation.  Damia pursed her lips, bowed her head.  Afra took in the
look and let out a sigh.  'A special boy?' 'He's not a boy!  He's
eighteen - almost!  she responded hotly.  'I've been seeing him for
months now.
     Tonight's special.' 'So I had gathered,' Afra replied softly.
     Damia stared at him.  'You're not angry?' 'That you're ready to
become a woman?  Why should I be?' His detached response perturbed her.
     Afra was aware of that but ignored it.  Damia's affection for him
had blossomed quickly into an infatuation as puberty changed her from
girl to young woman.  Afra respected that and handled the change in the
intensity of her emotions as best he could but refused to release the
storm that would surely strike if he made any overt acknowledgement of
it.  It took a supreme effort on his part as he recognized how much joy
he took in her presence but he refused to abuse and relinquish his
position as her best friend and confidant.
     'Will you 'port me to Earth then?' she asked him flatly, eyes
flaring.
     'You'll be careful-' 'I know what to do!  she shouted back.
     Before she could draw breath to berate him further, she was on the
steps at the entrance of Earth Station.  'Hmmph!  That showed him.
     Call me when you want to come home, Afra sent along with a special
stamp that Damia had come to accept as a quick } peck on her forehead.
     Despite herself, she smiled fondly.
     Damia had met Amr at Luciano's when Uncle Gollee had had to cancel
a lunch date.  Amr Tusel, with swarthy good looks and a ready smile,
had proudly informed her that he was a T-9 and training to be a
stationmaster.  Damia, too worried that she would frighten him away,
had not revealed her own Talent but professed astonishment at his
prowess.
     At eighteen it would be a while before a T-9 would assume
stationmaster duties.  They had spent that whole first night dancing,
and Amr had walked her back to Central Station which despatched people
to any part of the world.  His consideration and his kindness had
impressed her but their first kiss had her toes curling and her body
flooded with emotions she had not felt so intensely ever before.
     Since then, Damia had established that they would meet at Earth
Station because (truthfully) it was closer to home for her.  They had
seen each other for over six months, catching films, tri-vids,
cavorting at amusement parks and dancing the night away.  As time
passed, they spent more time engaged in passionate embrace than in
conversation.
     Several times in the past weeks Amr had had to break out of their
passion for fear that they would violate the few remaining blue laws.
     He had not figured out who she was, having never seen the lofty
Jeff Raven nor any of the Gwyn-Raven clan, but Amr had figured out that
she was young and a virgin.
     With a sense of honour and a Talented compassion, he had surmised
that he was being considered for that most delicate of consummations.
     The prospect had frightened him and for a while they did not see
each other.  When he relented, Damia had grown reticent in her own
right and it was only with a loud and lengthy argument that she finally
set the date.
     Being dormed at Trainee Quarters, Amr had no room of his own for
such an assignation and Damia had dodged the possibility of using her
house by saying that her parents were always around and that would
inhibit her.
     The hotel was just across the street.  Damia had left an overnight
bag at Earth Station several weeks before when she had first made up
her mind and had retrieved it before she met Amr.
     He approached her with a smile on his lips and gave her a quick
kiss.  He stood back, taking in her appearance and shaking his head in
admiration.  'You are beautiful, Damia.' He took her bag from her,
waving her onwards with a hand.  'Lead on, fairest of Venus's
daughters!' Amr conducted the course of the evening.  They checked in,
left their bags with the bellhop, asking them to be taken to their
room.  Dinner, a full course menu, was first, followed by a leisurely
stroll and then the dance floor.
     They danced until the DiscoTech was reluctantly closed.
     The last dances were slow ones and Damia's passions had been
aroused.  The urgency abated slightly on the trip up to their room but
Amr teased her back into passion.
     Passion was not new to Damia: she and Amr had spent many evenings
locked in tight embraces but always before she had broken free when her
passion threatened to overwhelm her.  It had been incredibly
frustrating.  Tonight Damia felt free to unleash her full emotions.
     Gently Amr drew her into his arms, sliding them down her stately
shoulders to her delicate waist.  He pulled her body close to his as
they kissed with rising passion.  As passion rose, their clothing fell.
     Soon they were on the bed, Amr running crafty hands all over her
body and Damia lost in a shower of feeling that threatened to drown
her.  As her passion peaked for the third time, Amr gently entered her.
     At first Damia was too distracted by all the other sensations of
her body to notice.  She froze for a moment when she did, looking up at
him with a frightened expression but Amr smiled tenderly through his
passion and gently flexed his flanks.
     Damia moaned, grabbed him tightly, wanting him in her.
     In her ecstasy she opened herself up, pulled him along and they
rose and rose, crashed, rose again and again.
     You're Talented!  Amr cried through his passion.  Damia heard the
accusation in his tone, unwillingly offered to stop but Amr thrust
himself deeper in her, thrust his tongue into her mouth, crying: No!
     Oh gods, no!  I've never felt this before!
     They continued, Damia reviving Amr's flagging passions until they
were both afloat on a wave of emotion, drained, recharged, sizzling
electric ecstasy pounded over them, through them, around them wave
after wave.  The exertions and emotions finally were too much for Damia
and she drifted languorously from orgasm to sleep.
     Damia awoke with Amr's eyes glittering on her, following the line
of her body like daggers.  She was sore, sore in places she had never
known she had.  Muscles she had only just discovered registered their
abuse with loud flares of pain as she moved one leg in front of the
other.
     'Do it again, please?' Amr's voice was hoarse, small.
     'Oh, it was great!' Damia answered.  Amr moved an arm to encircle
her but Damia moved - painfully away.  'I'm too sore, Amr.  Too tired.
     None of the tapes mentioned that.' 'Nor what you've done to me,'
he replied, eyes dull.
     Anger crept into them.  'Have you no notion of what you've done to
me?' His fingers clenched into fists.  Tears welled in his eyes, tears
of anger, of honour lost, of despair.  'Do you?' His voice grew louder
until he was shouting: 'Do you?  Do you?  Whore, slut!  Bitch!' With a
look of pure terror he caught his hand mid-stroke as it moved unwilled
to strike at her.
     Afra!  Damia cried in despair.
     She disappeared as Amr fought to produce an apology.
     Gone, he closed his eyes and cried softly in deep sobs, curled
into a foetal ball.
     Nothing was mentioned about hating after loving!  Damia sobbed to
Afra as he finished towelling her off and pulled her into his arms to
wrap the towel around her.  She rested her head on his chest and
bawled.  It was so.  . so.  . . and then he screamed at me!
     You were careful, weren't you?  Afra asked her, keeping his tone
calm and soothing.
     Of course I was careful!  I've had the implant for months now!
     Damia retorted angrily.  Afra pushed himself away from her, tilted
her head up so her eyes met his.
     'Damia, you kept your shields up, didn't you?' Afra asked.
     'Shields?  Afra, we made love!' Afra's expression altered, pain
flickered across his face.
     'You were in a hotel?' Damia nodded dully.  'The one across the
street from Central?' She nodded again.
     What room number?
     Afra!  she protested.
     We have to know how Amr's handling this, he said, then
strengthened his 'pathing.  Gollee, we've got an emergency.
     A muffled response came back to him.  Afra made a face.
     I need you to look after a T-9, Amr Tusel.  He's over at the
Excelsior.  Afra paused, his face expressionless as he looked down at
Damia.  I think he's been burnt out.
     Gollee Gren became instantly alert.  I'll handle it, Afra.
     'Burnt out?' Damia echoed aloud.  'Afra, he was fine!' 'Was he
fine when you left him, Damia?' Afra asked her softly.  'Did you guard
your Talent when you made love?' Damia was devastated.  'Nobody told
me!' 'I did,' Afra said quietly, lips thin.  'I said, be careful.' 'I
thought you meant-' Damia broke off, finally absorbing the enormity of
her recklessness.  'Will he be all right?  Will he recover?'
'Possibly,' Afra hedged.  But she cocked her head at him challengingly.
     'Probably not,' he admitted, recognizing the morality involved.
     'Oh, Afra!' Damia wailed, throwing herself in his arms.
     I'll never love again!
     'I wouldn't say "never", Damia,' Afra said at his driest.
     He picked her up and carried her over to the couch.  'Just never
be so careless ever again.' He placed her beside him on the couch,
cradling her torso with his arms.  'Love, Damia, but be caring and
careful with it.
     No, I'll never love again, Damia mumbled earnestly as her 'voice'
faded with fatigue.  Afra made no reply, holding the youngster until
she drifted into sleep.  Then, very carefully, he insinuated a tendril
of thought to ease her pain.
     Afra was aware of Damia's gaze before he opened his eyes.
     He looked down at her, still resting on his chest and met her
piercing blue eyes.  He gave her a slight smile.  'Bet your muscles are
sore.' Damia snorted.  'From sleeping this way or from before?' 'Both.'
Damia regarded him for a long moment, then admitted: 'It could have
been you-' Afra silenced her with a finger to her lips.  'Don't.' She
examined the finger critically, then ducked away from it to kiss it,
smiling up at him.  The smile faded.
     'Have you heard about Amr?' Afra nodded solemnly.  'He's resting
now, in hospital.' He looked down at her.  'I will teach you control.'
Damia bit her lip.  'Would I have done that to you, if we had-' Afra
shook his head.  'We didn't, Damia.' 'It could have been you!' The
admission was torn from her lips.  She buried herself against his
chest.  'Oh, Afra, don't you love me?' Afra cradled her head tenderly
to his chest.
     'I wanted to, you know,' Damia went on, implacably young and
naive.  'I tried-' 'I know,' Afra soothed.
     She pulled her head back against his hand to look him in the eyes.
     'You knew?  And you didn't .  . . And I And Amr?' she spluttered,
growing furious.
     Again Afra put a finger to her lips but Damia wrapped her teeth
about it, biting hard.  Her eyes locked on his as she bit harder and
harder but Afra's expression didn't change.  When she tasted salty
blood in her mouth, Damia spat the finger out.
     Tears dripped out of Afra's eyes as he coldly examined the
bleeding teeth marks.
     'I'm glad it hurt!' Damia said, hot with fury, with embarrassment,
with guilt.
     Afra flicked his eyes to her.  'That isn't what hurts, Damia.' She
broke free of his grasp angrily, strode to the bathroom, pulled on one
of his long shirts, grabbed a first aid box and threw at him on the way
out, 'Here!  That's for your hand.  I can't do anything for your
heart.' The door, being automatic, would not slam but Damia kicked it
with a resounding thud to achieve the same effect.
     'A word with you, young miss!' The tight voice of Gollee Gren
shocked Damia so much she jumped.
     'Gollee!  What are you doing here?' she asked, looking around the
lounge at Callisto Station.  'It's not Dad-' Then she remembered.
     'Amr?' 'He's all right.' Gren dismissed the issue.  He grabbed
her, dragged her over to a booth, sat down beside her.  'Just what do
you think you are doing, anyway?' 'What do you mean?' Gren swore.
     'After all he's done for you.  He's covered up for your "tricks",
he's watched over you, lied and you - you're not even worth your name!'
'Who?' Damia cried in confusion.
     'Who?' Gren snorted.  'Trust you to not know!  Don't you think?
     Don't you see?' He shook his head in a vain attempt to throw off
his anger.  It did not work.  He let out a deep breath.  'I got the
pictures back from medics.' He nodded to emphasize his point.  'He said
that one of the Coonies had bit him but I know those marks.  Even when
you try to bite his hand off he protects you!' 'afra?' Damia exclaimed.
     'He doesn't even know I exist!  That cold-blooded green-skinned
yellow eyed-' She searched for further epithets, found none,
'Capellan!' 'You don't think about anyone but yourself, do you?' Gren
snapped back.
     'Damia, Damia, poor Damia!' He narrowed his eyes critically at
her.
     'Well, what about Afra?
     How do you think he felt when his best friend's daughter comes on
to him?  Don't you know what you did?' 'He turned me down!' Damia
exclaimed, wondering how Gren could have known that and amazed at
herself for blurting out such an unsavoury episode.
     'You were as obvious as the sun!  He had no choice, even if he had
wanted to!' Gren said hotly.  'But that's nothing.
     To punish him for it you go off and maim some poor-' 'THAT'S NOT
TRUE!' Damia shouted at the top of her lungs, tears of rage rolling
down her cheeks.
     'Isn't it?' Gren asked quietly.  'Think carefully before you
answer, Damia Gwyn-Raven.  And when you are done, you go to him and you
ask him very politely to teach you control.' 'I won't!  Never!' She was
so furious she whispered, visibly trembling to suppress the things she
wanted to do, could do to her accuser 'Your parents don't know about
that night, or Amr, Damia grinned.  'That's normal!' he said, speaking
as low and as intensely.  'Yet.' He rose, turning back to her in
parting.  'Now, you apologize to him and you learn from him how to
control yourself.' 'Or you'll do what?' Damia sneered tauntingly.
     Gren looked her over critically.  'I won't tell your father.' And
he stomped off leaving Damia to wonder why that promise struck her as
so sinister.
     'Larak!' Damia cried joyfully, running to embrace her brother.
     'Whatever are you doing here?' 'Afra sent for me,' Larak told her,
hugging her happily.
     He shook his head.  'I hadn't realized that Mom and Dad took his
advice so seriously.
     'Your voice!' Damia declared, recognizing differences over the
past year.  'You've grown.
     'I'm not a little boy any more, Damia,' Larak replied, his voice
now deepened with adolescence.  'I've put on three inches in seven
months!  I'll catch up with you soon!' Damia laughed.  'And pass me
out, I'm sure!' She pursed her lips.  'Why did Afra send for you?'
'Didn't he tell you?' 'We're not exchanging confidences these days.
     Damia's response was curt, blocking any further conversation.
     Larak ignored the implied injunction.  He blew out his breath.
     'That's new.  I thought Afra was your extra special friend.' 'I've
grown out of such a childish dependence.' Larak gave her an appraising
look which turned into a different sort of look.  He nodded
appreciatively.  'If you weren't my sister, I'd ask you for a date!
     I'm not the only one who's grown up!' Damia shook her head.
     'Thank you.  I'm not much into dates now, though.' 'Poor men!'
Larak exclaimed.  He hefted his carisak.
     'Well, lead on!  I'm starving!' Brian Ackerman caught them up in
the canteen.  Larak waved a fork at him agreeably, his mouth working
through an overlarge hunk of food.
     Ackerman shook his head at the change in the young man.  'I nearly
didn't recognize you!' 'Even with the typical Raven features?  I'm
hurt!' Larak had the same easy camaraderie his father possessed.  Brian
recalled with surprise that he had known Jeff Raven for over twenty
years now and the Rowan for slightly longer.  At seventy-five, Ackerman
was beginning to feel his morning exercises but beyond that, and going
totally grey, he felt himself to be much the same man as the one who
had met Jeff Raven those many years ago.  And the one who had, in
desperation, sent his resignation to Peter Reidinger because he could
not cope with the young Rowan.  The thought of the Rowan made him flick
his eyes at Damia.  Her features were a delicate blur of the best of
the Rowan and the best of Raven but she favoured more her mother in
moods, temperament and emotion.
     Yes, a lot like her mother, Ackerman decided, only more powerful.
     He wondered if the Rowan was really aware of her daughter's
psychic potential.  He had his suspicions but Jeff had tactfully kept
his counsel on that score.
     'What brings you here?' Damia asked with an unspoken accusation in
her tone.
     'I've got new station assignments,' Ackerman replied.
     'Station assignments?' Larak was startled.  'Aren't we a bit too
young?' 'That's never stopped you before!' Ackerman exclaimed, a smile
forming on his lips.  He nodded at the youngster.
     'I've read your transcripts, Larak.  You're going to be a great
twic some day!' 'Twic?' Larak was puzzled, Damia startled.
     Ackerman nodded at her.  'It was a name your sister coined, stands
for: second-in-command.  Only she saw 21C and pronounced it twic.' He
paused.  'Afra must've liked it because he's used it ever since and
it's stuck.' Larak turned a fond look at his sister but Damia looked as
though the words offended her.  'So, what's up?' Larak asked, ignoring
his sister's expression.
     'Altair's up,' Ackerman replied, turning to Damia and winking at
her.  'You're assigned there for six months, to work with Torshan and
Saggoner.  I think Earth Prime's doing what Reidinger did to him
starting you on a round of Towers to give you experience.' 'Gren put
you up to this, didn't he?' Damia asked, her eyes snapping with blue
sparks, Ackerman recoiled from the verbal onslaught, confused.
     'Huh?' 'Where did these "assignments" originate?' she demanded.
     'Headquarters, on Earth, where else?' Ackerman returned,
remembering belatedly how poor the Rowan's manners had been when she
was angered by something.
     What's up?  he asked himself.  'You've done very well here, Damia.
     But it's time for you to get about more.' He recoiled a bit at the
anger she didn't quite suppress.
     'When?' Her question was delivered in a flat tone but both men
could sense the tension within her.
     Ackerman blinked.  'I guess you can go as soon as you like, Damia,
but there's no exact date given.' 'Well, I suppose I should be grateful
for time to pack,' she said in a bitter tone.
     'Ah, you just got in, didn't you, Larak,' Brian began, trying to
rescue himself.  It was rather like those times when the Rowan had been
in a right snit and no one knew why.
     'Yes, I did,' and Larak fell quickly in with Brian's obvious ploy.
     'Haven't even seen my mother yet.  Found Damia and she suggested I
might be hungry.  Larak's ingenuous grin flashed at Brian.  'Have I got
an assignment in that pack?' Brian ruffled the flimsies.  'Yes, you do,
actually,' and he extracted the right one.  'You're here for six
months, working with Afra-' 'So he had to get rid of me first?' Damia
asked in a sullen tone.
     'Afra has nothing to do with assignments,' Brian said, puzzled by
her attitude.  Why, when she was a baby, she'd followed Afra around
like one of his Coonies.
     Ackerman shook his head.  'He doesn't know they've come in, much
less who's been assigned where.  I don't think he'll like it much,
though.' Ackerman looked at his watch and rose.  'I'd better log these
in officially, kids.  I'll see you two later?' 'Certainly!' Larak
called back.
     Afra had heard the news that evening and was not pleased.
     When he met Gollee Gren at Luce's restaurant, he started right in.
     'What's the idea behind sending Damia to Altair?' 'She needs the
experience,' Gollee said simply, flagging down a waiter.  'Please tell
Luce that Afra's here.' The waiter looked dubious.  'Afra?' He looked
at the Capellan who nodded politely 'Afra of Callisto Tower,' Gren
amended.  'Luce'll know what to do.
     'Chef Luciano is a busy man-' 'Who'll be very upset if I have to
tell him myself.' Gollee whipped his napkin from his lap and made to
rise.
     'I will tell him.' The waiter rushed off.
     'New man.' Gren frowned.  'He'll learn.' Afra shook his head.  'I
haven't been here that often recently' 'Tell me about it!' Gollee
snorted.
     'Tell me about Altair.' 'She's got to have a lot more experience
before she's ready to run her own Tower,' Gren said, then paused as
Afra realized what he meant.
     'A new Tower?  Where?' With more and more systems joining the Nine
Star League - which had far more than Nine Stars in it now - there was
incredible pressure on F T & T to expand their facilities.
     'Aurigae,' and Gollee made a face.  'They've got ores every system
will buy.  They already have credit by the pod load.  They want a T-i
yesterday.  But Jeff won't overload her until he's sure she's ready for
that kind of responsibility.' 'She's got the capability.' 'She doesn't
have the self-control,' Gren said and his eyes were hooded with
disapproval.  Afra arched an eyebrow and he shrugged, then admitted
with a sigh, 'It's also because of the incident-' 'Jeff hasn't heard,
has he?' 'Not from my lips,' Gren assured him.  'And no, I don't think
he has.  Amr's getting therapy and the prognosis is good, but he won't
ever make stationmaster.  He also has no idea who she really is.  So
when Jeff was wondering where to send her, I admit I suggested that she
fill the Altairian spot, with an eye toward Aurigae.  It's preferable
to her being at Blundell.' 'Hmm, yes, she was dating the boy for six
months.
     They did a lot of dancing.  Someone's sure to remember her face if
she starts going out and about on Earth again.' 'I also think working
with Torshan and Saggoner will be good for her.  Jeff's objective, but
the Rowan' 5 not.' Afra pursed his lips, nodded.  'Yes, that's a
factor, too.
     Damia's always been Rowan's sore spot.  It's been pretty intense
at times in the Tower during Damia's apprenticeship.  I don't know how
much of that is their personalities clashing.  Even so, she'll learn
more control.' 'Oh, indeed she will.  She's scheduled to go to Capella
after Altair,' and Gollee's smile was malicious.  'She'll learn
control.' 'Don't be so hard on the child, Gollee.  She's only sixteen
and in an act of passion it's hard enough for anyone to control
themselves.
     'We manage!' Gren protested.
     Afra agreed with a nod, adding, 'But we're not sixteen.' Then he
deliberately changed the subject.  'How's Tanya?
     And the kids?' 'The kids are great!' Gollee returned promptly.
     'And Tanya?' Gren smiled, having lined Afra up for that.  'She's
even better.' 'Your daughter, she's what - twelve?' Gren groaned.
     'Thirteen and boy trouble already.' He sighed, reflectively.  'In
fact, I had a long talk with her after 'Good idea,' Afra agreed
quickly.
     'I can't figure out why the Rowan neglected-' Gren began in
protest.
     'I don't think she did.  I think Damia simply didn't hear, Afra
cut in.  'Cera had no problem.' 'Cera's overcontrolled,' Gren remarked.
     'Would she?' 'The Rowan mentioned Cera had reached an
understanding.
     A nice lad, she says, a 'Jeff Raven's own population explosion.
     You watch over all of them, don't you?' Gollee said, amused.  'But
Damia more than the rest.' Afra shrugged.  'She's so much like the
Rowan, it comes naturally.' Afra furrowed his brows.  'But Aurigae?
     That's going to be a tough Tower to run.' 'Who knows?  Your Damia
may well have found herself a soul mate before she gets to Aurigae,'
Gollee said cheerfully.
     The food arrived, along with an ecstatic Luciano, and the subject
of Damia and Aurigae was not renewed.
     Iota Aurigae was a blaze at zenith, to Damia's left, glinting off
her personal capsule.  Capella's light, from the right nadir, was a
pulsing blue-white.  Starlight from the Milky Way bathed her, too, but
the only sound was her even breathing as she allowed her mind to open
fully to the mindless, echo-freedom of deep space.
     It was as if she could feel the separate cerebral muscles
relaxing, expanding, as her tall slender body went gradually limp.  She
enjoyed these moments of total mental relief from the stresses of
Aurigae Tower.  But her purpose in these jaunts had a more important
application than a mental vacation for herself: she must also be
certain that no unwelcome visitors approached the Nine Star League from
deep space beyond Iota Aurigae, the furthest human colony from Earth.
     Eventually the League would have sufficient sentries to ring the
heliopause of every one of its member star systems.
     But the effective warning system evolved by the combined effort of
Fleet and Commercial Engineers was expensive, and time-consuming to
manufacture, and almost as tedious to install when completed since each
network had to be designed for the star system it would protect.  Since
the Beetles had twice tried to penetrate Denebian space, that star
system had been first to receive heliopausal sentinels.  Despite the
fact that the home system was already festooned with sophisticated
sensors and listening devices in swarms about each of the inner planets
and a gigantic listening mechanism on Neptune, Terra received the
second system.
     Over the next fifteen years, devious politicking, strikes,
ultimatums and power plays by nervous administrators on the other
Systems - Altair, Capella, Betelgeuse and Procyon - were frequent: each
Star determined to have equal safeguards against alien incursions.  As
the newest, and least populated, of the colonies, Iota Aurigae relied
on Damia's weekly reconnaissance.
     Which suited both the Aurigaens and Damia perfectly.
     Perhaps that was why she so enjoyed the independent, reckless
spirit of Aurigaens.  They didn't give a damn about their 'perilously'
unprotected status.  They were arrogantly confident of their own
resources and besides, wasn't Deneb on the far side of the galaxy from
Aurigae?
     Most of the energetic, hard-working colonists did not really have
time to worry about something that 'might' happen.
     Then, too, after nearly twenty years, the memory of the Deneb
Penetration had faded from active memory into a tale to frighten
children with.  Damia often wondered how many people - with the
exclusion of all Denebians - remembered just how nearly the Nine Star
League had come to being overrun by the hive species.  Certainly,
during her childhood on Deneb, that lesson was reinforced time and time
again.  And, regularly, the matter of adequate warning systems still
exercised the Fleet, Nine Star League Senior Senators - of all species
- and all members of the Federated Telepath and Teleportation System.
     Much as Damia liked Aurigae's raw and ruthless ways, she did find
the utter peace of deep space an anodyne to the constant demands of her
position as FT&T Prime.  While gradually Aurigae was beginning to
supply all agricultural needs and even manufacture needed parts for its
technologies, she still had to haul in significant quantities of food
stuffs and a multitude of the bits and pieces that Aurigae did not have
the time or facilities to manufacture for itself More to the point, she
had to send off immense loads of the raw ores, minerals and rare earths
which made the Aurigae colony valuable, and affluent: commodities that
in the main went into the manufacture of the low-pulse radar warning
systems for other star systems.
     Initially there'd been trouble with the Colonial Council in
accepting Damia who'd been eighteen when her parents had judged her
ready to assume FT&T responsibilities.
     She'd been furious with the implied criticism that she, a
Gwyn-Raven, of a family that already boasted four Primes, was too
immature to handle a Tower.  Worse, she had caught just a trace of
anxiety in her father's mind that she was too flighty to settle down to
the hard and tedious work of a Prime.
     So she'd shown them all her mettle in her first three months'
trial in Aurigae Tower.  She'd mentally cajoled or bullied the Tower
staff into line in the first week and had never lost so much as a
single shipment nor bounced a cargo, no matter how heavy or awkward.
     Settling her staff so quickly had been a minor personal triumph
for Damia, since her own mother had juggled Tower personnel for nearly
five years before she'd been satisfied.
     Occasionally, even Damia's resilient mind felt the strain and
required respite from the insistent murmur of broadcasting thought that
beat, beat, beat like a tinnitus in her brain.  Ironically, because she
had done so well, Aurigaens now tended to take her for granted, to
assume the fast and faultless service she rendered in her gestalt with
the mighty dynamos of the Tower.
     With a frick of a finger, Damia screened out the over-brilliant
starlight and opened her eyes.  The softened stargleams, points of gem
fire in the black of space, winked and pulsed at her.  Idly, she
identified the familiar patterns they made, these silent friends.
     Somehow the petty grievances that built up inside her were gently
dispersed as the overwhelming impersonality of cold nothingness brought
them into proper perspective.
     She could even forget her present preoccupation for a moment:
forget how lonely she was; how she envied Larak, his loving, lovely
wife and their new son; envied her mother the company of her husband
and children; envied the Rowan Afra -- Afra!  What right had he to
interfere, to reprimand her!
     His words still seared.
     'You've been getting an almighty vicarious charge out of peeking
in on Larak and Jenna.  Scared Jenna out of her wits, lurking in her
mind while she was in labour!  You leave them both alone!' Damia was
forced to admit that such an intrusion had been the most shameless
breach of good manners.  But how had Afra known?  Jenna hadn't even
been aware until the split second when Damia had felt, as its mother
did, the despairing birth howl of Jenna's son.  Unless Larak had caught
her as she withdrew from Jenna's mind and told him.  She sighed.  Yes,
Larak would have known she was eavesdropping.  Though he was the only
T-3 among her brothers and sisters, he had always been extremely
sensitive to her mind touch.  How often she and Larak had been able to
overwhelm any combination of others, even when Jeran and Cera had
teamed up with Talented cousins against them.  Damia had never tried to
analyse the trick, but, somehow, she could switch into a higher mental
gear, doubling the capability of other minds within her focus.
     Afra's scorching rebuke had come as an intense humiliation: one of
several she had suffered from him.  The worst of that was that
invariably Afra had been correct.  Well, better by that yellow-eyed,
green-skinned T-3 Capellan than her father, acting in his capacity as
Earth Prime.
     She rather hoped that her father had not learned of that appalling
breach of T-etiquette.
     Odd, though, she hadn't heard as much as a whisper from Afra since
then.  It must be over seven months.  He had listened in as she'd
apologized to both Jenna and Larak, and then silence.  He couldn't be
that angry with her.  Or maybe he could.  Afra's Methody upbringing
made him a martinet on points of etiquette.
     Damia diverted her thoughts away from Afra, and went through the
ritual of muscle relaxation, of mental wipeout.
     She must be back in the Tower very soon.  In a way, the fact that
she could handle Prime duties with no higher ratings than a T-6 to
assist had certain disadvantages.  The Tower staff could handle only
routine planetary traffic, but she had to be on hand for all
interstellar telepathic and teleportation commerce.
     It would be wonderful to have a T-2, or even a T-3, to share her
duties: someone who could understand.
     Not someone - be honest with yourself out here in space, Damia.
     Some man.  Only men shy away from you as if you'd developed
Lynx-sun cancers.  And the only other unmarried Prime was her own
brother, Jeran.
     Come to think about Jeran, the smug tone of his recent
mind-touches as they exchanged cargoes and messages between Deneb and
Aurigae undoubtedly meant that he had found a likely mate, too.  When
the Denebians paused to use their wits instead of their muscles, they
discovered in themselves strong embryo Talents.  Like her father, Jeff
Raven, or, more to the point, her grandmother, Isthia, who had waited
until her forties to make use of powerful innate Talent.
     It was no consolation to Damia that her mother, in a rare example
of maternal solicitude, had warned her of this intense, feminine
loneliness which she, too, had experienced.
     But Jeff Raven had appeared to breach the Rowan's Tower and the
Rowan had at least had Afra's company Afra!  Why did her mind keep
returning to him?
     Damia realized that she was grinding her teeth.  She forced
herself through the rituals again, sternly making specific thought
dissipate until her mind drifted.  And, in the course of that aimless
drifting, an aura impinged on her roving consciousness.  Startled - for
nothing could be coming in from that quarter of space - she tightened
her mind into a seeking channel.
     An aura!  A mere wisp of the presence of something.
     Something .  alien!
     Alien!  Damia recomposed herself.  She disciplined her mind to a
pure, clear, uncluttered shaft.  She touched the aura.  Recognition of
her touch!  Retreat - return!
     The aura was undeniably alien, but so faint that she would have
doubted its existence except that her finely trained mind was not given
to error.
     An exultation as hot as lust caused her blood to pound in her
ears.  She was not wrong.  The trace was there.  And it wasn't Beetles!
     Taking a deep breath, she directed an arrow-fine mental shout
across the light-years, nadirward, to the Earth Prime Tower in the
squat Blundell building which housed the administrative centre of
Federated Teleport and Telepath.
     I've caught something out here, Earth Prime!
     Aurigae Prime, damn it, control.  Control, girl!  Jeff replied,
keeping his own mental roar within tolerable bounds.
     Sony, but I'm aimed directly at you, Damia replied without real
contrition.  Her father was capable of deflecting her most powerful
thrust.
     Thank all the gods for that mercy.  So what have you caught?
     specify!  His tone was official.
     I can't be more specific.  The alien aura is barely detectable,
coming from four light-years galactic north-northeast, Sector 2.
     I arrowed in once I heard the trace and it responded.
     It responded?  And four light-years out?  Damia, where are you?
     Jeff s tone was suspicious.
     Slightly bond Aurigaen heliopause, she replied, hoping that her
father had no way of judging just how far she actually was.  I'm
resting.
     Just how far are you from your Tower?  Jeff demanded, more irate
father than Earth Prime.
     Only a light-year.
     Leaving the Tower with only a T-6 in control?  I thought we'd
instilled more common sense than that in your head!
     Let's not get too cocky, Damia.  Those hey-mad colonists are
having a bad effect on you.
     Damia chortled.  And here I thought the opposite was well
reported.  Damia knew perfectly well that her father would have heard
about her exploits with carefully chosen, energetic and chauvinistic
young engineers and miners.
     But none of them had been the least bit Talented so her affairs
had not harmed them.  She'd never been able to forget Amr Tusel.  If
some of her partners thought she would favour their shipments over
others because of her liaisons, they were soon disabused of the notion.
     In her Tower she scrupulously adhered to FT&T's business.
     You are at least discreet, Jeff admitted, but don't change the
subject.  Resting is good, but you can achieve as much rest beyond
Aurigae's moons as you can a light-year out and not risk being
irretrievable.
     Privately, Damia admitted that his point was well taken.
     I wouldn't have impinged on that aura if I was only beyond the
moons, Dad.  Aren't we supposed to discover visitors, and she added a
mental grin for her description, before they reach the hello pa use?
     All right, all right, Jeff said, but Damia knew she hadn't
convinced him.  Show me, he added, his tone reproving.
     She allowed his mind to join with hers as she led him directly to
the alien trace.  The aura was palpable but so far away that only the
extraordinary perception of two powerful minds could sense it.
     I sense anticipation, curiosity, surprise, Jeff told his daughter
thoughtfully as he withdrew from the tight focus.  And caution, too.
     Whatever it is, is approaching our galaxy.  Damn, why couldn't we
have at least a few peripheral sentinels for you beyond Aurigae.
     Mechanicals would be no good in this instance, Damia declared,
irritated by the inference that devices would be more useful than she
could be.
     That's true enough, though the safest procedure is for mechanicals
to inform humans.
     So I've stolen a march on those much vaunted DEWs.  And I can find
out a helluva lot more than they could.  Damia couldn't resist
reminding her father of that.
     Not at any time personally endangering yourself, Prime, Jeff
replied, colouring the official concern with personal.
     Of course not, Damia replied, fully confident in her own
abilities.  But if I can establish some kind of communication with
these visitors, I'll need someone to take over my Tower.  Like Larak.
     I can't spare Larak immediately.  He's training a T-3 to augment
old Guzman at Procyon Tower.  The old fellow tends to fall asleep and
great tact is required to keep from irritating or humiliating Guz,
neither of which temper keeps Procyon operating smoothly.
     I thought you'd a dozen good T-2s coming along, Damia replied, for
she kept informed of all matters concerning Talents.
     I do, but there isn't a team working smoothly enough yet to take
over on such short notice.  I'll send you Afra.  He'd be better anyhow.
     Because Afra was involved with the Deneb Penetration?
     Damia asked, slightly supercilious.  And you don't think I'd know
Beetle stink after a childhood on Deneb?
     Jeff chuckled.  Yes, I suppose you'd have learned that, too.
     Well, I'd rather wait until Larak's free if it's only a question
of a few weeks.  We've time in hand, I think, before the alien vessel
gets anywhere near Aurigae's heliopause.  And you know how Mother hates
being deprived of Afra, Damia added, not quite leeching all the rancour
from her voice.
     Damia!  and Jells tone crackled with disapproval.  I thought you'd
grown out of that bit of childishness.  Furthermore, I will not
tolerate such disrespect of your mother, least of all from you.  He
paused, leaving Damia in no doubt of his anger, a palpable bridge of
tension between them despite the enormous distance that physically
separated them.  By rights, I ought to saddle you with some T-2s and
let you sweat out their learning.
     Thank you, no, Dad.  Not under the present circumstances.
     And Damia did not bother to hide her dismay at his suggestion.
     Unfortunately the most useful pair are twins and as you never got
on terms with the way Jeran and Cera operated, I doubt you'd establish
a rapport with them either.
     Sometimes, Dad, I don't think you like me.
     Of course, I do, Damia, and a swelling of love, affection and
approval laved her, as your father.  But, and now Jeff s voice turned
droll, as Earth Prime, I'm as aware of your strengths as your
weaknesses.  You operate far more effectively with T-3s and under.  I
just don't happen to have any T-3s but your brother.  There was a note
of wistfulness in her father's voice that Damia understood all too
well, to both her amusement and chagrin.
     Your dynastic plans will bear better fruit with Jeran, you know.
     He's been awful cocky lately.  Only don't let him settle for
anything less than a T4.
     She grinned to herself at her father's startled pause.
     You haven't been eavesdropping again, have you, Damia?
     She parried that surprise with a quick, After Afra reamed me for
that with Jenna?  Not bloody likely.
     Oh, so it was Afra.  Your mother thought it might have been
Isthia.  Your grandmother had a rare Talent for knowing when one of her
charges was up to mischief The trouble with telepaths is that sometimes
they think too much, she remarked acidly, infuriated afresh to realize
that her mother also knew of that incident.
     Damia!  Jeff's tone was unusually severe.  Better than anyone else
in this galaxy, your mother understands your Tower isolation.
     Is that why she handed me over to Isthia to raise?  Damia flashed
back.
     To give you a soft ambience when you were too damned precocious to
appreciate the dangers of living in the Callisto dome.  And I know you
remember Afra hauling you out of a freighter a split second before your
mother was about to launch it to Altair.
     Damia did remember but she didn't like to and she hated for her
father to bring it up.
     Furthermore, and she had to set her teeth as her father continued
on that tack, let me try to seal it into your stubborn head that it was
I who insisted that you go to your grandmother on Deneb, not your
mother, and it was Afra you were clinging to like a barnacle when it
came time to be put in the capsule for the trip.  Right now Damia
particularly didn't like to be reminded of that fact, not when Afra's
silence had lasted seven months.  Her father sighed, abruptly breaking
off that familiar lecture.  You and your mother are so much alike.
     Damia snorted.  She was not the least bit like her mother.
     There was absolutely no resemblance between them.  She was Jeff s
daughter from her slender height to her black hair and vivid blue eyes.
     Jeran, yes, and Ezra, too, took after the Rowan.  But not she.  Of
course, her mother had an exceedingly strong and diverse psionic Talent
or she wouldn't be Callisto Prime, but Damia felt that she was just as
strong, and she had the added advantage of that catalytic ability as
well.
     Well, Jeff was saying in a resigned tone, you'll see it one day,
my dear, and I, for one, will be immensely relieved.  Your mother and I
love you very much and we're damned proud of the way you've been
managing Aurigae Tower.  Professionally I have no quibbles with you.
     Damia basked in her father's praise.  He didn't give it lightly.
     I'll send Afra on directly, he added, spoiling her pleasure.  I
can trust his impartiality, and to Damia's amazement, her father
chuckled.
     She stabbed at his mind to find the basis for the amusement, but
met a blankness as her father had turned his mind to some other
problem.
     'Impartiality?  Afra?' The sound of her own voice in the little
personal capsule startled her.
     What on Earth was that supposed to mean?  Why would Afra's
impartiality be trusted - above hers - in identifying or evaluating an
alien aura?
     But Afra was to come to Aurigae.
     After he had broken contact with Damia, Jeff did not immediately
turn to other problems.  He mulled over the subtler aspects of that
vivid contact with his daughter.
     Damia's mind was as brilliant as Iota Aurigae, and right now
blazing with excitement over the contact.  He didn't like her
recklessness but, in this instance, he could only be relieved that she
had been in position to catch the aura.
     Odd that she could still be so angry about being sent to Isthia.
     Odder still, that she could still deny that it had been Afra she'd
clung to, and cried for, not her mother.
     Jeff knew very well that, once Damia had settled in with her
grandmother and her cousins, she'd been extremely happy and benefited
tremendously by the Special School for Talent that Isthia had set up.
     Jeff sighed.  The decision to send Damia to Isthia had been one of
the hardest had ever had to make, personally and professionally.  But
she'd come early into her extraordinary mental powers, frightening
everyone on the station with her antics and incredibly dangerous use of
telekinesis.  Only Afra had any control over her and even his patience
had ended with her capsule stunt.
     Under Isthia's calm, unruffled discipline, and with a huge planet
to roam in and myriads of cousins to keep tabs on her, Damia had
learned how to use her Talent without abusing it, herself, and anyone
in her immediate vicinity.  She became sincerely fond of her
grandmother and would obey Isthia where she argued every request from
her parents, especially her mother.  Strange that it was the Rowan whom
Damia still blamed for fostering her.
     Rowan, Jeff called out to Callisto Tower and sensed that his wife
was resting as the interchanges on Callisto's cargo cradles filled from
Earthside.
     Her mind linked with his gladly, just as if they hadn't
breakfasted together on Callisto a few hours earlier.
     I've a message of extreme importance to impart to you, luv.  Open
to me.
     Damia's made contact with an alien aura?  The fleeting maternal
concern was quickly supplanted by professional curiosity as the Rowan
scanned Damia's recent experience beyond Aurigae.  Of course Afra goes.
     I can't think of anyone better.  Her tone was slightly ironic
until she caught the thought that Jeff tried to lose.  But why on Earth
Damia would think that you can't assign Afra wherever he's needed, I
just don't understand.  Oh, well.  I don't understand that child.  I'll
take a pair of those T-2s you're training until he comes back.  Twins,
huh?
     Well, Mauli and Mick have been a superb team, and Jeran and Cera
accustomed me to fraternal language.  She added with a sigh, I'll miss
him.
     You always do, Jeff replied teasingly, to divert the Rowan from
scanning the recent conversation too deeply, Good thing I trust that
yellow-eyed Capellan -- Jeff Raven, there has never been an improper
thought between Afra and myself even before you lurched in from Deneb
Jeff laughed and she sputtered at him indignantly.
     Actually, she continued, it'd be a relief for me to know that
Afra's out with Damia.  I really do worry that she might get besotted
with one of those brawny Aurigaen types she plays about with.
     The last thing Afra'd do is interfere with her pleasures.
     The Rowan let out an exasperated sigh.  But those pleasures do
nothing to relieve her loneliness.  Sometimes .
     I know, said her husband with considerable sympathy and then his
tone hardened.  She wouldn't BE lonely if she hadn't been so
heavy-handed with every other high T young male She resents our
matchmaking as much as I resented Reidinger's.
     There's no guarantee she won't find a Denebian, too, you know,
Jeff replied, allowing his voice to become so lascivious that the Rowan
pretended shock.  When can you spare Afra from doing your work?
     Afra?  Doing MY work?  Just wait till you get home.  And she
pretended to ignore his response to that threat.  Afra?
     Jeff requires your attention.
     Jeff caressed her with a genuinely affectionate thought before he
felt Afra's mind touch his.
     Are you sure you're still only a T-3?  he asked, surprised at the
firmness in the Capellan's contact.
     I'm in gestalt, after all, Afra replied, adding a mental shrug at
Jeff's surprise.  What else could you expect after twenty years of
proximity to two of the strongest Talents in explored space?  It's no
wonder I've learned a few tricks from the pair of you.  From the
expression on Rowan's face, I'd hazard that Damia has lately been
discussed.  What's she up to now?
     Damia had just returned to Aurigae when she heard the Rowan giving
the Tower official warning of the transmission of a personal capsule.
     Afra?  Damia exclaimed, reaching back along her mother's touch to
Callisto.
     Damia!  Afra said warningly but too late.
     Without waiting for the Rowan to launch the capsule towards
Aurigae, Damia blithely drew the carrier directly from Callisto,
ignoring her mother's stunned and angry reaction to such bad manners.
     Damia regretted her impulsiveness immediately.  But Afra's capsule
was opening and he was swinging himself out.  She could not have missed
his trenchant disapproval if she'd been a mere T-15.  He stood, looking
down at her though she was tall enough to look most men in the eye, as
imperturbable as ever.  As aloof and contained as always.  Did Afra
never alter?  Did he never give vent to his feelings?  Did he have any?
     Unfair of her for she knew he did - even if he seemed to expend
most of them on barque cats and Coonies.  She really shouldn't have
snatched his carrier from her mother: that had been childish and she so
wanted Afra to notice how well she managed Aurigae Tower with a minimum
of Talented staff and a maximum of efficiency.  She sighed for she knew
she hadn't impressed Afra at all.
     Instinctively, she straightened as if to minimize the difference
in their heights.  Even so, she still only came to Afra's shoulder.
     'You will apologize to your mother, Damia,' Afra said, his
unexpectedly tenor speaking voice a curious echo of his quiet mental
tone.  'Isthia taught you better manners even if we never could.
     'You've been trying to lately, though, haven't you?' The retort
came out before she could stop it.  Why did she always feel like an
errant child in Afra's presence?  Even when she wasn't at fault.
     He cocked his head to one side and regarded her steadily.
     She sent a swift probe which he parried easily.
     'You were distressing Jenna unnecessarily, Damia.  She appealed to
me because she did not wish Jeff to know of your indiscretion.
     'She chose well.' Damia was so appalled at the waspishness of her
tone that she extended her hand to him apologetically.
     She could feel him throw up his mental barriers and, for a second,
she wondered if he might refuse what was, after all, the height of
familiarity between telepaths.  But his hand rose smoothly to clasp
hers, lightly, warmly, leaving her with the essential
cool-green-comfortable-security that was the physical/mental
double-touch of him.
     Then, with a one-sided smile, he bowed to indicate he was
flattered by the compliment of touching but allowed a recollection of
herself, clad only in dypers, cross his public mind.
     She made a face at him and substituted Larak's son.
     Afra blandly put 'her' back beside her nephew.
     'All right,' she laughed.  'I'll behave.' 'About time,' he said
with an affable grin.  'Now apologize to your mother.
     Damia made a face but she sent a suitably contrite message to the
Rowan who accepted it with only a modicum of disapproval.  When she had
done that, Damia saw Afra looking about him.  He would have seen
Aurigae through the perceptions of herself and Keylarion, her T-6.
     The Tower occupied a position beyond the edges of, and on a height
above, the sprawling colony town which had been built on both sides of
the river that flowed into Aurigae's southern sea several kilometres
beyond.  A fine straight road linked Tower and town, but there was
little traffic on it now in the early evening.
     Unlike other Towers, there was no staff compound, for most of the
Talents preferred quarters in the nearby town.
     So, late in the evening there weren't even any ground vehicles
about the Tower buildings and only the two personal capsules in the
cradling yard.  The sweet-scented breeze sweeping down from the high
snowy mountain range was lightly moist and the atmosphere had a high
oxygen content, exhilarating him.  Afra took a deep breath and exhaled.
     'It's a lovely world you have here, Damia.' She smiled up at him,
her blue eyes brilliant under the fringes of long black lashes.
     'Yes, isn't it?  Young and vigorous.  Come see where I live.  And
see how well all the Coonies have adapted to Aurigae.' She led the way
from the landing stage to her dwelling.
     Her house, a cantilevered affair on several levels, perched on the
high plateau above the noisy metropolis.  Its randomly sprawling
newness had a vitality which the planned order of both Earth and his
native Capella lacked.  Afra found the view stimulating.
     'It is, isn't it?' Damia agreed, following his surface thought.
     Then she directed his mind to her day's discovery, giving the
experience exactly as it had happened to her.
     'And the touch is unlike anything I've ever encountered.' 'You
certainly didn't expect it to be familiar, did you?' Afra asked in dry
amusement.
     'Just because they originate in another galaxy doesn't mean they
can't be humanoid, and thus somewhat familiar,' she replied.
     'Dreamer They both heard an excited chatter as they started up the
last flight of shallow steps to the main entrance to her quarters.  She
grinned over her shoulder at Afra.
     'They know you're here,' she said just as a tumble of brightly
furred bodies squeezed out of their special door, sorting into five
separate entities.  Squealing and clicking with delight, they swarmed
up Afra's long legs - one Coonie making a splendid leap from the top
step directly to his chest.  Laughing, Afra reached up to keep the
daring Crisp from losing her grip on the smooth fabric of his tunic.
     Meanwhile, arthur scrambled to his shoulder, twining his banded
tail around Afra's neck, just as Merry arrived on the other shoulder
and Priss and Scrap argued with each other for Afra's crooked right
arm.
     Merry was disgusted and leapt to Damia's shoulder, scolding her
siblings impartially as she proprietorially threaded her tail about
Damia's neck.
     'Aurigae' 5 unscrewed all their training, too,' Afra remarked as
he carried his squirming load into the house.
     But his smile took the sting from his words.  'I'm positive that
Crisp and arthur have put on kilos since they left Callisto.
     'They've filled out a lot.  The hunting's good,' Damia said.
     'They're foraging?' Afra was both surprised and pleased.
     Coonies were infinitely adaptable which was why they fared well
wherever they were raised.  This litter had been born on Callisto under
Damia's bed, if Afra remembered correctly.  They had always been
Damia's but had included him in their exuberant affections.
     I'Daily, or should I say nightly?  What they don't eat they
deposit very carefully in my bathtub - where it's easy to clean up.'
Damia made a face.  'Are you hungry?
     I've probably interrupted your normal shift.' 'Oh, don't go to any
trouble for me,' he said, settling on the long deep couch in the living
area so that he could pet the Coonies who rapturously exposed their
white-furred bellies for his special attentions.
     'No trouble at all,' Damia replied.  Mischievously she kinetically
started several cooking operations at the same time, each one a dish
which she knew Afra particularly enjoyed.  For quite a few minutes, the
kitchen was full of flying utensils, condiments and raw materials being
processed.
     'Always the thoughtful hostess,' he said, graciously inclining his
head.  'How fast is this alien closing on Aurigae?' 'Give me a break,
Afra!  I only know it's there!  How could I possibly judge relative
speed?  I've got to establish some frame of reference.
     'Well, you've always been precocious.' He had to duck a vegetable
peeling which she flung at him in her pique.
     He neatly launched it into the disposal unit.  'Seriously, Damia,
how long do you think you'll need?' Appeased by a reasonable request,
she considered.  'I should have some idea of relative speed in a week
or so.
     Maybe even sooner, but I doubt it.' Absently fondling soft, silky
Coonie bodies, he watched her as she ended the telekinetic preparatory
ballet of edibles, and began to sample what she was cooking, corrected
seasonings and added final ingredients.  Like most T- is, she enjoyed
manual work and kept her house without relying on the mechanicals which
most households considered essential.  In a very short time, she
prepared a perfectly cooked, attractively presented meal at which he
glanced casually, seemingly reluctant to disentangle his hands from the
Coonies' playful paws and teeth.
     'Scatter, kids,' Damia said, firmly Separating the little animals
from their willing victim.
     With startled squeaks, the Coonies fled from the couch to
positions where they turned to glare in her direction, muttering Coonie
imprecations.  Afra glanced at her, his eyebrows raised in mild rebuke.
     'They had a good romp with you,' she said, 'but I went to a lot of
trouble to give you a decent meal and I don't like my efforts wasted.'
She sat down across from him, plate in hand.
     'Your efforts are not wasted,' he said, putting his fork in the
crispy ginger chicken served with mangetout.
     'Tasty enough.' Damia made a face at him.  "'Tasty enough?"' She
mimicked him.  'Can't I ever impress you?' she asked, half-wistful,
half-sharp.
     'Why should you want to at this late date?' he asked, amiably.
     'I've never forgotten our introduction.' And he grinned.
     'Oh, that!' As always, that reminder caused her to flush.
     'It's not fair of you to continually bring that up.  So I smiled
at you until Elizara took me from you and then began to bawl my eyes
out.  I was hardly aware of what I was doing, now was I?  a bare hour
born.' 'My dear Damia,' and he chuckled appreciatively, 'you have
always been aware of your effect on an audience.
     He bowed his head towards her.  'But let us attend to the business
at hand.  How can I help you?  Shall I take over the regular Tower
workload and leave you free for surveillance?' 'I think you'll have to.
     When I got back in from resting, before mother despatched you,
Federated Mines and Ores notified me of intent to forward nine drones
to the refinery on one of Betelgeuse's outer planets.' 'Nine shouldn't
be a problem with David to catch,' Afra replied.
     Damia rolled her eyes.  'Big daddies, every one of them, not those
small interstellar drones you and Mother play with.' 'The big ones?'
And Afra regarded her with some concern.  'And they expect you to
manage such mass with only a Damia grinned with satisfaction at his
response.  'I always do manage, you know,' she said with considerable
pride.
     'Still jump-starting other people's Talents?' 'There's nothing
wrong with that, Afra, if it helps me spin off the workload they expect
of me.' Afra leaned forward, lightly touching his finger to her hand.
     'There's such a thing as being too stiff-necked proud, Damia.
     Especially as you might put your T-6 at risk of burnout.  Did you
think of that?' 'Yes, I have, but Keylarion is sturdy.  She doesn't
have much finesse but she sort of sets her heels down and pushes.'
Damia gave a little laugh.  'We might need more generators if this
traffic in big daddies continues.
     'Earth Prime has the right to know when his people are
overloaded.' Damia found it difficult to evade Afra's yellow eyes.
     'I would have mentioned it if the heavy traffic keeps up, Afra.
     I'd thought of insisting on the linked pod configuration you
initiated, but it's more a question of mass than convenience.  Up tilt
some dark thought of the big daddies, Keylarion and I have been able
for all they've asked.' 'At least you had sense to ask for help today,'
Afra said, and then shook his finger at her, simulating censure.  I
think I'll recommend that you're allowed a T-4 Ah ah, Damia,' and held
his finger in a sterner pose, 'I'll have made the recommendation if I
judge the traffic requires it.
     You won't have to admit you're unable to handle it.' 'I am able to
handle it,' and she jerked her chin up in challenge.
     'Indeed, but not if you've got to play sentinel, too.  I should
imagine that your staff will give a collective sigh of relief to know
you're being reinforced.' Looking down to artistically rearrange the
vegetables on her plate, she found that Afra was, as usual, correct in
his supposition.  The tip of his finger touched her chin and, with a
deft kinetic tilt, he made her look him in the eye.
     tHis mind touch was so sympathetic and understanding that she
smiled ruefully.
     'I don't have a big staff,' she admitted, adding hastily, 'but we
really do work well together.  And I haven't heard so much as a wisp of
complaint at the workload.' 'Then you've a good loyal group who will be
delighted to see me appear in the Tower to help one and all move those
ponderously packed pachydermical projectiles.  When we've done that,
your retiring in your capsule for a spot of peace and quiet will seem
quite in order.  Right?' 'As always, Afra.
     He regarded her steadily.  'Is that so hard to take from me,
Damia?' She mushed up the vegetables on the end of her fork and replied
honestly.  'No, not from you, Afra.  Never from you.  You don't
change,' she added, rather more tartly than she intended.
     He grinned at her.  'Good old reliable Afra, consistent and
constant.
     She wrinkled her nose at him, experiencing an odd twinge of regret
for his flippant self-description.  'You're not that old.' 'No,
actually I'm not,' he said enigmatically and served himself a second
helping from her pots and pans.
     That pleased her and she rediscovered her appetite.
     Having Afra recommend what she herself hadn't wanted to request
restored her self-confidence.  She was exceedingly glad to have Afra
here just now, and not merely to help her shift cargo that was
beginning to tax her strength, but because she was still absorbing the
effect of touching that alien aura.  She was excited, too, that she,
Damia Gwyn-Raven, should establish such a first contact.  Almost as if
it had been preordained - though she had never succumbed to the
immature curiosity that sometimes preoccupied lesser Talents to seek
hints of their future from clairvoyants.
     'You know,' she began, wanting to clear the air between them
completely, 'you were right to call me to task for "tasting" Larak and
Jenna.  But I did want to know how a lasting love feels in the mind.
     So I'll recognize it when it happens.  And what it's like to give
birth.' Afra raised an eyebrow quizzically.  'And 'Apart from the pain,
I guess it's rewarding enough.' 'You don't sound too sure.
     Damia cocked her head and traced an involved pattern on the table
with her index finger.
     'I suspect the firsthand experience is more intense, no matter how
deeply one scans.
     A trace thought behind her shield, triggered by her observation,
sent a stab of apprehension through Afra that he barely managed to
contain.  She was unconsciously censoring, and it had to do with the
alien aura and with her own desire for the experience of motherhood.
     But trace thought it was, and he had only that nana-second
impression, tantalizing, terrorizing.
     'You're young yet, Damia,' he said, keeping his voice light, 'and
it's really important for you to consolidate your abilities as a Prime
before you have conflicting loyalties.
     You know how hard it was for your mother to juggle Prime duties
and motherhood.' Damia cast him a jaundiced glare.  'Not that old
homily again,' she said in disgust.  'From Mother and Isthia it's bad
enough, but not you.  And why does it seem to affect women more than
men?  Look at Larak: he's got Jenna and he's two and a half years my
junior!' 'Cera's not involved ---' 'Oh yes, she is, even if he's not
very Talented.  Oh, is that news to you?' She was pleased to surprise
him.
     Restlessly, she launched herself physically from the table in one
lightning move, startling the Coonies who had been nestling in one of
the lounge chairs.
     'Cera could always keep her own counsel,' Afra replied.
     -'Why is it that Primes have such a hard time, Afra?  We can do so
much more than .  . .' She discontinued that thought for one of the
strictest precepts of her upbringing was to avoid the arrogance of
ability 'Compensation,' Afra said in the languid drawl he reserved for
these moods of hers.  'There are some experiences in life which are
worth waiting for.' She whirled, scowling at him, looking even more
lovely than ever.  'So I should just wait in my Tower?  As Mother did?
     Passive?' Afra let out a roar of laughter that startled Damia as
much as it did the Coonies.  He laughed until his eyes were tearing.
     'My dear Damia, there is nothing passive about you, or don't you
remember how you dismissed young Nicoloss 'Nico!  That adolescent
mess!' 'He's a good reliable T-5 and he's a superb second at
Betelgeuse.
     'David's welcome to him!' Damia's eyes flashed blue sparks of
outrage.
     'Well, now, girl, you know you need a steadying hand 'Oooooh!
     Steadying hand .  . . I'll steady you .  . .' and Damia lifted her
right hand.
     Well acquainted with Damia's tendency to dramatize, Afra deposited
Crisp in her open palm.  Crisp blinked and cheeped in surprise.
     'Ah, yes, I see I was mistaken,' Afra said as she closed her
fingers reassuringly about the Coonie, drawing it in to her breast.
     'YOU have the steadying hand.' She regarded him darkly, tapping
her foot, her lips compressed.
     It had become second nature, Afra decided, to deal with Damia's
moods.  To be sure, they were more complex since she became interested
in the opposite sex - or, to be precise, the lack of partners,
steadying or otherwise.  These times tried his resolve despite the fact
that his diversions were usually effective.  One day he might graduate
from the avuncular stance he had had to adopt and be able to give free
expression to his deep-hidden desire.  But, from the day that Damia's
imminent puberty had forced him to realize how much she meant to him,
he had given a great deal of thought to the variables and knew that he
could only wait.  It was hard.  Certainly as hard as it was for Damia
to watch others pairing off, achieving the enviable total rapport that
telepaths enjoyed, and for which she was so eager.  Her very brilliance
and beauty caused many otherwise willing mates to shy away Nicoloss
being only the latest one of a long line.  At least she had never
repeated the Amr tragedy.  Usually she would talk herself out of these
libidinous moods but tonight Afra sensed a new pulse that was dangerous
in its intensity.
     'Is that why you so eagerly await the arrival of the aliens?' Afra
said in his soft drawl, deliberately leeching all emotion out of his
words.  'On the extremely unlikely chance they're biologically
compatible?  Do you envision your soul mate winging across the void to
you?' Her eyes dilated in anger and the hand caressing Crisp stilled.
     'That was unworthy of you, Afra,' she said in a hoarse whisper.
     He knew that, but the thought was better aired between them where
'it couldn't fester in her mind.  He inclined his head in apology
'Better get some sleep, Damia.  We're pushing big daddies tomorrow,' he
said gently and gave her a little mental shove towards her bedroom.
     She scowled, still smarting from his facetious observation but
allowed herself to be swayed by the nudge.
     'Well, you know what a romantic I am, Afra,' she said with a
rueful grin and hitched Crisp to her shoulder where the Coonie had
snuggled happily against her neck.
     'And I do need my sleep.  That contact was quite a high.
     No action without a reaction, after all,' she added in a
philosophical tone but the sadness in her smile touched Afra to the
heart.
     He nodded understandingly, keeping a tight grasp on his emotions.
     Again Afra caught the unmistakable and unconscious suppression of
a thought within the maelstrom of her weariness.
     As Damia turned, she made a sweeping gesture at the other Coonies
and, with squeals of delight, they erupted out of the chair and
scurried after her.
     Afra dared not relax until he was certain Damia was fully asleep.
     So he tidied away the remains of their meal, filled the Coonies'
water and dry feed dishes, and then watched the sunset turn the plateau
a deep tangerine before diminishing in the west.  Brooding over the
nuances of the evening's conversation, he waited until the roiling
activity of Damia's mind subsided into the even beat of sleep.  Then
he, too, went to bed.
     To his surprise and delight, Scrap and arthur appeared in his room
to sit on his bed, clearly awaiting his company for the night.  He was
touched by their presence and settled himself down quickly, performing
the obligatory caresses until they arranged themselves against him.
     Comforting creatures to have.  Not what he really wanted but
better than nothing.  Carefully, just as he was on the edge of sleep,
he reinforced his mental screens so that none of his longing for Damia
would escape.  He wondered, in that honest interval between
consciousness and dreaming, if he would have enough strength left to
cope with a third generation of such women.
     The next day, Damia introduced Afra to her Tower personnel.
     Keylarion was visibly relieved to see him for he had been her
training mentor at Callisto.  How Damia managed with only seven in
staff, and all under T-8 apart from Keylarion, Afra could not imagine.
     Yet they had; there were no complaints from the Aurigae
Management.
     Which, in point of fact, being so new a colony, could not have
afforded the rates a large number of high Ts commanded in FT&T He
perceived that Damia was popular with her staff, male and female.  The
T-9 stationmaster, Herault, was infatuated with her, a condition of
which Damia was clearly unaware while Afra picked it up instantly.  But
then, he knew the signs so well.  It was also apparent to Afra that
Inane of them realized that Damia's catalytic gift boosted their
performance levels above their T-designation.  He was relieved that she
had finally learned not to reveal that aspect of her Talent.  It had
taken him long enough to get that message through her Talented skull.
     'I've got the placements for the big daddies, Damia,' Herault
said, shaking his head.  'And they've instructed us to pick 'em up at
the mines again.' Damia nodded curtly to Herault, pursing her lips in
annoyance over that as she glanced over at the generator boards where
Xexo was monitoring their performance.
     'We'll have full power in another ten minutes.  The two spot's
going to need servicing soon, Damia,' the T-8 engineer said, shaking
his head at the unwelcome necessity.
     'Blast!' Damia allowed her anger to show.  Afra could scarcely
blame her.  With what she had to teleport, she'd need all four
generators giving her top power.  'And they're too broke to buy me a
spare.
     'Backtrack a moment,' Afra said, holding up a hand.
     'You have to pick up the cargo at the mines?' 'We have to,' Damia
said with a meditative shrug and a gamine grin.  'They don't possess a
land vehicle strong enough to transport them even the short distance
from the mines.' She jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the general
direction of the rugged foothills behind the town.
     'Nonsense,' Filomena, the T-9 expeditor, said sharply, 'they don't
want to gouge ruts out of their new roads which they didn't construct
correctly to carry the heavy loads they ought to have known they'd have
to transport.
     This IS a mining planet!' afra regarded damia sternly.  'They're
abrogating FT&T regulations .  . 'I know that,' Damia responded tartly,
'but,' and she sighed, 'I can try to oblige them and save a lot of
hassle - which transport would be-' 'To say nothing of the wear and
tear on you and your staff-' 'Afra!  This is my Tower and I'm running
it my way.' Afra inhaled deeply.  It was improper for him to challenge
Damia in her own Tower.  He exhaled, lifting his hands in a gesture of
yielding.  'I just hope that Aurigae appreciates you.  All of you.' At
that instant both Damia and Afra heard the generators reach their peak.
     'Well, folks, let's speed the daddies on their way while we're
fresh and eager.  It's also morning on Betelgeuse so David'll catch
efficiently.  Afra?' And she led the way into the Tower.
     To his surprise, a second conformable chair stood next to hers,
complete with a secondary board, screens and a terminal.
     'Thank you,' he said as he settled himself.
     'You deserve no less,' she said at her sweetest and he curbed an
impulse to 'see' what she was up to.
     'Placements!' Both Tower screens showed the huge ore pods,
dwarfing the men on the ground in the mine yard, and even the heavy
cranes and flatbeds that had helped load them.
     Beneath the picture were the coordinates for delivery at
Betelgeuse's outer planet.
     Betelgeuse Tower, Aurigae here, she said, observing protocol.
     Damia?  Morning, replied David of Betelgeuse.  The refineries have
been screaming for this shipment.
     You're likely to have a hernia bringing 'em in, Damia said.
     Too much for you, darling?  David asked archly.  Afra knew the
older Prime enjoyed taunting Damia.
     Not for me, she replied, projecting a broad and confident grin.
     Ready?
     Damia!  Afra sent the warning on a tight shaft, having heard just
that tone of voice from her mother.
     Don't Afra.  You'll spoil my fun!  Damia shot back and began the
lift.  Because he'd been forewarned by her mental tone, Afra was ready
to follow her mind to the immense drones in the yard and felt himself
strengthened, by the incredible catalytic link she could establish.
     Effortlessly they 'ported the first big daddy towards its
destination.
     What under the stars are those Aurigaens trying to prove?
     David exclaimed and both of them heard him work to receive her
'port.
     Your principals were screaming for the shipment, weren't they?
     Damia's voice was smooth and silky with satisfaction.
     Ready number two?
     Ready when you are, and there was determination in David's voice.
     By the ninth 'port, Afra knew himself to be tiring and wondered at
the energy Damia exuded.
     That is the last of such weights I will accept from Aurigae, David
said.  And I'm registering a complaint against the mines with Earth
Prime.  I can't imagine why you haven't, Damia.
     I don't mind cooperating with management and industry but nine of
those is stretching both of us.  Do not, I repeat, do not accept such
monsters again.  Why, I could shift a battle fleet more easily.
     Damia's grin at irritating David altered to a frown and Afra
sensed her sudden apprehension.
     A random remark, and those daddies would weigh the same.  You've
had your fun.  Leave it, Afra shot at her.
     'You do have coffee here, don't you?' he asked, looking about the
Tower.
     Two steaming cups and a plate of energy biscuits appeared and one
cup horned in on Afra, the plate following it.
     'You're guest,' she said with an unrepentant grin and a shrug of
her slim shoulders.  'I don't have enough staff to adhere to strict
protocol.' Refreshed, they were shortly ready to 'port and receive
incoming cargo, none of which was anywhere near the weight or mass of
the morning's first delivery.  Damia worked without affectation, Afra
was pleased to note: a Prime in easy command of her skills.  There was
an excellent harmony with every one of her staff.  Aurigae was a more
than adequate testing ground for Damia.
     Afra wondered if she'd been apprised that she would succeed Guzman
at Procyon when the old Prime was finally persuaded to step down.
     Despite her youth, FT&T would have insisted on his retirement if
they'd known how frail the old man was but Jeff Raven, and others,
conspired to deceive the administration.  And they'd continue to do so
as long as necessary.
     Shortly, all the incoming loads had been cradled and the light
afternoon traffic processed.  Damia, her eyes glinting with mischief,
slid out of the conformable chair and signalled for Afra to take her
place.  When the focal Talent of the gestalt went from one to the
other, not even a half beat of the pulse of the Aurigaen Tower was
missed.  Damia used the Tower exit to reach her capsule and informed
Afra of her departure.  He let up on the gestalt long enough for her to
'port her own launch before he picked it up again.  She was gone too
quickly for him to keep even the most negligible of contacts with her.
     So much for that notion.  However, her absence would permit Afra
to use gestalt to communicate with Jeff should he need to.  The Tower's
work proceeded smoothly.  There was, in fact, rather more traffic than
Damia had anticipated, but no more big daddies, though several medium
drones of refined material had to be despatched to various
destinations.  Inbound supplies arrived sporadically but nothing that
an experienced T-3 couldn't handle.  However, number two generator was
definitely ailing and Afra was concerned.  Xexo tinkered and fiddled
with it whenever he could but the machine needed more than adjustments.
     Fortunately, Damia would not require full station power to assist
her comings and goings so, once the day's work was done, Xexo could
begin to dismantle it.
     In terms of intergalactic distances, the aliens approached at the
proverbial snail's pace: by interstellar references, incredibly fast.
     Such a feat argued for a highly sophisticated technical species.
     On the evening of the eighth day, Damia returned from her quest,
bursting with news.  She 'ported herself from her capsule right into
the lounge area where Afra was amusing the Coonies.
     'I made individual contact,- she cried.  'And what a mind!' She
was far too excited to notice Afra's flare of apprehension.  He told
himself this was just Damia being her usual melodramatic self.  'And
what a surprise he got, she went on.
     From the first words out of her mouth, Afra knew that the mind was
male.
     'Really?' and he injected genuine interest into his response.  'A
Prime Talent?' 'I can't assess his abilities.  He's so .  . .
     different,' she exclaimed, her eyes shining and her mental aura
dazzling with her success.  'He fades and then returns.  The distance
is still immense, of course, and there isn't much definition in the
thoughts.  We can only deal in abstracts.' She laughed tiredly.  'As
scientists have often maintained, I made a start by reciting the
periodic table of chemicals and basic atomic structures to establish at
least some level of communication.
     'Surely an intergalactic ship would utilize a more sophisticated
source than atomic power?' 'I'm sure it would have to, to travel such
distances,' and Damia threw herself on the long couch, pushing back her
long hair in a tired gesture before she let her hand drop bonelessly to
the cushioning.  'I can't be bothered at this stage of interaction to
deal with minor details.' 'Minor details?' 'Oh, don't fuss, Afra,' she
said irritably.  'Considering our space travel experts postulate drives
as far beyond fusion as the wheel from mixed fuel space drives, we can
posit that they would have to have developed an efficient drive.  At
least I could project mutually understood abstracts.  I'm exhausted.  I
haven't had this sort of a workout since Larak and I played dodgeball
against all the cousins.
     Let me grab a little nap before I contact Dad.' 'Xexo's patching
that ailing generator.' Damia scowled, then shrugged off that
complication.
     'All the more reason for me to have an hour's snore.' 'You don't
snore,' Afra said firmly, giving her a mock stern glare.
     She managed a grin for his loyal denial.
     Afra waited until she relaxed into sleep.  Putting ethics aside,
he tried to reach this experience in her mind, below the emotional
level, only to find himself overwhelmed by the subjective.  Damia was
indulging in a high emotional kick!  He recognized that she had every
reason to be proud of herself in establishing any sort of contact with
an alien but he was afraid for her, with a fear deeper than any he had
ever touched personally or vicariously.
     Afra withdrew, troubled.  Crisp and Merry crawled over to him,
whining softly as if they felt his concern.  Soothing them, he managed
to disperse his presentiment.
     He let her wake up naturally and was proud of her now calm and
balanced mind.  As she 'reached' Jeff, she was totally the Prime,
giving a considered and professional report of the contact.  Not a
trace of the excitation Afra had probed coloured her thoughts.  When
she had finished 'pathing, Jeff inserted a private query for Afra but
he could only confirm Damia's report.
     He saw no point to mention vague forebodings but he dId mention
the matter of overweight drones.  Jeff had received a formal complaint
from David of Betelgeuse and there was to be an official protest from
FT&T to Aurigae Miners.
     The next day, Damia tossed off the few live 'portations and
departed for her surveillance.  And Afra contained his presentiments.
     She returned so shining from the second session of communication
that Afra had to clamp an icy hold over his mental reactions.
     'We're making great progress in conceptualizations,' she told
Afra, pirouetting with abandon into the lounge and flopping on to the
long couch, her eyes glowing.  One long tress, half black hair, half
white, fell across her flushed face.
     'Such as?' he enquired in a politely interested tone.  She was so
absorbed by her accomplishment that she didn't react to his ironic
tone.
     'Once past simple atomic weights, we've,' the pronoun, an
innocuous detail in itself, raised Afra's hackles, 'gone on to solar
systems.  His has twelve planets and two asteroid belts.' 'What sort of
planet does his species inhabit?' Damia shot him a quick glance, then
laughed uneasily.
     'That's strange.  We didn't establish that.' 'And how did you
answer his query about Aurigae?' She was more alert now and her eye
contact was wary.
     Then she grinned cockily.  'I gave the same detail he did.
     Without, dear Arra,' her use of her baby name for him underlined
her impudence, 'disclosing any more than the number of planets, moons
et cetera.  I'm not a fool!' She hauled herself out of her
semi-recumbent position and made a show of tossing her hair back.
     'You've never been a fool, Damia,' Afra replied coolly.
     'Nor am I catechizing you.  I cooked dinner tonight.' 'Did you?'
and she seized on that topic with obvious relief.  'You're a better
cook than any other man I know.' Afra decided that she had redeemed her
use of 'Arra' with that unsolicited praise.  One day, maybe, they'd
confront each other as functioning adults .  . . Ruthlessly he
suppressed the eros and reinstated the philia and began to serve her a
much-needed meal.
     The third morning, as Damia sat in the Tower, she worked with such
haste that Afra was obliged to reprimand her.  She gaily corrected
herself, making far too negligent a response.  Then, eagerly she
propelled herself out to make the rendezvous.  When she returned that
evening so tired that she reeled into the room, Afra took command.
     'I'm going with you tomorrow, Damia,' he said firmly.
     'What for?' She glared at him from the couch into which she had
sunk.  'I'd know the sting-pzzzt of Beetles.  And there isn't even a
trace of that about Sodan.' 'Sodan?' Damia flushed at the crack in his
voice but did not evade eye contact with him.  'That's how he
identifies himself.
     Furthermore, I inserted the concept of other sentient life forms
and he denied knowledge of any.' Afra decided not to challenge that
information.  'What do you mean by the sting-pzzzt of Beetles?  The
Deneb Penetration happened before you were even conceived.' She rose
and came to sit at the counter where Afra was fixing their dinner
plates, she gave a casual shrug.  'When we were exploring around
Grandmother's farm, we often found bits and pieces of Beetle metal.
     Uncle Rhodri was still paying by the weight for their junk.' She
gave Afra a teasing grin.  'It made a comfortable addition to the
measly pocket money Isthia allowed us.  Larak and I decided that there
was sting-' now she wet the tip of one finger and placed it on the
counter surface, making the 'pzzzt' sound, '-in Beetle metal.  There's
no sting-pzzzt about Sodan.' She sounded entirely confident.
     It disturbed Afra to know that this entity had a name.
     It made the alien seem amiable/approachable.  Nor could Afra quite
reason away the unusual lilt with which Damia spoke the name.
     'Fair enough,' Afra said, with an indifference he didn't feel as
he passed her a plate.  'However, the lack of stingpzzzt is not going
to reassure Earth Prime.  Tomorrow take me along for the ride.
     There'll be no need to introduce me.  All I need to do is confirm
your sense of the aura.
     I certainly wouldn't want to jeopardize whatever rapport you've
managed to build.  He'll never realize I've been there.' afra yawned.
     'Why are you tired?' 'I've been stevedoring all day,' he said with
a malicious grin.
     'How?  Who?' Damia demanded, indignantly.  'There was nothing
urgent on the schedule when I went off.' 'No, there wasn't, but there
was a minor mine disaster where the Tower could assist.  Then a delayed
shipment of spare parts was signalled in from Procyon, and a freighter
with some perishables and a covey of prospective immigrants came
through.' 'Damn them!  They were taking advantage of you, Afra!  Towers
have protocol to avoid collisions and confusions.  Especially on
inbound 'ports.  Unscheduled shipments ' Then she stopped for he was
grinning at her.  She let out a gusty sigh.  'I know.' She waved her
hand irritably.  'Phrases out of mother's mouth.  But Afra waggled a
finger at her.  'You set the precedent at Aurigae Tower, Damia, by
being so cooperative that miners and shippers assume that you're ready,
willing and able when need arises.' 'This smells heavenly,' she said
artlessly as she loaded her fork.
     'Hah!' Afra said, refusing to be diverted.
     'And it is,' she said through her first mouthful.  'Lovely
seasoning.
     'Thank you.  By the way, that crew of yours is really excellent.
     Even the generator behaved.  Have some chopped fruit.  Takes the
edge off that pepper.
     They ate companionably, though Damia's appetite seemed to be
affected by her fatigue for she usually went for seconds of one of his
special meals.  She did ask for details of the mine problem - a line of
ore carts had slipped off the cable, causing an obstruction in the
shaft which Afra and the Tower folk were able to shift so there was no
significant loss of time.  When he asked her what else she had
discussed with Sodan, she had trouble formulating sentences despite a
resurgence of animation Ion that subject.
     'Don't stand on ceremony with me, Damia, Afra said when she didn't
even have the energy to groom Merry when the animal brought her the
brush.  'Here, I'll do Merry.  You go to bed.  Sleep well.
     Such exhaustion for one so vibrantly healthy worried Afra even
more than her emotional involvement with this Sodan entity.  It no
longer mattered that the intruder was unrelated to the species that had
attacked Deneb; he was a menace in himself.
     The next day, after 'porting out medium-sized drones of refined
ores, Damia told Keylarion to inform any callers that the Tower was on
hold for repairs to the generator that Xexo now said were critical.
     Then she and Afra settled into their personal capsules.  Afra
followed Damia's thrust and held himself silent as she reached the area
where she could touch the aura of Sodan.  To his relief, Damia had no
hesitation when Afra asked permission to establish a light link in her
mind.  So she carried them both to the alien ship.  As soon as the
alien touch impinged on Afra's awareness, much was suddenly clear to
him: much seen, and worse, much unseen.
     What Damia could not, would not, or did not see justified Afra's
nagging presentiment of danger.  Nothing out of Sodan's mind was
visible: and nothing beyond his public mind was accessible.  The alien
had a powerful mentality.
     As a quiescent eavesdropper, Afra could not probe, but he widened
his own sensitivity to its limit and the impressions he received served
to increase his intuition of danger.
     There was absolutely no comparison between Sodan and the Deneb
invasion species.  Damia was correct in that evaluation.  One
impression which surprised Afra was that of an almost interminable
journey.  And excitement at an end in sight.  Yet how Afra could grasp
that concept from a mind that did not yet speak in a known language, he
did not know.  But those were the impressions he grasped.
     Damia would not expect Afra to linger once he had satisfied his
stated errand.  But, fascinated by the contact, he did linger,
discovering other unsettling aspects.  Sodan's mind, undeniably
brilliant, was nevertheless augmented.
     Afra couldn't perceive whether Sodan was the focus for other minds
on the ship or in gestalt with the ship's power source.  Straining his
nerves and senses to the limit without revealing his presence, Afra
tried to pierce the visual screen or, at least, the aural one.  All he
received was a low stereo babble of mechanical activity, and the burn
of heavy elements, the latter sufficiently disturbing in itself.  Yet
how did a species without a visual faculty function on such a
sophisticated level?  To be sure, antennae of various sorts relayed a
tremendous amount of information to an intelligent mind: sensors and
optics imitated vision but it was the sight of stars that had lured
Mankind into space.  What had been this alien's goad to cross
intergalactic space?
     Worried and frustrated, Afra withdrew, leaving Sodan and Damia to
exchange abstracts that, to him, were also the ploys of emotional
attraction.  He returned to Aurigae and sought the Tower couch.  He
felt completely drained by the brief jaunt.  That was in itself
unnerving.  He'd planned to contact Larak on Procyon without having to
gestalt.  But he knew that was impossible just then.  Carefully
assuming a light tone, he asked Keylarion to bring a generator on line
for him.
     'We've three if you need them,' the T-6 replied helpfully.
     'No, one's enough.' And Afra hoped that it would be.
     For a T-3, one should be sufficient.  He scrubbed at his face
while he watched the gauge on number one generator climb to sending
level.  It was not, Afra assured himself, that Damia had deliberately
concealed anything in her reports to him or to Jeff: she was entirely
unaware that her usually keen perceptions were fuddled and distorted by
the fatigue levels caused by contact with this alien.
     And Damia had been spending hours dealing abstracts at Sodan?  He
exhaled noisily and wondered if a cup of coffee would have a reviving
effect.  But the needle reached the required level even as Keylarion
verified readiness to him.
     Even with the gestalt, 'pathing to Larak was an effort.
     Larak, Afra called, leaning heavily into the power and projecting
his own mental/physical concept of Larak to aid him in reaching the
boy's mind.
     Man, you're beat, Larak answered, his touch sharp, clear, green.
     Larak, relay back to Jeff that this SodanIt's got a name?
     It's got more than that and Damia is responding on a very high
emotional level, Afra sighed heavily.  This entity has no resemblance
to the Deneb Penetration species.  No Beetle sting What?  Oh, yeah, I
remember.  Larak's projection of a grin was oddly comforting to Afra.
     But there's something very insidious about this Sodan individual.
     A few moments in its company and I'm so shagged that I needed
gestalt to reach you.
     You?  That was enough to remove the grin from Larak's voice.
     Please inform Jeff that I consider this situation of a highly
volatile - and possibly dangerous - nature.  I want you out here as
soon as possible on any pretext so I can get through to Earth Prime
without requiring either Damia or gestalt.  And- Afra paused to
emphasize the next request, please ask both Jeff and the Rowan to
remain available to me on demand.
     What has my darling sister found this time!  Larak responded with
an impressed whistle.
     Get Mick and Mauli to push you out here as soon as you can relay
that message, huh, Larak, like a good lad?
     Coming, Larak responded crisply.
     Afra leaned back in the couch and flicked off the generator.  The
exchange had taken no more than thirty seconds: not long enough for
Keylarion to take particular note or even log it into the station
records.  Not that Damia would check the station log if she returned:
she'd be too tired, he thought grimly.  How did that entity cause such
enervation?  Why?  Afra brooded.  Perhaps he was being over-sensitive
because Damia was so absorbed by this contact.  He had half-hoped, when
Jeff told him to go to Aurigae, that he might have a chance to attract
Damia as he had so long wanted to do.  Perhaps he was acting
prematurely to call Larak in.  Perhaps he could handle the Sodan mind
himself.
     No, Afra told himself candidly, not when you're reduced to a limp
rag after a vicarious touch.  And not with the competition Sodan was
providing.
     Hey, Afra, what does a guy have to do to get your attention?  was
Larak's cheery greeting as he bounced up the Tower steps.
     His energy seemed almost obscene to the weary T-3.
     'Knock twice!' Afra replied but he grinned gratefully as he
extended his hand to the visitor.  The vigour which Larak exuded was as
much a restorative as the infectiousness of his smile.  The resemblance
between Larak and his sister was pronounced, even to having the Gwyn
slash of white in the same position on their black-haired heads.
     Larak was not quite as tall as his sister who was unusually tall,
and more slightly built than his brothers.  But he had full measure of
the Raven charm and Afra found the energy to return the boy's smile.
     Hands now touching, Afra conveyed the one impression he had not
included in the broadcast.
     Damia's infatuated with this peculiarly dangerous alien?
     Larak murmured, surprised, and looked hard into Afra's eyes.
     'Wouldn't you know she'd have weird and exotic tastes!' He let his
lips turn down sympathetically.  Why can't she pick on the home-brewed?
     He cocked his head at Afra.
     Afra felt it expedient to ignore that comment.  'A very dangerous
alien, unfortunately.  Do you remember that old scare tale about
soul-eaters?' Larak rolled his eyes wide.  'You just bet I do.  Damia
terrorized me into starting a forest fire with that tale of hers.  Wait
a minute.  You think this alien's a soul-eater?' Larak was almost
indignant at the notion.  'Hey, Afra, that was kid stuff.' 'I can't
think of another analogue.  I spent no more than ten or fifteen
seconds, in a light secondary link, and I had to use gestalt to reach
you at Procyon.' 'That's not good,' Larak said.  'That's very bad.
     What's wrong with Damia?  Doesn't she realize.  . . No, obviously
she doesn't.' Larak slid into the second conformable couch, his eyes
flickering as he considered and discarded thoughts.
     'Damia mentioned the residue you two felt from Beetle artifacts.
     There's something comparable to your sting on board Sodan's
vessel.
     And it's not comfortable.' 'Fissionables?' Larak asked.
     Afra shook his head.  'It is very alien.  I couldn't define it.'
'Can Damia?' Afra grimaced.  'She's involved in translating abstracts.'
'Those'll be a great help if he plans to blow us up.' Larak tensed.
     'What has she said about us?  The League?' 'From what she reports,
she's been discreet.' 'That's a mercy.' Afra could sense that Larak's
flippancy disguised a concern for Damia as deep as his own.  Larak had
always been closest to her.  'I wouldn't mind what they discussed,' he
said, 'but Sodan leaves her so drained.' 'New kind of weapon - total
enervation before annihilation?' 'That's not as outrageous as you
think,' Afra said grimly.
     'There's a tremendous power source in the ship 'There'd have to be
to push it between galaxies 'But that's all I could sense.  Beyond the
public mind, I met an impenetrable wall.  Granted, Damia '5 much
stronger than I am 'But she hasn't tried?' Afra frowned, and rising,
began to pace restlessly back and forth in the narrow Tower.
     Larak held Afra's glance, and then sighed.
     'But there's been no overt act of aggression?' 'That depends on
what you call "aggression".  I believe that Sodan is subtly trying to
destroy Damia in the process of this peaceful exchange of culture and
information.  In my lexicon, eroding her mental capability is an
assault with intent to maim or kill.' He saw that remark succeeded in
arousing all Larak's natural fraternal concern and protectiveness.  'I
could be overreacting.  I'm no pre-cog but there are instances in which
one doesn't need to be to guess intent.  Judge for yourself when you
see Damia this evening.' Larak did not bother to shield his anger.  'I
will but I've never seen you overreact, Afra.  Apart from the danger to
my sister, just how close is this Sodan to Iota Aurigae?  Close enough
to recognize this system as Damia's point of origin?' Afra managed a
wry grin.  'You're a real Tower-man, Lar.' Larak gave a quick
unhumorous grin.  'A Gwyn-Raven, body, blood and brain!' 'Logically,'
Afra continued, 'we have to allow him the same sophistication in
monitoring devices as he has in travel capability.  So he's certain to
detect sufficient activity on this planet to attract,' and Afra paused,
searching for the appropriate phrase, 'his attention.  Since a high
tech society gobbles ores, minerals and rare earths at phenomenal
rates, it is reasonable to assume that he's crossed to our galaxy to
find new sources.
     'Are we assuming aggression where none exists?' Larak asked,
playing devil's advocate.
     Afra paused, 'We could be.  The Beetles made their plans
exceedingly clear but they might be exceptions to the rule of peaceful
exploration.  Only I cannot get it out of my mind that the Sodan is
deliberately depleting Damia '5 energy to reduce her ability to defend
herself.  And I've never had such a presentiment of danger before - not
even when I was mind-merged with the Rowan-focus over Deneb.' 'If we
must eradicate the threat this Sodan entity poses, I'd say it would be
wiser to do it now, rather than later when he's closer to this system,'
Larak replied, pressing his lips tight against that expedient.  'Should
we call for naval backup?' 'Ha!  Sodan'd be orbiting Aurigae before the
Fleet would bestir itself to action,' Afra replied derisively.
     'Especially right now,' and Larak's grin was amused, 'when they're
investigating the nibbles at Procyon's DEW system.
     'What?' Afra stared at Larak, struck by a horror of several Sodans
converging on the Nine Star League.
     Larak was delighted at the effect of that casual statement.
     'They're keeping it to a need-to-know basis but don't worry.  So
far it's been limited to unidentifiable impingements,' and Larak shook
his head vigorously to reassure the Capellan, 'and neither the scouts
nor all that sensitive instrumentation has revealed anything in the
least bit hostile.  Those sentinels are sensitive enough to be set off
by spaceflot or cometaries.  This Sodan's modus operandi seems to be
entirely different.  We Talents destroyed the Beetles more or less by
ourselves.  I think we can handle this mental giant.
     Afra gave a mirthless laugh.  'We'll be lucky if we can.' He
nodded briskly when Larak regarded him with astonishment.  'Oh, yes,
that mind is incredibly powerful.
     Not at all like the Beetles where there were only sixteen control
beings that had to be diverted.  And, if he has been insidiously
reducing Damia's strength or getting past her shields .  -' Afra
paused, adding very softly, his yellow eyes clouded, 'he could quite
possibly destroy us.' 'Let's get Dad and Mother in on this,' Larak said
in sudden resolution.
     Together the two soberly presented their conclusions to Jeff and
the Rowan.
     Surely if you were an alien contacted by a strong mentality, you
would exercise caution in revealing details?  the Rowan suggested.  I
would, if I met a mind in outer space.
     You did, Jeff reminded her, and I was very friendly indeed.
     Jeff If this Sodan is draining Damia, he means her, and us, no
good, Jeff went on, speaking in an official tone.  We are agreed that
Afra does not cry panic unnecessarily so we must act on his
recommendations and now, before this entity gets close enough to
investigate the Aurigaen system.  Especially before he discovers the
Aurigaen system and the rich lodes on that planet.  I'm also keenly
aware of how little defence Iota Aurigae has against space attack.
     You concur with Afra that he's prospecting for new sources of raw
materials?  the Rowan asked, in a tone of indecision.
     That's our main push in finding new planets, isn't it?  Larak said
If Damia is as exhausted as you suggest, Afra, how can we use her as
focus?  In the first place, she's not likely to agree to take
aggressive action against an entity she considers friendly.
     She spoke as Damia's mother, not Callisto Prime.
     No, she's not, Afra said sourly.
     And yet we need to use her link to his mind to make our own
contact.  There's also the point that, Jeff continued, not at all
liking the expedient, if we do discover, and prove to her, that this
Sodan entity is truly dangerous, to her, to Aurigae, to us, that we may
need her catalytic ability to increase our defence against him.
     Each day Damia returns to Aurigae a little more tired than the
previous one, Afra said slowly.  I was immeasurably drained after only
a few moments in link.  That's never happened to me before.
     I think Afra's correct to call him a soul-eater, Larak put in.
     There's no such thing, the Rowan said sharply.
     I don't know what else to call him that's as accurate, Afra said.
     Or how else to describe the effect he has on her.
     In any case, Jeff said firmly, I find it disturbing to think of
her immense natural energy being depleted.
     Highly unlikely.  The Rowan bristled with indignation.
     Let us conclude this swiftly, Larak cautioned them.
     Damia's returning and.  WOW!  Is she dragging!
     Afra suppressed annoyance that the curious childhood link between
sister and brother gave Larak the edge in sensing her return.  But, as
Afra reached out to touch her mentally, her aura was very dim indeed.
     He concentrated on the lightning debate that Jeff, Rowan and Larak
carried on, as decision and strategy were settled in the moment before
Damia's capsule landed in its cradle.
     'Larak, I couldn't believe I felt your touch,' she cried happily
as she saw her brother, the picture of casual relaxation, perched on
the edge of the console.
     'Believe it, sister dear, your favorite bra is here,' he said,
rising to embrace her.  'This alien sure has got you wrapped up and
tied like a present.  See how the mighty have fallen.' When Damia
flushed, Larak roared with laughter.  'I've got to meet a guy who can
do this to my sister.' 'Really, Larak, how puerile!  You obviously have
no conception of what a momentous occasion this is.  I've always felt
that I was given unusual strengths and abilities for a special reason,'
Damia said, her eyes shining, 'and now I know what it is!' 'The whole
planet will know in a moment if you don't reduce your output,' Afra
said sharply, to give Larak a chance to control his shock at her
extraordinary remark.
     With some resentment, Damia dampened down her emotional
outpouring.
     'I suppose you arrived with an appetite like a mule,' she said
with some resignation.
     Larak's expression was a study of innocent hurt.
     'I'm a growing boy, and while you're out courting, Afra's getting
overworked, leaner and hungrier.
     Damia looked guiltily at Afra.
     'You do look tired,' she said with concern.  'Let's all push over
to the house and have dinner.  Larak, why are you here?' 'Oh, Dad wants
Afra to pinch-hit on Procyon.  Those two Ts who're buffering Guzman are
down with one of the local viruses and traffic is backing up.  You know
we have to jolly Guzzle along but he hasn't much stamina these days.
     He's complained that I'm too young for such responsibility,' and
Larak's grin was pure malice.  'Say, what's this alien ship of yours
like?  Crew or full automation for a void trek?' Hand poised over the
cooking dials, Damia hesitated.
     She regarded her brother with a blank expression.
     'Oh, you men are all alike.  Details, details!' 'Details like that
may bore you, sister heart, but they fascinate me.  But if you want to
continue on the abstract level, let me catch such mundane details for
myself.' 'You can't reach that far.' To Afra her tone was protective as
well as defensive.
     'Let me hop a ride with you tomorrow, then.' Larak snagged a raw
vegetable stick from the crisper and seemed more interested in its
taste than her agreement.
     Damia hesitated, looking for support from Afra, who shrugged 'why
not' as he followed Larak's example and savoured a crunchy white root
with a slightly aniseed flavour.  She caught no more than that from
Afra's mind when she sent a swift probe.  And, he was certain, no more
than that from Larak's if she tried her brother.  Even as close as they
were, her probe was a poor imitation of her customary mental dig.
     'C'mon, sis, what's to be coy for?' 'I'm not being coy!' Her
temper flared in irritation, then subsided.  'It's just that just that
. . . these are very delicate stages in establishing a rapport
'Delicate?  Rapport?' Larak blurted out, staring at her as if he
couldn't believe his ears.  'You're making a first contact, not a first
date!  That is, if it's even marginally humanoid.
     'His is a true mind, brilliant, powerful,' she said haughtily.
     'The form is immaterial.' 'Oh?' Larak's mobile face expressed
extreme doubt.
     'Never thought you'd fall for the cerebral type, Damia, not the
way you've developed.' He eyed her, not as a brother, but as an
interested male.
     Damia reddened, half with fury and indignation, and half with a
sudden virtuous embarrassment for her brother's accurate jibe.
     'Ever since you and Jenna propagated a child, you've turned
insufferable!  Why, if I hadn't been out here, we wouldn't have been
warned at all.' 'Warned?' Afra leapt on the choice of word.  Perhaps
she was not as completely bedazzled as they'd thought.
     'Of this momentous occasion,' she went on, oblivious to the
implication.  'You've touched Sodan, Afra.  Don't you agree that his
feat of crossing to another galaxy is momentous?' 'Yes, it is,' Afra
said tactfully.  'Only a brilliant mind could accomplish such a feat.'
Damia caught an undertone he wasn't quick enough to suppress.  'Oh,
you!  You're jealous!  Jealous?' Damia eyed Afra closely, plainly
struggling with this new dimension to her oldest ally.
     'And you're also letting dinner burn,' Larak said, pointing to a
sizzling pan.
     'Don't either of you know better than to distract a cook with
stupid questions?' she demanded, quickly shifting the pan.  'It's a
mercy nothing is burned!' She served them, irritated that her dinner
was not as perfect as usual, and the two men could think of no way to
break the strained silence, especially as both had to concentrate on
maintaining a convincing level of trivial surface thoughts.  They
hardly needed to use such a subterfuge because Damia went off into a
private reverie, ignoring them completely.
     Finally, Larak pushed back his plate, having finished every scrap
on his plate and what was left over in the pans.
     'Even with half your mind on what you're doing, sis, you're a
great cook,' Larak said, wiping his mouth and sighing with repletion.
     'So!  This Sodan entity is clearly not a new reconnaissance device
of the Deneb Beetles?' Larak looked from Damia to Afra who shook his
head quickly in denial.
     'No question of that,' Afra replied.  'Totally different mentality
---' he ignored Damia's snort, 'and vehicle.
     There is an impression of immense distances traversed, far longer
than the twenty years since the Deneb Entanglement.' Larak whistled
appreciatively, as if this was news to him.
     'You didn't happen to catch any details about propulsion and power
which my sweet sister would not deign to notice?' 'No, actually, for
there were no obvious visual images to be sensed and I was only
concerned with identification.
     Clearly this entity isn't a Beetle.
     'Stop calling Sodan an "entity",' Damia said.  'That's rude.  And
he has eyes,' she added defensively.  'We've discussed the concept of
sight.  You must take into consideration that he is also in control of
the ship, and the drain on his energies to reach me as well as manage
ship function and crew is enormous.  It certainly is on me.' 'Yeah.
     You could do with some beauty sleep, sis,' said -Larak.
     'Thanks muchly,' she said, bridling.
     'Children!  Cut it out!' Afra intervened out of habit.
     Larak and Damia glared at each other, but the long habit --of
obeying Afra held.
     I'Get to bed, the pair of you,' he added.  'Snarling at each other
in the worst example of sibling rivalry I've seen since you graduated
from Isthia's fosterage,' and now he gave --Damia his full disapproval.
     'Makes me wonder how your father dared install you as Aurigae
Prime.
     'If there's anything that annoys me more than Larak acting
fraternal, it's you, Afra, being avuncular.' She spoke coolly, but her
flare of temper had been controlled.
     Afra shrugged, relieved that his diversion had worked before Larak
inadvertently disclosed to Damia why he was fielding these particular
queries.
     'At least this avuncular entity has sense enough to go to bed when
he's out on his feet,' he murmured.  As he passed Larak, the boy
winked.
     The next morning at breakfast, no-one looked particularly rested
by a night's sleep.  Afra kept a surface rumble going on his mind to
mask both tension and anxiety.  Larak delivered a running monologue
about his son's developing intelligence and Jenna's maternal charms.
     Damia was also closely shielding.  When the three reached the
Tower, Damia took the most cursory glance at station business, noting
that cargo was light and the few messages were standard communications.
     'I'll take you out now, Larak, and then you'll be free to handle
the afternoon despatches.' 'Fine.  Dad wants Afra on Procyon as soon as
I've taken over from him.
     Damia hesitated, then jutted her chin out.  'I suppose you want to
come along again, too,' she said, flinging the challenge at Afra who
merely shrugged.
     'I wouldn't mind another gawk.  Fascinating mind,' Afra said
casually.  He was intensely grateful to whatever quirk had prompted her
to make such an offer.  He'd thought he'd have to surreptitiously
follow Damia and Larak.  With such distances to travel, he'd been
nervous of losing even their combined touch.
     'You two get settled.  I can follow if Damia's leading,' Afra
said, boosting the generators to their peak.  Xexo had got the ailing
one back on line, for which Afra was extremely grateful.
     As Damia and Larak left the Tower for their capsules, he contacted
Jeff and the Rowan to stand by, then settled into his own shell,
reassured by their sustaining presence in his mind.
     Is there any possible chance we're wrong about Sodan's intentions,
or the depth of Damia's emotional commitment?  the Rowan asked
hopefully.
     Less and less, Afra told her grimly.  We'll know soon for certain.
     Larak needled her last night.  She'll have to check to make sure
he's wrong about Sodan.
     Then Afra touched Damia and Larak, and all three went the mere
half light-year further to the ship, and Sodan.
     You have rested well and are strong today, was the cool greeting
after an instant's welcoming flash.
     Damia instinctively covered against the discovery of her
co-riders, but the greeting stuck in her mind.  She could not escape
the inference that Sodan was displeased with her strength, yet a tinge
of relief coloured that fleck of thought.
     You come nearer to physical contact with us every day, she began.
     Us?  Sodan queried.
     My planet, my people me.
     I'm only interested in you, he replied.
     Damia was unable to censor from Afra and Larak the pleasure she
felt in that qualification.  That is between us but my people will be
interested in you, she said adroitly.
     There are many people on your planets?  he asked.
     Planet.
     Doesn't your sun have several lift-supporting satellites?
     That is why I must know more about your physical requirements,
Sodan, Damia replied smoothly.  After all, my home world may not have
the proper atmosphere.
     My physical needs are admirably sustained by my ship, Sodan said
brusquely, with the slightest of emphasis on the second word.
     It was the Rowan who caught the infinitesimal break in his
shielding, and simultaneously all four minds stabbed at the gap to
widen it.  Sodan, torn by this powerful invasion, lashed back in
self-defence with a vicious blow at Damia who, he thought, had
perpetrated the onslaught.
     No!  No!  Not I, Sodan, she shrieked.  Larak, what are you doing?
     Struggling frantically, Afra tried to become the focus of the
other minds, only to find himself caught in Larak's mind with the Rowan
and Jeff, as the curious bond between brother and sister snapped into
effect.
     He must be destroyed before you, Damia, the Larak-focus said,
tingeing its inexorable decision with the regret it felt.
     No!  I love him.  His mind is so brilliant, cried Damia, pitting
her strength against her peers to defend her lover.
     The Larak-focus staggered, unable to prosecute their attack
against such a combination.
     Damia, he is only a mind!
     Stunned, Damia hesitated, and the Larak-focus plunged forward
again, battering against Sodan's shielding.
     Only mind?  she gasped, begging Sodan to deny it.
     Why no vision?  Why no sound?  He is only a brain, devoid of all
except remembered emotion.  He is slowly depleting your strength so
that he is free to attack this system.  You are its only defence.  Did
you never realize that?  Feel the dangerous substances this ship
carries?  Is that customary for a peaceful exploratory expedition?
     You're against me, against me.  No-one wants me to be happy, cried
Damia, suddenly aware, terribly aware of her loving blindness.  He
loves me.  I love him.
     If he has nothing to hide, he will reveal his reason for crossing
the void, the Larak-focus said, implacably intent.
     Is it truly peaceful?  Or is it acquisitive?  Why do we search out
new worlds?  Or is it because his galaxy is so depleted that he must
search elsewhere for the rare metals that are required for more vessels
like his?
     Reassure me, Sodan, Damia pleaded, desperately, hopefully.  Tell
them you come in peace?  To find other sentient beings, to establish
friendly relations?
     For what seemed an eternity, Sodan hesitated.
     If I could, I would, he said softly and with honest regret.
     Like a vengeful blade, her mind, freed from the infatuation which
Sodan had artfully fostered and, strengthened by her righteous
indignation, launched itself with the others to destroy the aggressor.
     For Damia could now comprehend Sodan's purpose and knew his
disembodiment.
     The battle was waged in the tremendous space between two
heartbeats.  Sodan, his mind fortified by the exotic power of his ship,
was stronger than their conservative estimates.  Almost negligently, he
held the Larak-focus at bay, his mind laughing at what he considered
their puny efforts.
     Then, the veil of her romantic illusions stripped from her
perceptions, Damia increased her pressure and aligned herself with the
Larak-focus.  Sodan called for more power within himself.  The
scorching blaze that fed through Damia's resurgent and catalytic mind
flashed through and stripped him bare, lashing beyond to trigger the
metallic structure of the ship into instability.  Involuntarily, and
for a microsecond, the Larak-focus caught a glimpse of what Sodan had
been.
     Once, generations ago, embodied, he had breathed an alien air,
propelled his curious body along alien roads; until his brain had been
chosen to undertake the incredible enterprise of crossing the galactic
rift.
     In my fashion have I loved you, he cried to Damia as he felter
reach the fuel mass.  But you never really loved me, he added with
intense surprise as her mind, vulnerable in the instant of that massive
thrust, was open to him.  And he shall not have you!
     With his last strength, Sodan sent out one final mental flare just
as the ship exploded.
     Even as Damia felt herself blacking out from the tremendous
battering, she frantically tried to deflect that shaft.
     As a kingpin flattens a row of its fellows, so Sodan's blast,
striking through the Larak-focus, caused a wave of mental agony to roll
backwards to Aurigae where station personnel grabbed at their skulls in
anguish and all four generators seized up in overload; to Earth and
Callisto where T-ratings cringed in pain and on to Procyon where old
Guzman's valiant heart stopped.  Horrified crews found Jeff Raven and
the Rowan unconscious in their Tower couches and sent for Elizara and
her teams.  Jeran on Deneb had certainly been aware of an incredible
psionic backlash.  He was hastily summoned to Earth since FT&T command
devolved to him in the emergency.  Jeran took time to assure himself
that with sufficient rest his parents would recover, then he officially
informed the Nine Star League of the event.  He was requested to join,
and 'port units of a Fleet squadron to Aurigae.  In his turn, he sent
for his grandmother, asking Isthia to bring the specialists she had
trained to revive over stressed Talents.  With Elizarars help, he and
Isthia were able to extract gently from Jeff's taxed mind the position
of the three personnel shells.
     As the Fleet squadron neared the relevant spatial coordinates,
Jeran and Isthia on board the flagship could 'hear' nothing.  Then the
ship's sensitive equipment located the three capsules.
     It is possible, Isthia said, trying to be positive in the absence
of any mental aura from the shells, that all three are in very deep
shock.  The power in Dam ia's final thrust!
     Damia cannot be dead.  Jeran allowed himself the luxury of
believing in his grandmother's optimism.  We cannot lose her!  He had
forced himself to accept other losses.  Sodan may have been powerful
but is there a T-rating in the galaxy who didn't feel her hit him?
     'Ah!' Isthia gave a sharp gasp.  I have them.  And she signalled
for Jeran and her team to assist, leaning into the ship's engines to
'port the capsules aboard.
     'Damia's alive,' Jeran cried in relief, having made that his first
priority.  I thought I felt them all die.
     'Afra lives, too, but he's very faint.  Larak .  . . and Isthia's
voice faded.  Why did the focus have to snap through him?
     They opened Afra's capsule first, and sighed with pity at the lean
form drawn up in the foetal position of complete withdrawal.  Jeran
thought his heart would break, remembering the vibrant man who had been
as much a part of his life and learning as his parents.
     'He's so badly hurt, Isthia.  Can we save him?' Should we -. .
     :f he'll be psionically numb for the rest of his life?  he asked
on the tightest possible band.
     Isthia raised her eyebrows in a scathing rejection of that
suggestion.  'I've pulled minds back from worse than this, Jeran
Gwyn-Raven.  Move aside.' With a touch skilled and delicate, she put
her hands on Afra's temples.  Jeran saw her eyes cloud with anxiety.
     She sighed, for a brief moment depressed by her examination.  His
dominant desire is death.  Which is so totally unlike Afra that I shall
ignore it.  I don't intend that he should succumb to death right now.
     However, his life force is critically low and must be carefully
revived.' She gave rapid mental orders to the medics standing by so
that, within seconds, Afra was receiving emergency injections and two
highly skilled metamorphic practitioners began the routines that had
once restored her son, Jeff, from a nadir that bordered extinction.
     Afra'll need some subtle encouragements, Jeran, to overcome that
death wish.  Divorce your emotions, Isthia told him sharply.  Put your
fingers over mine.  Help me reach him.
     We have to reverse that wish before it succeeds.
     Jeran gave himself a stern shake and, holding his breath, placed
his fingers lightly over Isthia's at Afra's temples.
     He let his mind be guided by hers in the gentlest of probes,
ignoring the mental anguish they experienced at having to touch so torn
a mind.  Uppermost was the thought that both Larak and Afra had shared:
Sodan striking at them and Damia, exhausted, trying to block his final
shaft.
     He'll kill her!  He'll kill her!  was the repeated cry of terror,
a curious melding of both Larak and Afra, swirling in the pain of
Afra's mind.  No, Damia!  Don't try!  I waited too long.  No, Damia!
     You'll be killed.  You mustn't.  Why did I wait so long?  Too
long.
     No, Damia.  Don't try .  . . and the sequence was repeated.
     Damia lives!  Damia lives!  Isthia accepted the fact that Afra
would not care to live if he thought Damia was dead.  But she was alive
and he must be convinced of this'.
     She urged Jeran to reinforce her message.  He provided a baritone
level to her soprano chant.  Damia lives.  Damia lives, Afra.  Damia
lives!
     Damia lives?  Damia lives, Damia lives.  The response was the
merest whisper of hope from an overtaxed psyche.
     Isthia caught Jeran's eyes, hope widening hers.
     Yes, that's exactly what he needed to know.  Let's reinforce it.
     Together they repeated their encouraging litany.  Afra, Damia
lives.
     She rests.  She waits for you.  Damia lives, Afra.
     She waits for you.
     Sleep, Afra, Isthia added then with the most delicate urgency.
     Sleep and rest.  Damia lives.
     Damia lives?  Damia lives?  Damia lives!
     With a shudder, Afra's subconscious finally accepted that
reassurance.  His body relaxed from its foetal curl.
     For one terrifying moment, he was absolutely still.  Gasping,
Isthia dipped way down into the suddenly tranquil mind before she
realized that Afra had merely slipped into deep sleep.
     'He's badly hurt, Isthia admitted sadly as they watched the medics
wheel Afra away to a tightly shielded room where no mental noise could
intrude.  'But he'll live.' Jeran did not try to read whatever
reservations she might entertain.
     They opened Damia's capsule together.  She lay on her side,
looking very young, but there were marks that showed the effects of
that meeting of minds.  She had bitten through her lower lip; a trickle
of blood had made a scarlet line across her cheek.  Her face was
streaked with tears.  Her fingernails had cut into her palms when she
had clenched her fists.  Her closed eyes looked bruised by deep and
dark circles.
     With great compassion, Isthia turned the girl on to her back and
laid both hands lightly on Damia's temples.
     I can't reach them.  I can't get there in time.  I hurt.  I've got
to try.  I burn.  Oh, will I lose them both?  Isthia could hear the
words, a faint loop of thought in the deepest recesses of a scorched
and overstretched mind.
     With a sigh of relief, Isthia straightened.
     She's badly burned?  Jeran asked anxiously, having waited outside
Isthia's contact but aware it had been made.
     Scorched, overstretched right now, and deeply hurt.  Damia '5
     been reduced, Isthia remarked ruefully, in the terrible way that
only the very bright and very confident can be diminished.
     Diminished?  Jeran was both Prime and brother at that moment.
     In pride and self-confidence, Isthia qualified with a sad smile.
     Her Talent is far too robust to suffer any permanent effect.  Her
ego, however, will.  She'll never forget that she underestimated Soda
n's potential danger because she became infatuated with her perception
of him.
     For all of that, if she hadn't touched him first, where would we
be with such a menace zeroing in from space?
     That's the Prime in you speaking, Isthia said, but her tone was
complimentary.  Although let's hope that eventually Damia can see this
incident from that perspective.  Right now she'll grieve terribly
because her lapse in judgement caused Larak's death and has seriously
injured Afra.
     But, Isthia, once the attack on Sodan began, nothing could have
saved Larak as focus-mind.  Death is far kinder than being burned out.
     She's not to blame for that.
     Isthia shook her head sadly.  She'll never see it that way.
     But I devoutly hope that it never occurs to her that, in the final
moment, instinct overrode reason and it was Afra she struggled to save.
     Afra?  What the hell?  Jeran stared at her blankly before he
followed her thought to its conclusion.  Sodan tried to kill Afra?
     Wasn't he aiming at the entire focus?
     Not from what I gathered from Jeff and Rowan.
     Isthia signalled to the medics to administer deep-sleep drugs and
intravenous nourishment to Damia.
     With great reluctance then, they turned to Larak's shell.
     Because they had to, they opened it and saw with some little
relief that there was no mark of the violence of his death on the young
face.  A curiously surprised smile lingered on his lips.
     Isthia turned away in tears and Jeran, too numbed by the total
tragedy to display his own sorrow, put his arm around her to lead her
away.
     'Prime,' the captain of the ship said respectfully when they
entered the control room, 'we have located the debris of the alien
ship.  Permission to recover the fragments?' 'Permission granted.
     Isthia and I will return to the Tower.  Signal when you're ready
to be 'ported, Captain.' 'Very good, sir,' the captain said and
stiffened to a rigid attention.  The unashamed tears in his eyes and
his very crisp salute expressed wordlessly his pride, his sympathy and
his sorrow.
     Struggling against a will determined to keep her asleep, Damia
fought her way to semi-consciousness.
     'I can't keep her under.  She's resisting,' a remote voice rang in
peals.
     As distant as the sound was, like a far echo in a subterranean
cavern, each syllable fell like a hammer on her exposed nerves.
     Sobbing, Damia struggled for consciousness, sanity, and a release
from this agony.  She couldn't seem to trigger the reflexes that would
divert pain, and an effort to call Afra to help her met with not only
the resistance of increased agony but a vast blackness.  Her mind was
as stiff as iron, holding each thought firmly to it as though
magnetized in place.
     'Damia, do not reach.  Do not use your mind,' a gentle voice said
in her ear.  She recognized the voice as Isthia's and her grandmother's
presence restored her wavering sanity.  She felt the touch of Isthia's
cool capable hands on her forehead.
     Damia opened her eyes and tried to focus on the face above her.
     With trembling, weak hands she pressed Isthia's fingers against
her temples in an unconscious plea for relief of pain.
     'What happened?  Why can't I control my mind?' Damia cried, tears
of weakness streaming down her face.
     'You rather stretched yourself, destroying Sodan,' Isthia said.
     'But you did get him, you know.' 'I can't remember,' Damia
groaned, blinking away tears so she could at least see clearly.
     'Every rating in FT&T does.' 'Oh, my head.  It's all blank and
there's something I've got to do, Isthia.' Damia tried to rise but,
though Isthia exerted little pressure, she sank weakly back into the
bed.  'I've got something I must do only I can't remember what it is.'
'You did do what you must, dear, I assure you.  But you've suffered a
tremendous trauma, and you must rest,' Isthia said, her voice in the
croon that had soothed Damia as a rebellious child.  Cool hands stroked
her face and she welcomed the relief for her skin felt so hot and hard.
     Each caress seemed to lessen the terrible pain inside her skull.
     'I'm putting you back to sleep now, love,' and Damia felt the
coolness of an injection pop into her arm.  'We're very proud of you
but you must sleep.  Only sleep can heal your mind.' "Great nature's
second course, that knits the ravelled sleeve of care."  What's
knitting, Isthia?  I've never known.' Even Damia recognized that she
was babbling as the cool scalliony taste in her throat heralded the
spread of the drug.
     Again, after what seemed no passage of time at all, Damia was
inexorably forced to consciousness by her indefinably relentless need.
     'I can't understand it,' came Isthia's voice.  This time it did
not reverberate across Damia's pained mind like tympani in a closet.
     'That last dose was enough to put a city to sleep.' 'She's
worrying at something and probably won't rest until she's resolved it.
     Let's wake her up and find out.' The second voice was masculine
and sounded vaguely familiar, also vaguely annoyed.  With a grateful
smile, she labelled it 'Dad'.  She felt her face gently slapped and,
opening her eyes, saw her father's face swimming out of an indistinct
background.
     'Dad,' she pleaded, not because he had slapped her but because she
had to make him understand.
     'Dear Damia,' he said with such loving pride that she almost lost
the tenuous thought she tried to hold.
     Her body strained with the effort to reach out only a few inches a
mind that once had blithely coursed light-years, but she soon managed
to communicate her crime.
     Larak and Afra!  They were ahead of me in the focus.  I killed
them when I had to destroy Sodan.  I must have killed them because I'm
still alive!
     Behind Jeff she heard her mother's cry and Isthia's exclamation.
     'No, no,' Jeff said gently, shaking his head.  He placed her hands
on his forehead to let her feel the honesty of his denial.  'You're not
at fault, dear Damia.  Yes, you drew power through the Larak-focus to
destroy Sodan and succeeded.  Only you were capable of such a
magnificent thrust!  Furthermore, without you to throw us into high
gear, Sodan could have destroyed every Prime in FT&T.
     And that's the truth your mother will verify.' Damia heard the
Rowan murmur affirmatively.
     'But I can't hear anything right now,' and in spite of herself,
Damia felt her chin quiver and tears of pure terror welled out of her
eyes.  'Have I lost my mind?' to 'Of course you haven't,' and the
elbowed Jeff her hair back from her flushed and tear-stained face.
     'You saved us, you know.  You really did.' Isthia moved the Rowan
gently but firmly to one side.
     'You must go knit some more sleeves of ravelled care, Damia,'
Isthia said with therapeutic asperity.  'You knit like this,' and she
inserted a visual demonstration of the technique of knitting into
Damia's mind.  It was an adroit gambit, designed to fragment
concentration but Damia saw it for the evasion it was.
     'I must be told all that happened, she demanded imperiously.  A
wisp of memory nagged at her and she caught it.  'I remember.  Sodan
made one last thrust at us.  She closed her eyes against that recall,
remembering too, that she had tried to intercept it and, 'Larak died,'
she said in a flat voice.  'And Afra.  I couldn't shield in time.'
'Afra lives,' the Rowan said in a steady voice.
     'But Larak doesn't.  Why Larak?' Damia demanded, desperately
striving to uncover what she felt they were still hiding from her.
     'Your brother was the focus, Damia,' the Rowan said softly,
knowing, too, that Damia would never absolve herself of Larak's death.
     'Afra was supposed to be the focus, being the experienced mind,
but the old bond between you and Larak snapped into effect.  You tried
to shield Larak but he couldn't draw sufficient help from you.  Your
father and I also tried to support him but he was the focus.  Without
you to help, we couldn't even have cushioned Afra in time.  Sodan's was
truly a powerful mentality.' Damia looked from her mother's face to her
father's and knew that they spoke the truth.  But a reservation hovered
in their eyes and their manner.
     'You haven't told me everything,' she said, fighting both immense
fatigue and the drugs.
     'All right, sceptic,' Jeff said, lifting her into his arms.
     'Though there's nothing wrong with your hearing so why it hasn't
been assailed by his snores, I do not know.
     Everyone else is using ear plugs,' he added as he carried her down
a dim hall.
     Pausing at an open door, he swung her so she could see into the
room.  A night light hung over the bed, illuminating Afra's quiet face,
deeply lined with fatigue and pain.
     Denying even the physical evidence, Damia reached out, touching
just enough for reassurance the distressed mental rumble that meant
Afra inhabited his body.
     'Damia!  Don't do that!' Jeff roared, hurting more than her ears
as he bore her back down the hall to her room.
     'I won't again but I had to,' she sobbed, her head ballooning with
agony.
     'And we'll make sure you don't until your mind is completely
healed.  Out you go, missy,' and she was powerless against the three
minds that reinstated the welcome oblivion of sleep.
     An insistent whisper nibbled at the corners of her awareness and
roused Damia from restorative sleep.  Cringing in anticipation of the
return of pain, she was mildly surprised to feel only the faintest
discomfort.  Experimentally, Damia pushed a depressant on the ache and
that, too, disappeared.
     Unutterably pleased by her success, she sat up in bed.
     It was night and the gentle breeze wafted scents which she
recognized as Denebian.  She stretched until a cramp caught her in the
side.
     Heavens, hasn't anyone moved me in months?  she asked herself,
noting that her mental tone was firm.  She lay back in bed,
deliberating.  Poor Damia, she said in a self-derisive tone, ever since
that encounter with that dreadful alien mind, she's been nothing but a
T4.  T-9?  T-3?  Damia tried out the different ratings for size and
then discarded them all, along with her melodrama.  You idiot.  You'll
never know till you try.
     Tentatively, without apparent effort, she reached out and counted
the pulses of another - no, two other sleepers.  Afra's was the faint
one.  But, Damia realized in calm triumph, it was there.  Which brought
her up sharp against the second fact.
     She slid from her bed to stand by the window.  Sometime during her
last deep slumber, she - and Afra - had been moved to Deneb, to her
grandmother's forest retreat.  This room looked out on to the back of
the clearing in which the house stood.  Beyond the lawn of ever grass,
beyond the bank of the ttn, - where the forest began her the trail led
And stopped when she saw the white oblong.  Instinct told her that
Larak was buried there and the thought of Larak buried and his touch
forever gone broke her.  She wept, biting her knuckles and pressing her
arms tightly into her ribs to muffle the sound of her mourning.
     Out of the night, out of the stillness, the whisper that had
roused her tugged at her again.  She stifled her tears to listen,
trying to identify that sliver of sound.  It faded before she caught
it.
     Resolutely now, she laid her sorrow gently in the deepest part of
her soul, a part of her but apart for ever.  No matter what Jeff and
the Rowan said, she had caused Larak's death, and maimed Afra.  Had she
been less preoccupied, less self-centred, she would not have been
dazzled by the fancy that Sodan was her Prince Charming, her knight in
cylindrical armour.
     Such a spoiled child she'd been: egotistical, arrogant, proud,
making demands she had no right to request, wanting privileges she had
not earned, rewards she was too immature to appreciate The whisper
again, fainter but somehow surer.  With a startled cry of joy, Damia
whirled from her room, running on light feet down the hall.  Catching
at the door frame to break her headlong flight, she hesitated on the
threshold.
     She caught her breath as she realized that Afra was sitting up.
     He was looking at her with a smile of disbelief on his face.
     'You've been calling me,' she whispered, half questioning,
half-stating.
     'In a lame-brained way,' he replied with a wry half-smile.
     'I can't seem to reach beyond the edge of the bed.' 'Don't try.
     It hurts,' she said quickly, stepping into the room to pause shyly
at the foot of the bed.
     Afra grimaced, rubbing his temples.  'I know it hurts but I can't
seem to find any balance in my skull,' he confessed, his voice uneven,
worried.  'Even as a child, I always had that.' 'May I?' she asked
formally, unexpectedly timid with him.
     Closing his eyes, Afra nodded.
     Sitting down as if her slender frame might jar the bed, Damia
lightly laid her fingertips to his temples, and touched his mind as
delicately as she knew how.  Afra stiffened with pain and Damia quickly
established a block, regardless of the cost to her own recent recovery.
     She drew away the pain, laying in the tenderer areas a healing
mental anaesthesia.  Jealously, she noticed someone else had been
tending the damage.
     Isthia.  . . has.  . . a. . . delicate.  . . touch, too.  He sent
the thought with deliberate and slow care.
     'Oh, Afra,' Damia cried for the agony the simple phrase cost him.
     'You aren't burned out.  You're no lame-brain either.  As if!
     would let you be.  You'll be just as strong as ever.  I'll help.'
Afra leaned forward, his face close to hers, his yellow eyes blazing.
     'You'll help?' he asked in a low intense voice as he searched her
face.  'How, Damia?' Her fingers plucking shyly and nervously at his
blanket, Damia could not look away from an Afra who had altered
disturbingly.  Damia tried to fathom the startling change in this
familiar figure.  Unable to resort to a mental touch, she saw afra for
the first time with only physical sight.  And he was suddenly very
different.  Very masculine!  That was it.
     Mi at once, Afra appeared startlingly male to her.
     She was appalled to think that she had blundered about so, looking
for a mind that was superior to hers: a mind that demanded her respect
and admiration, that could lead hers, and support her with sure
understanding and empathy.  And that mind had always been available!
     Every time she had needed it - on Deneb, on Callisto, everywhere
she'd ever been.  Only she hadn't looked for it.
     'Damia?  Speechless?' Afra teased her, his smooth tenor voice
tender.
     She nodded violently as she felt his warm fingers closing around
her nervously plucking hand.  Immediately she experienced a profoundly
sensual empathy.
     'Why, you wanted me even then, on Callisto, when you denied me?
     Didn't you?  You just waited - and waited .  . . Whatever for?
     I've always needed you, Afra!
     Always!  Why do you think I've been so lonely?' The words burst
from her.
     With a low triumphant laugh, Afra pulled her into his arms,
cradling her body against his and settling her head against his
shoulder.
     'Familiarity breeds contempt?' he asked, mocking her gently with
her own words 'And how could you - a T-3.  . . manage to mask she went
on, fuelling her indignation.
     'Familiarity also bred certain skills, Damia.' And he chuckled,
holding her firmly despite her half-hearted attempt to struggle free.
     But he was physically stronger than she imagined, delighted by
that as well.
     'You and that aloof attitude of yours.  When you wouldn't take me
on Callisto I was sure it was Mother-' 'Your mother was no more for me
than Sodan was for you,' Afra said, his eyes stern as she stared up at
him, shaken by his harsh tone.
     His expression altered again, his arms tightened convulsively as
he bent his head and kissed her with an urgent, lusty eagerness.
     'Sodan may have loved you, in his fashion, Damia,' Afra's voice
said in her ear, 'but mine will be far more satisfying for you.
     Trembling, Damia opened her mind to Afra without a single
reservation.
     Their lips met again as Afra held her tightly in what shortly
became far more than a mere meeting of minds.
     3" Damia roused the morning, aware first of having slept very
deeply.  Then of feeling unusually refreshed, relaxed and
self-satisfied.  Having established those states, she was abruptly
aware of what had transpired the previous night.
     And sat up in the bed Curled on his side and still sound asleep
was Afra, his long arms dangling over the edge of the bed.  She
couldn't see his face but she gave him just the briefest mental touch
and sighed with relief: his mind-tone had noticeably improved
overnight.
     That can be a fringe benefit of loving, you know, said Isthia in a
whispery mental voice.
     Grandmother!  Even as Damia bridled at Isthia's amused
observation, she also noted that receipt of the carefully tendered
message caused her mind no pain.
     I would have had to be mute or dead not to hear the way you two
were vibrating.  Isthia kept her 'voice' quiet but Damia could not miss
the amused quality of it.
     The two of us?  Then Afra's able to 'path?
     Well, let's just say that there are certain emotions that
broadcast in spite of themselves.  Just let him find his own balance.
     Isthia appeared in the doorway, a cup in each hand.
     Entering the room quietly, she gave Damia one cup and then went to
the other side of the bed, to scrutinize Afra's sleeping face.  Damia
bristled possessively Down, girl, Isthia said with an ironic smile, I'm
on your side.  Afra has been special to me, too, for vastly different
reasons.
     Damia wanted to discover them but Isthia waggled a finger at her
the moment she felt Damia's pressure.
     Don't, Damia.  Enough that I'm on your side.
     Damia tried a different tack.  What did you mean then?
     Let him find his own balance?
     Isthia's expression became rueful.  I couldn't help overhearing
your very creditable offer to him last night.  But that won't be
needed.  Nor any notion of yours to sacrifice yourself to restore him.
     Now, now, don't hackle at me.  Professionally, I've every reason
to believe that he'll make a full recovery, given time and plenty of
quiet.  That's one reason I convinced your parents to let me bring you
both here to Deneb.  Callisto's far too frenetic a place for mental
convalescents.
     Any Tower would be, Damia thought, and sipped at the hot brew,
eyeing her grandmother speculatively Then what did you mean - you're on
my side?
     Isthia regarded her with exaggerated incredulity.  You mean, you
think you can jump from mooning over that Sodan character to a liaison
with Afra and not expect repercussions?
     It's NOT a liaison.  It's a bonding!  Damia said in an unequivocal
tone.  You should know that Isthia held up one hand in rebuke.  I
closed my mind when I realized which way your .  . . ah suddenly
discovered rapport was heading.  I do practise discretion as well as
metamorphics, you know.
     Mother will object.  Damia gritted her teeth.  During last night's
passionate consummation, she certainly had had no time to consider
'repercussions' Well, she has had Afra's support for many years and
she'll be annoyed at having to replace him but I suspect you'll find
that your father might have more cogent objections.
     Dad?  Why should he mind?  He's far more likely to suggest that
Afra will be just the stabilizing influence I need!
     Possibly.
     Damia frowned, regarding her grandmother with apprehension.
     Isthia had a habit of predicting reactions.
     How could they object to Afra?  They both know him so well.
     And he's a T-3.
     He's also nearly a quarter of a century your senior.
     Don't put it like that, Isthia.  It's not as if age makes that
much difference for Talents!  Damia was openly scornful.  I know Mother
won't like it.
     Isthia perched on the low chest, sipping her drink.
     Nonsense, although you may hear words like 'backlash',
'martyrdom', 'self sacrifice', 'compensation'.  You'll improve your
position if your attitude towards him is devoid of guilt or the least
tinge of reparation for the Sodan disaster.
     Damia flinched, hunching against the pain of that reminder.
     Sorry, love, Isthia shot back in sincere apology.
     Do they hate me?  For not saving Larak?
     Slipping off the chest, Isthia embraced Damia in tender, loving
arms.  No, love.  No-one hates or blames you for that.
     Nothing could have saved Larak.  Unfortunately!
     I will never, never, NEVER, let anyone else be focus!
     Damia said resolutely.
     The focus-mind is always at risk in a merge, Damia love, and never
is a long time.  Don't store guilt for future use.
     Afra stirred and Isthia rose to her feet.
     Get him out of that bed and to my kitchen table.  He hasn't eaten
properly since we got him here.  And you've both got to start moving
about on your own.  Now mind, no mental games until I give the
go-ahead!  Isthia stood, but her piercing gaze and stern face stressed
that prohibition, and the force of the tone she used, no longer a
whisper, set Damia's mind to throbbing: the clearest possible
demonstration of her invalid state.  Then her whisper returned.  I
shouldn't even be talking to you like this now, but you're able for
short distances and I wanted to clear the air privately, she added as
she left the room then.
     Mulling over what Isthia had said, Damia watched as her lover
restlessly turned on to his back, and flailed an arm against her.  That
woke him and he shot upright in the bed, anxious eyes seeking hers, a
hesitant, shy smile on the lips that had tantalized her the night
before.  She found herself blushing and evaded his gaze.  Giving
herself a stern shake, she lifted her head and met his eyes.
     Damia blushing?  he teased her, lifting his hand to caress her
cheek in a lingering fashion.
     'You're not supposed to 'path, Afra,' she scolded, more because
his 'tone' was so weak compared to the mental touch he had always
projected.
     His expression altered subtly and his hand dropped to her bare
shoulder.
     My love, I will do what I can with what I have, and his tone
chided her.  And what I have is much better this morning, thank you.
     'Thank you!' he added aloud and, tilting his head, kissed her
pursed lips.
     The intimate touch was shatteringly electric and once again swept
away any half-formed resolution of circumspect behaviour while Isthia
was in range.
     Hold breakfast, she managed to convey to Isthia on a tight
thought.
     Was that Afra's soft chuckle for her willing compliance in her
mind or Isthia's for their delay?
     'Actually, it's lunch,' Isthia said blandly when they finally did
appear in the kitchen.  It was a very pleasant room, south-facing, with
windows that opened on to the front with a view of the lane that wound
through the forestry to the major link road with Deneb City.  Isthia
preferred to know who was approaching her retreat so that she could
take evasive action if necessary.  When she had begun a profound
enquiry into metamorphic treatments, she had needed such a refuge.  She
had no neighbours nearer than sixty kilometres and that family had
absolutely no Talent.
     With the courtesy that was second nature to him, Afra settled
Damia into a chair at the long table that was work-space as well as
dining surface.  Then, turning his chair around he sat, his arms
crossed on its back.  He didn't appear to be watching Isthia intently
but Damia knew that he was.  Of Isthia's earlier observations, Damia
had only told him that Isthia had said she was on their side.
     One of his eyebrows had quirked slightly and his lips had twitched
but he didn't make any further comment.  With Isthia's emphatic ban on
'pathing, Damia did not try to 'hear' what thoughts had crossed his
mind.
     As Isthia served them coffee, she wondered how her mother and
father handled that intimate aspect of their life together.  She knew
they always kept a light touch but, in each other's minds constantly?
     Of course, right now, even the most delicate link could
exacerbate.
     But she could watch him, learn every subtle nuance of his body
language: had Afra always had such an expressive face?  Droll,
humorous, pensive, observant?  Though he was listening to Isthia, he
winked at her, 'I think you two are now able to handle your own
convalescence,' Isthia was saying, ladling one of her hearty soups into
bowls.  She brusquely waved Damia back into her chair when she started
to rise and help.
     'I've laid in plenty of supplies.  Damia, you are not to "reach"
for anything yet.  Use the communit,' and she grinned as she pointed to
the unobtrusive set in one corner of the big room.  'Prosaic, I know,
and nowhere near as swift as "lifting" something but, if I feel either
of you "lifting" anything, I'll slap you back into deep sleep again.
     Your minds have to rest to recuperate, have to be free of even the
pulse of other minds.  You won't be bothered by casual visitors because
this place is known to be off-limits and I've made it plain that I'll
flay anyone who disturbs you.  Anything you should require,' and her
tone suggested that she'd be surprised if she hadn't anticipated every
need, 'can be delivered.' Afra nodded, glancing at Damia to be sure she
was as obedient.  'What I don't know is how long we'll be convalescing.
     I have absolutely no idea how much time has already elapsed.
     Damia winced at even that tactful reference and, her appetite
abruptly disappearing, she put down her spoon.
     Isthia gave one of her evasive sniffs.  'Sleep,' and she bent a
stern look on both Damia and Afra, 'was the best remedy.  You've been
kept quiescent - when we could-' and there was an element of
exasperation in her manner as she pinned Damia with her stare, 'for
sixteen days.' 'Oh!' Isthia laid a comforting hand on Damia's head as
she put her own bowl on the table and sat down beside her
granddaughter.
     Afra gave an odd chuckle.  'No wonder my legs are rubbery.' Isthia
gave one of her sniffs.  'A great wonder you've been able for
anything!' He refused to rise to the jibe.
     'Mother and Dad?' Damia asked anxiously, irritated that it was
only now that she thought to enquire.
     'I kept them asleep for four days.  You deflected a lot of that
final thrust, Damia, and saved them from the worst of it.  Believe me,
you did,' Isthia added when Damia seemed to droop further, remembering
who she hadn't been able to save.
     'Who ran FT&T then?' Afra asked in a brisk tone.
     'Jeran?' Isthia nodded.  'With Cera.  They made a formidable
team.' Afra chuckled.  'I expect they did.  So long as they didn't
noticeably improve on what Rowan and Jeff can do.' 'Some detractors,'
Isthia said with a snort of disapproval, 'feel that the Gwyn-Ravens
have far too much power in FT&T chain of command.' 'Then let them breed
up their own Prime Talents,' Afra replied abruptly.  'Meanwhile, they
should be immensely grateful that Jeffs planned for every contingency.
     Who's working Callisto with the Rowan?  Gollee?' When Isthia
nodded, he shrugged.  'In that case, I have no need to hurry back.
     Frankly, this will be the first proper holiday I've had, bar the
occasional weekend, since I had the gall to apply to the Rowan
twenty-eight years ago.
     Damia stared at him, appalled.  'Twenty-eight?' Afra regarded her
levelly.  'That's right, love.  That's how long I've been Towered.  Not
that I minded, for I'd nothing else to do with my spare time.'
'Nothing?' asked Isthia sardonically 'Nothing,' he said, giving her the
same level regard, 'that mattered.  Unlike you dilettantes, we Tower
folk become dedicated-' 'I'd call it enslaved,' Isthia said with a sour
look.
     'Inseparable from the needs and deeds of our particular Tower.
     'Who's managing Aurigae?' Damia asked in a guilty panic.
     Isthia chuckled, her eyes sparkling.  'They're going to appreciate
you when you return, Damia!' 'They do want me back?  I will go back?'
She hadn't quite dared to ask yet.
     'Since they have to tailor their exports to the abilities of a
young T-4
     'Who?' Damia was abruptly jealous of anyone taking over her Tower,
however briefly.
     'Oh, Capella lent a promising trainee: your oldest nephew, I
believe, Afra; your sister Goswina's son 'Veswind?' Afra was mildly
surprised.  'Yes, I suppose he is old enough for responsibility.
     Gossie would be pleased.  I wonder she never mentioned it.' 'They
wouldn't, would they?' Isthia said in a mildly barbed voice.
     'No, come to think of it,' Afra replied and broke off a piece of
bread to soak up the soup juices at the bottom of his bowl.
     'How soon?' Damia asked Isthia.
     'How soon what?' 'How soon can I go back to work?' Eyebrows raised
quizzically, Isthia favoured her granddaughter with a very long and
piercing look.  Then sent a mental probe that made Damia gasp with
pain.
     'When you no longer have that sort of reaction, my dear.  I
repeat, since you have a hard time absorbing the information, you'll
both recover, and with no reduction in potential.  But it will take
time, peace, quiet and no messing about.' Isthia waggled a finger first
at her granddaughter.
     'Have I made myself plain?' Damia swallowed, her head throbbing.
     'Completely.' Immediately she felt a kinder touch and the
throbbing was reduced to a minor ache.
     'Have I made myself plain to you, too, Afra?' Isthia now turned on
Afra who had gone slightly paler.  'Yes, I see I have.  Now, will you
both stop worrying about the galaxy and eat my nourishing soup?  You
need to reintroduce your abused stomachs to real food instead of
nutrient sprays.  I've prepared a diet sheet which,' and again she
pinned them with her forceful stare, 'you will both follow
assiduously.' When they nodded meekly, she went on.
     'I'll leave tomorrow since a third party is unnecessary or should
be.  You certainly are adult enough, Afra, as well as old enough to
admit, and yield, to your current physical and mental disabilities.'
She gave a sniff.  'And to bore each other in close proximity.  Nothing
like that to demonstrate compatibility.' 'Grandmother!' Damia cried in
protest for she knew that Afra and she were already bonded.
     'Damia, stop doodling and start eating.  You'll have more soup,
Afra,' she said in one of her quick shifts of mood.
     'When you've finished, I suggest that a gentle walk about the
cabin will be about all the physical activity you'll be able for today.
     THEN,' and she shook a stern finger at each, 'you will rest in the
porch hammocks so I'm sure that you are resting.' 'No quarrel there,'
Afra said with a droll grin of apology to Damia.
     'Hear me, Damia?  Give him a chance to regain his strength!'
'Grandmother!' 'Don't grandmother me, young woman.  Learn the joys of
anticipation!' A slight shake of Afra's head cooled Damia's heated
response.  And the warm look in his yellowy eyes promised her that he'd
make it all up to her later.
     'It is peaceful here,' Afra said as he and Damia obediently took
their stroll.  He had linked his warm long fingers in hers and such
tactile contact was unusually reassuring, and curiously satisfying.
     Almost as good as the now forbidden mental link would be.
     Especially since the touch-sense of Afra had taken on an added
dimension - no longer merely cool-green-comfortable-secure: a vibrancy
threaded through the cool-green, and 'comfortable' had definitely
lazy-sensual elements, while 'secure' had intensified into a deeply
rooted foundation that could never be attacked Occasionally Afra's long
thigh brushed against her leg, and their bodies swayed together, to
touch at the hip, while her shoulder often encountered his arm.
     Damia took in little of their surroundings during that slow
saunter: she just revelled in the purely physical contact with a subtly
altered Afra.  She still couldn't believe her stupidity.  But then,
Afra'd always been part of her life: how could she have known he'd
assume such a vital role in the rest of her life?  She refused to
consider problems.  Nothing must mar this tranquil moment.
     They rounded the corner of the cabin and made for the short flight
of stairs to the veranda where two hammocks swung idly in the afternoon
breeze.  The few stairs put an unexpected strain on her thighs.  She
thought of the big daddies she had once so effortlessly transported.
     Well, she'd do them again!  She was even panting a bit when they
reached the porch.  So was Afra so she didn't feel quite so decrepit.
     But this was a splendid spot for napping, shaded as it was from
the direct rays of the sun.
     Afra held the cords of one hammock while she eased herself into
it.  Then he bent and, at the last moment, altered his target and
kissed the side of her neck.
     'Your mouth, love, is far too inviting,' he said with a low laugh
and set her hammock to rocking.
     'Why are the swings set so far apart?  I want to keep in touch,'
she complained, extending her arm as far as it would go towards him.
     He laughed as he settled himself and, with one quick push, set his
hammock into a gentle swing.
     'We're to rest, remember, love?  And since I want nothing more
than to be rested ---' and he laughed softly, suggestively, 'I'll
obey.' Surprising her, Afra began to hum a melody she faintly
recognized.  And hearing it, she fell asleep.
     Afra almost botched his attempt to invoke that old
preconditioning: in the first place, he couldn't sing and laugh at the
same time and then, when Damia's breathing obediently slowed to a sleep
rhythm, he was both surprised and gratified that that old trigger still
worked.
     He let the lullaby die away, watching Damia's face which still
showed the marks of her ordeal and grief.  He hadn't liked to see her
so painfully thin, either, but Isthia's threatened diet ought to repair
that damage.  He wished he could restore her as easily as he had put
her to sleep.
     He sighed, and clasped his hands behind his head, shifting his
gaze to the cabin's incredibly serene setting.  Gradually he became
aware of discrete sounds; Isthia moving about inside; insect and bird
song drifting from the trees; the soughing of the breeze.  He was also
calm within himself for the first time in years: perhaps, he amended,
in his adult life.  Certainly since Damia's ripening sexuality had
stunned him - what was it, only seven years ago?
     Last night had been completely unexpected: a boon he could never
have anticipated - a boon which might yet cause him more anguish than
he had already endured.
     And yet, this time Afra Lyon had no intention of standing
patiently by and permitting Damia's incredible gift of love to be
wrenched from his grasp.
     Hadn't she come to him of her own volition?  Seen him with eyes no
longer clouded by old perceptions and the anathema of 'familiarity'?
     And her dear nonsense about sharing her mental strength with him?
     Well, he'd just see if that was ever needed!  How devoutly he
hoped that Isthia's prognosis was correct!  Keeping up with Damia would
require Afra Lyon in top form.
     On the other hand, Damia might have turned to him as an anodyne to
the devastating experience of misjudging Sodan, and Larak's loss.  They
had been so close, those two.  Had she turned to her oldest and most
trusted friend only for solace?  No, Afra told himself, he had not
misjudged the look on Damia's face, the amazement in her eyes as she
had really looked at him, Afra Lyon, the way her hands had caressed him
were revelations for them both.  She had undergone a shift, a
realignment of senses, a translation of preconceptions that had been
far-reaching.
     That he had shifted from old family friend to potential lover
years before was immaterial: in her eyes, she herself had made the
final adjustment to accepting the steadfast and silent love he had for
her.
     Afra smiled wryly.  He had stunned Damia with his mention of
twenty-eight Towered years.  But his love had to face the fact that he
was twenty-four years her senior.  Rowan would mention it and possibly
Jeff.  He did wonder how they were going to receive the news.  He could
hear the Rowan roaring - she'd have to break in a new assistant unless
she could persuade Gollee to stay.  Or install Veswind?
     Would she be willing for another from the Lyon line?
     Afra smiled again as he remembered how often Jeff had teased him
about starting his own family.  Jeff had never had Damia in mind for
Afra's mate but would he really object?  Damia was younger by over two
decades but how much could that matter?
     Especially now that Damia had gone through such a tempering and
maturing crisis.  Afra saw it in the lingering sadness in her eyes,
heard it in her subtly altered voice, felt it in her abandoned response
to their impassioned consummation.  He wished she had not been
subjected to such a harsh, unforgiving, sacrificial rite of passage.
     He could have wished it had been easier on her - but surely both
Rowan and Jeff would recognize her new maturity.  Afra shifted
restlessly, his thoughts turning to the unexpected victim.  Dear, dear
Larak!  That vibrant, amiable, loving boy, gone in a flash of alien
anger.  Afra forced himself to face that hideous moment, if only to
defuse the emotional burden, but his mind refused to focus.  In fact,
it hurt - Afra, came Isthia's admonition, don't think about that yet.
     You can't alter what has happened He didn't try to reach her
telepathically, just let his reply sit in his public mind.  I must,
however, confront what did happen and sort it out for peace of mind.
     Not now, not today or for several weeks to come, Isthia replied,
and what she did next, Afra never knew, but sleep overcame him.  To
achieve the restoration of her patients, Isthia wouldn't cavil at
planting a few irresistible suggestions of her own.
     'Tomorrow you can catch your own,' Isthia told them as she served
them a dinner of fish, tiny vegetables and a salad of mixed greens,
'and scavenge your greens from my garden.  I ask only that you eat
everything you catch and pick.  You know the drill on Deneb, Damia.'
'Waste not, want not,' Damia dutifully chanted as the delectable odour
of the pan-fried fish made her mouth water.  'Fish is brain food,
Afra,' she added pedantically.
     'High protein, low fat.  Is there a limit on a day's catch?'
Isthia snorted.  'Of course not.  I stocked the lake myself so it's not
part of the official resources.' Damia leaned across the table to Afra,
her eyes dancing with mischief, 'That means that Isthia reserves the
right to fish the lake to herself.  Deneb can't use it in time of
famine.
     'Deneb hasn't endured a famine, has it?' Afra was astonished
enough to stop eating.
     'Of course not,' Damia said.
     'Famine and planetary emergency.
     'Such as the Beetles?' Afra asked.
     'Exactly,' and Isthia looked slightly grim, 'first they filled our
lakes with contaminants, then they blasted them dry.  Took years to get
our reservoirs rebuilt and full.  So a fish-stocked lake can be
considered a natural resource and could be added to planetary food
reserves.  Fortunately, I made sure I had a few perks.' 'This isolated
site is one?' Afra asked.
     'Took me nearly a year to find exactly the right land when the
grant was bestowed,' Isthia said, 'but it's worth every bit of the fuss
it caused.' 'Fuss?  With all you've done for Deneb?' Damia said,
indignant.
     'That's why there was so much fuss,' Isthia replied and related to
them the struggles she had had with local and central administration,
builders, naturalists, as well as medical boards which did not want her
so far from population centres.  'I was blocked on minor points for
nearly another two years.  But I got the place I wanted, where I wanted
it, and no-one can revoke my title to it, nor my heirs' 'What do we
fish for?' Afra asked.
     'Rainbow sparklers,' Isthia replied.  'Bait your hooks and throw
'em in.  The fish eventually get interested.' 'It's a novel idea to
catch one's dinner, too,' Afra added.
     'You can, though, can't you?  It's not something Capellans are
against?' Damia asked, realizing how little she really knew about Afra
Lyon.
     'No,' he assured her with a grin, 'nothing in my upbringing
prevents me from fishing for food.' 'I'll show you the lake after we
eat.  There'll be light enough,' Isthia said.  'In fact watching the
sunset there can be rather spectacular.' And that evening Deneb put on
quite a display for them.
     The lake was reached by a narrow track that threaded its way
through a thick stand of Denebian softwoods: single trunk spires with
short, full-leaved branches.  The lake, dewdrop in shape, was
deceptively large for Isthia led them out at its narrow end where the
tributary stream flowed down from the hills to their right.
     'I've constructed a perch,' Isthia said, directing them along the
bank to their left where several large flat black rocks formed an
irregular bench.
     Some sort of spidery multi-legged insects skimmed across the lake
and occasionally an aquatic denizen broke the surface into ripples,
snagging the water runner.  Sleepy avian and nocturnal bug noises
punctuated the evening air as they seated themselves.
     Afra threw a jacket across Damia's shoulder, for the air at the
lakeside was chillier than at the protected cabin.
     She leaned into his touch, avid for physical contact.  He settled
his arm about her shoulders and drew her against him as if this casual
sort of contact was long established.
     Afra was having no trouble, she thought, with their new
relationship.  His fingers pressed against her arm and she glanced at
him, suspicious that he was disobeying Isthia.
     He bent his head towards her.
     'A touch is just a touch, Damia love, he said quietly, s6 don't
get fussed.  More than you, I can't afford to risk the healing process.
     Damia shot a quick look at her grandmother who was sitting, with
the discretion of a duenna, at the opposite end of the rock couch.
     Isthia gave every evidence of ignoring them.  Which, Damia
realized, was probably genuine.  Isthia would hate having to leave this
place with its ensured solitude.  She must remember to thank her for
that sacrifice.
     'Sacrifice,' Damia thought, her heart heavy.  So many little
things reminded her of Larak.  Once again Afra's fingers took a new
hold on her arm and she shook her head of such wounding reflections.
     'See!' Isthia pointed at the cloud formation now tinged with a
delicate shade of peach as the sun began its final descent behind the
hills.
     So they watched, awed by the beauty, by the silence of the wood
and lake about them, a reverence for the display and for the
tranquillity of the night to come.  When the last colour faded from
cloud and sky, Isthia sighed, a sound of intense satisfaction, and
rose.
     'Don't stay too long.  There's a chill in the night air, she said,
and thrusting one handlight at them, she departed, playing hers on the
track as she made her way back to the cabin.
     For Damia, who had always been physically restless, this sort of
inactivity was novel, yet she would not have broken the quiet mood for
anything on any world she had ever trod.  What was even more amazing
was that she was sharing - truly sharing - this magical serenity with
Afra.
     From the corner of her eye she snuck a peek at him and saw, in the
crepuscular twilight, that he reflected her own tranquillity.  Why had
she never noticed what a strong profile he had: a high straight
forehead, a straight nose jutting at a fine angle, the generous gap
between nose and upper lip, and the strong well-modelled wide mouth,
the firm chin and jawline.  He had nice ears, too.  But there were
undeniable flecks of white in his blondy hair.  Not much, but
noticeable.
     Self-consciously, she fingered back the white-flecked lock that
always fell across her face.
     'I've got more white hair than you,' she remarked.
     'But not in the same number of years, love,' he replied equably.
     'Is that going to matter?' she asked anxiously.
     He looked down at her, smiling at her concern.  'It oughtn't but
it's bound to come up.  Does my seniority bother you?' 'You're always
"Afra" to me,' she said, surprised at how she identified him within
herself.
     He chuckled.  'As you have always been inimitably "Damia" to me.
     D'you know?  I heard you protest your birth.' 'That's not fair!'
She did not like him to remind her of moments like that.
     'When does "fair" enter into any relationship?  Suffice it to say,
that I have known you since the first breath you drew and, strangely
enough, it makes you dearer to me.' The look in his yellowy eyes, the
tenderness in his mouth, the appeal in even the way his shoulders
inclined towards her, and Damia had to admit that she could have no
objection to what lay behind that soft declaration 'Oh, Afra!  Why did
you wait so long?' His lips turned up and his eyes danced.  'I had to.
     Until you were ready to look at Afra.' With such laughter in his
eyes and mouth, he had a careless boyishness about him that cancelled
further discussion of age.
     Larak had been little more than a boy at his death.
     Unbidden, the comparison had crossed her mind.
     Afra's hand covered hers instantly.  'I can see that you're
thinking sad thoughts again, love.  What this time?  Tell me!' Damia
smiled ruefully up at him.  'As I told you all my small troubles?' 'I'm
able for the big ones now.
     'I keep thinking of ' She faltered.
     'Larak,' and his fingers caressed her gently.  'I think of him a
lot myself Damia burrowed her head into his shoulder, hooking one hand
about his neck as she had done so often as a child.
     But it was not as a child that she clung to him now.
     'I'm told such pain eases with time,' he said quietly, 'and there
has not been enough of that between us and his death.' Damia sat
upright.  'Who is taking care of Jenna right now?' Her tone was
stricken for she had been thinking more in terms of her own grief and
loss from this wretched Sodan affair.
     'Isthia can tell us .  . . no, don't reach,' he said and Damia let
out an exasperated sigh.  'We'll go and ask.' 'It takes getting used
to, this limitation,' she replied caustically 'In a good cause, love,'
he said and, smoothly rising from the warm rock, pulled her to her
feet.
     'Jenna?' Isthia said, surprised at the question when they returned
to the cabin.  'Jeran sent Ezra to her, but she has a big family and
they're Talented enough to give her comfort and sufficient solace to
ease her heart.' Isthia's expression altered to one of amusement.
     After all, she has not only her son but also another child on the
way.' Damia stared at her grandmother.  'Oh!' she exclaimed
indignantly.
     'Larak didn't?  Why, he's .  . .' She stopped short.  'Under the
circumstances, I guess I'm glad.  Lord, but we Gwyn-Ravens are prolific
'Tell me about it,' and Isthia threw her head back and howled with
laughter.  'Remember, separate rooms tonight.
     I'm not going to explain that to your parents, Damia!' When Isthia
entered Deneb Tower, her grandson Jeran had just finished with the
incoming traffic.
     'How are they?' he asked urgently, rising from his conformable
chair and embracing her.  She rather liked his strong young arms about
her: made her remember Jerry.
     'They will both recover completely,' she said, and then gave him a
warning glare, 'if they are allowed to recover at their own rate.  No
unexpected visits, no shafts of enquiry, no exercise of 'path or 'port
whatever!' 'How's Damia taking that kind of a prohibition?' Jeran
asked, raising his eyebrows.
     Isthia considered, careful not to let any of her more recent
conclusions be accessed by her clever Prime grandson.  'Better than
you'd expect,' she replied, with just a slight emphasis on the pronoun.
     'Of course, once she regains her health-' 'What?' Jeran's
exclamation of alarm was genuine.
     'Oh, she's battered physically as well as psychically, Jeran.  And
genuinely distraught about Larak.  It'll all take time Jeran frowned.
     'How long?' Now an FT&T Prime spoke 'As long as it takes, said
Isthia with a shrug.  'I'd like to reassure Jeff and Rowan-' she added,
gesturing towards the board.
     'Certainly,' Jeran said, stepping well away from the conformable
chair.  'It's break time for me anyway.  Will you be going right back?'
'Heavens, no,' and Isthia grinned as she settled into the chair.  'When
I meant no mental exertion, I meant none, which includes me leaking
metamorphic theory all over them.  Physically, they're well able to
take care of themselves, and each other.' She shook her head, thinking
of how true that was and trying very hard not to chuckle at her private
merriment.  'You're stuck with this white man's burden again 'Never
stuck, Gran, glad to have you any time.
     Isthia snorted, knowing perfectly well that Jeran was rapidly
reviewing how to conduct his current affair with his grandmother in the
same house.  'Or, I can always move into Kantria's digs.  Yes, that
makes sense and she's on the outskirts of the City anyway.  Do be
tactful and ask her first, Jerry.' She laughed as she caught the
quickly-suppressed ripple of consternation from Jeran as he hurriedly
closed the shielded door behind him.  That should divert him
sufficiently from speculating further about his sister and Afra Then
she settled back in the chair and, picking up the pulse of the
generators, sent her mind ranging the long distance to Callisto.
     Isthia?  the Rowan caught her up immediately and did not moderate
her understandable anxiety.  Damia was foremost in her mother's mind.
     They're both well and they will both recover, Rowan.
     Mother?  Instantly Jeff's mind joined the link.  Without loss?
     Afra's recuperation worried Jeff more but only because he felt
Afra had been in more jeopardy than his daughter.
     I don't foresee any diminishing in either mind.  As I told you,
rest from any mental stress, plenty of sleep and solitude will cure
them.
     Relief flowed from them to her and back again.
     Any idea when their cures will be complete?  Jeff the Prime spoke.
     I haven't a clue, Isthia blithely reassured them and felt their
misgivings.  Heavens, I've never treated such overextended minds
before.  Metamorphically, Damia buffered Afra and you two cushioned her
even as she blocked and destroyed Sodan.
     There was a brief pause.  Does she blame herself for not saving
The Rowan's voice faltered.
     Yes, but that was inevitable and we cannot spare her that grief.
     You will be surprised when you do see her, and Isthia was rather
glad there was no-one in the Tower room to see her smile.  She liked
and admired her son's mate.
     It was scarcely Angharad's fault that she had overcompensated her
children for the vicissitudes of her early childhood.
     Surprised?  Jeff asked.
     Agreeably, Isthia replied.  She might as well predispose them.
     The incident has matured the girl.
     Rite of passage?  Jeff asked.
     A rocky grievous one, to be sure, but considering Damia's 33i
personality, only that sort of experience would produce the proper
tempering.
     Aren't you being hard on Damia?  the Rowan began.
     I'm being objective, I assure you.  You should be grateful for her
fortitude and resilience.  She could have been consumed and broken.
     But she is well?  She will recover?
     Given time.  No more headaches, Angharad, or lapses of
concentration?  Isthia asked, skilfully diverting the contact into a
new channel.
     No, because we ve cut down the traffic, Jeff replied brusquely.
     Sometimes FT&T expects too much of its Primes.
     Both of us, and he sent his mother a rueful grin, are letting our
assistants handle inanimate stuff.  Gives them a feeling of
accomplishment and us a brief respite.  And Aurigae got their ears bent
for the sort of loads they were having Damia 'port.  She's not to do
that again.  You did say that Afra's going to be all right?
     Isthia chuckled.  Oh, you'll notice a change in him, too.
     All for the good.  Then, before her inner amusement broke through,
she hastily ended the contact.  Goodbye now.  Jeran wants his chair
back.  I'll keep you informed.
     Because they were so isolated and because they had been in the
habit of being wide-open in every sense to each other, Damia and Afra
both experienced the first tendrils of query.
     Damia censored the incident.  Afra ignored it.  Neither mentioned
it; Damia because she wasn't going to get caught twice the same way;
Afra because he didn't trust his mind.
     Not only had Isthia left them a diet sheet - easily digestible
foods at first, graduating to some of her more esoteric and exotic
combinations - but also she had left them a work sheet.  As her note
reminded them, the cabin was not automated.
     'Nothing to tax your energies but light chores to keep the place
ticking over and to combat boredom.' 'I'm not sure that I like her
going on about boredom,' Damia told Afra as they looked over the
roster.
     Afra's eyes gleamed, but his finger running down her cheek took
the sting out of his words.  'We both know our quick-silver Damia,
restless, curious -'I need rest,' and Damia pretended a haughty air,
'and I got an overdose of curiosity too recently to indulge in another.
     I shall vegetate, right along with you, Afra Lyon!' 'We are not
precisely vegetating, love,' Afra said and demonstrated.
     They were, however, scrupulous about doing the various tasks
Isthia had set: keeping the cabin neat and clean, tending the garden
planted around it, weeding the vegetable plot, reinforcing the guard
fencing to prevent forest Damia's eyes widened in protest.  'But you
are respected life from browsing the young plants, and fishing.  The
lake was stocked with many tasty varieties.
     Damia liked fishing, liked the excuse to sit beside Afra,
shoulders and legs touching as they sat on the bank waiting for the
sparklers to rise to the bait.  The enforced idleness of angling
permitted Damia to satisfy her insatiable interest in every facet of
her lover's childhood and early training, though she forcefully
denounced such heartlessness.
     'I guess I was a lot luckier in my parents than I knew,' Damia had
to admit when he had finished with his early childhood trials.
     'Even being sent away as an infant to Deneb?' Afra asked, his eyes
intent on her expression She grimaced with chagrin.  'Yes, I was a
right wagon, wasn't I?' 'Heavy duty big daddy wagon.' 'You don't have
to agree!' 'Why not?  I knew what you admit to.' 'But you're not
supposed to agree!' Afra chuckled.  'If it's true, why not?  It's
perspective that counts, love.  It isn't that I don't know your faults
as I have tried to admit to mine - it's that I love you more because of
them.' 'Love me for my faults?  How stupid!' 'Should I ignore them
because I love you?' 'Well .
     'Nonsense.  It's those odd quirks of yours that are endearing, not
your very stellar qualities which I respect and admire.  That could get
tedious 'You mean, boring?' Damia suggested, eyeing him speculatively
'No, tedious, because then I'd have to watch everything I said and did,
trying to be equally respectable and admirable.' and admired.' 'By
you?' His soft voice was entreating and his look made her melt.
     'I think,' she said in a deliberate way, playing with the long
fingers that held one of her hands captive, 'that I have always admired
and respected you, Afra.  You always listened to me, even when I was a
baby.  You always made me feel as if you had time for no-one else in
the Tower.' 'That's true enough, love.
     'Did you love me then as a baby?' Damia could not quite erase the
wistfulness.
     'I loved you as a baby, but as a man loves an adorable, winsome
child.  I love you now as a man loves a vibrant, talented, sexually
aware young woman.
     'Love me then, do.
     At first, they kept about the house.  Afra taught Damia how to do
complicated origami until she was almost as fast fashioning them as he
was.  She taught him - or tried - to ride ponies from the small herd
that often drifted to the lake in the evening.  He had to keep his long
legs either drawn up, nearly under his knees, or straight out on either
side of the pony or they would drag on the ground.  Damia found either
position hilarious but mastered her mirth rather than prejudice Afra
against the ponies as transportation.
     As physical strength returned, they ranged wider; in part in
response to the list of Isthia's chores.  She was keeping track of some
Earth species which had been judiciously added to Deneb's ecology.  One
such species were breeding pairs of raptors which had been established
in the rough hills above her cabin.  Isthia wanted to check on the
nests and the success rate of fledging.  With her maps and backpacks of
food and trail supplies, Damia and Afra took advantage of a fine bright
morning to accomplish that task.
     'You have the longest legs,' Damia told him, somewhat admiring
them, lightly haired, well-shaped, sinewy and tanned from long sunning.
     'Nice knees.' 'I can say the same of yours, love,' he responded
equably.
     'Can't I ever get a rise out of you?' 'Oh, you do indeed,' Afra
said mischievously, 'you do indeed.
     'I didn't mean that!  But you never lose your temper, or is that
your Methody upbringing?' 'Losing one's temper over a trifle would
definitely be considered unmannerly,' he replied.
     'Maybe I'm the one who should have been raised by your parents,'
she said with some exasperation.
     'No, love, no!' he replied so fervently that she turned to look at
him over her shoulder and managed to collide with a tree.  'Are you
hurt?' 'What?  From that little bump?' she demanded, annoyed with
herself for being so clumsy.  The sapling had caught her from cheek to
knee and the impact had stung.  She rubbed herself fiercely, gave the
tree a pat.  'I probably hurt it far worse.  Look, I've taken off all
its new growth!' 'Hmmm, so you have.  Let's hope Isthia does not
intimately know every tree she planted.' Damia watched her way after
that, wondering just how the bruises would come up.  But shortly she
was far more interested in the beautiful landscape for they had left
the sheltering belt of forestry and were out on the rough hillsides,
stepping from rock to grassoid clump, or cutting through a bracken-like
vegetation which, bruised by their hiking boots, gave off a pungent
astringent odour.
     They rested often, in deference to slack muscles and their
convalescent state, but by midday had reached the craggy outcroppings
where the raptors had nested.  Using the high-power binoculars, Afra
located the right cliff and the first nest 'No birds, no egg shells.
     Is that good?' He passed the glasses to her 'We might try looking
at the base of the cliff,' she said after a careful sweep.  'Seems to
me the raptors clear the debris from the nest.' They had to climb over
uneven ground to reach their objective but found nothing beyond
fragments of shells and bones, many of those cracked for the marrow.
     They pushed on to examine the other four nests Isthia had listed
and found two more before they came across a gushing mountain stream
where they decided to eat their lunch.  They had appetite for
everything they'd thought to bring, washed down by the clear cold water
of the creek.
     Then they went on, still climbing up the tumbled greystone cliff.
     When they finally came out on the height, Damia paused and,
shielding her eyes, turned slowly, taking in the panorama below and
almost all around them.
     'It's breathtaking,' Afra said.  'I'd forgotten there could be so
much world to see from one spot.
     'It's a far cry from Callisto, that's for sure, Damia replied.
     'And yet,' she added loyally, 'I'm fond of that moon!
     All the world I knew until I .  . .' she cut off, frowning.
     'What's wrong?' She was turned towards the rise beyond the saddle
on which they stood.  She bit her underlip, puzzled, twitching her
shoulders restlessly.
     'There shouldn't be any more.  There shouldn't be any more here.
     'Any more what?' 'Well, I've got to go see, don't I?' she said
enigmatically.
     'See what, Damia?  I can't read your mind, you know.' 'You don't
really want to, Afra, but you'd best come see.' She started scrambling
up the steep rock face and gestured for him to follow.
     'what should!  be looking for?' he asked tactfully.
     'You should be sensing it,' she replied, her tone almost angry.
     'Beetle stuff.  Don't you feel the 'Sting-pzzzt?' he asked, half
amused.
     'Yes,' and she was very angry, 'the sting-pzzzt.  It's very loud.'
Afra paused, trying to sense what she did.  'I hear insects buzzing.'
'No, you feel Beetle metal.  Look around, do you see any insects up
this high?' Now that Damia had mentioned it, he didn't, but she was
setting quite a pace and he had to work to keep up with her.  When they
reached the top of the next rise, he looked about him expectantly but
Damia turned right and started purposefully up the next slope and
abruptly halted, staring at a groove in the fine grey granite - a
groove that was not natural and from which protruded a ragged shaft of
metal.
     The buzz that Afra had thought insectoid was louder, and every
breath he drew had a sharp metallic taste to it.
     'Sting-pzzzt is really accurate, he said, gazing down at the
artifact.  Then he paced it out, along the impact split in the rock.
     'Fifteen metres visible.' He knelt down and, somewhat gingerly,
poked his finger at the nearest surface.
     'Part of a hull?' 'Looks like it,' Damia replied, beginning to
take an interest in it.  'Pitted.  I didn't think there'd be anything
left to find.  My Uncle Rhodri spent the last nine years of his life
tracking pieces down.' 'This is a rather inaccessible spot,' Afra
observed.
     Damia sighed.  'We'd better get back and report this.' 'Why?  It's
been here twenty-odd year' 'One reports finds like this.  And it's
awfully near the fourth raptor nest.' 'There'd be a problem?' Damia
shot him an irritable glance.  'Can't you taste it in the air?  Feel
it?  Can you imagine what effect it would have on hatchlings?' 'There
is one?' He curbed a growing irritation with her cryptic remarks.  'I
may have helped blast Beetles out of the sky but that contact was at an
exceedingly long range.' 'Well, there's nothing long range about the
way this metal affects me,' she replied tersely and started to climb
down.  'I can't get away from here fast enough.' 'Oh, is that what's
wrong with us?' 'Yes, indeed!' She snapped that out, almost spitting
the ds at him.  'Let's get away from here!' Her tone was desperate.
     He bit back an angry comment about how fast she'd climbed to get
to the artifact.  Damia did not slow her descent until they were back
at the stream, panting for breath and sweating with exertion.
     'I think that's far enough,' she said in gasps and flopped down by
the stream, to splash water on her face and neck and then grinning with
a return of good humour, at him.
     They both drank deeply, washing the metallic aftertaste out of
their mouths.
     'Why did you let me eat all my lunch?' Damia asked.
     'I'm starving.' 'I saw some berry bushes,' Afra suggested.
     'Hmm.  Good idea.  Sorry about the temper, Afra, but Beetle metal
really agitates.' 'What I find amazing is that it retains that effect
so long.' Damia grinned.  'Uncle Rhodri was determined to find out why.
     He wasn't sure if it was caused by emanations of the alien ore or
vibrations induced by the Beetles for defence.  He suspected the latter
since it would be very difficult for attackers to approach the vessel
when grounded.' 'What was his final conclusion?' 'Oh, he died before he
arrived at one.  High Command took over the project.  They're still
here.  They're the ones I'll call when we get back to the cabin.
     C'mon.
     Though Afra did not protest the brisk pace Damia set back to the
cabin, they were both exhausted when they got to the clearing.  Afra
paused long enough to get a drink but Damia went immediately to the
communit and dialled the number.
     'Damia Raven-Lyon,' she said to his astonishment and delight,
'I've found an artifact, buried in the hills above Isthia Raven's
cabin.' She gave them the coordinates from Isthia's map.  'Yes, it's
still emanating.  Couldn't leave the area fast enough.  You could land
a vtol on the saddle below it.  Yes, about fifteen metres long, maybe
more.  It buried itself into the ravine.  Looks like hull.' She
grimaced.  'Feels like hull.  Yes, of course, we'll be here.' Afra
handed her a cool juice drink as she replaced the handset.
     'Damia Raven-Lyon?' he asked softly as he slid an arm about her
shoulders to pull her close.
     She gave him a sideways glance, her blue eyes sparkling in her
tired, sweaty face.
     'Well, it'll be obvious!' An officer rang through, requesting
permission to land at the cabin clearing.  On the porch to greet him,
Damia and Afra saw the giant removal unit, the jagged hull piece
suspended from massive cables, as it thumped ponderously east towards
the naval research facility.  One of the escort vehicles peeled off and
landed.
     'That was a grand find,' the lieutenant-commander said, beaming
from ear to ear as he presented himself and saluted smartly.  'Thought
we'd gathered up all the debris.  Let us know if you find anything
else, will you?' Damia felt a convulsive shudder go down her backbone.
     'We certainly will.  Don't want so much as a sliver of that stuff
nearby.' 'How do you mitigate the effect, Commander?' Afra asked.
     'What effect, sir?' The man was surprised.  'Oh, you'd be Talented
then.' He gave them a slightly patronizing smile.  'Doesn't affect us
types at all.  But I'd heard it can be pretty potent for sensitives.'
Fortunately he turned away then, and trotted back to his skycar.
     'The nerve ---' Damia began.  'Potent for sensitives Indeed.'
Afra chuckled.  'At least we know we're sensitive again.
     Damia blinked.  'I hadn't thought of that aspect.' Then her face
brightened.  'D'you think that means we're healed?' 'On our way to it,
certainly.; The dreaming began that evening.  And, at first, Damia did
ascribe it to the alien metal.  Yet these weren't nightmares: more
pictures imposed on her dreaming mind, a kaleidoscope of images.  She
didn't wake in an uneasy state of mind, but she could vividly recall
the night's fantasies.
     She did get in touch with Isthia, mentioning the Beetle find and
its effect on them.
     'I would say that you are healing well.  Don't rush it, Damia.
     Too much is at stake.' 'We've been here seven weeks.' 'Bored yet?'
'Grandmother!  I'm not bored.  D'you want us to go back and see what
effect the Beetle fragment had on the last nest on your list.
     'Hmmm.  Yes, there could be problems.  Leave it until the next
good rainstorm, let that taint wash away.  You don't need alien
pollution at your stage of repair.' 'Are you so eager to get back to a
Tower, Damia?' Afra asked when she broke the contact.
     She chuckled.  'No, I'm not.  Nor am I bored.  Isthia say 'I heard
her-' 'Afra!' Concerned, Damia seized at his shoulder.
     'I'm not deaf and Isthia was perfectly audible without any
"sensitive" assistance.
     After two weeks of nightly episodes, Damia was getting worried.
     Her uncle had never been able to explain how the Beetle metal
could continue to emanate but he had insisted that all fragments be
contained in shielded bunkers with six-foot walls of the toughest
plascrete.  He had recommended that those with any vestige of Talent be
barred from the research compound.  But the substance of her nocturnal
images held neither threat nor malice.  In fact, they seemed to repeat
in a pattern, unusual enough in itself, and gradually the pattern
became so predictable that Damia could step from one sequence to the
next .
     as if she were turning pages.
     Easing from their bed early one morning, Damia slipped to the
kitchen and dialled Isthia's number.  Her grandmother was an early
riser.  Contact came on the third ring.
     'Grandmother, did Uncle Rhodri ever discover a long term
contamination from Beetle metal?' 'What do you mean exactly?' To Damia,
her grandmother sounded so casually alert that she felt no further
reluctance in bringing the phenomenon up.
     'I've had dreams for the past two weeks, ever since that hull
piece was found, only they're not threatening, or evil, or particularly
unnerving.  They are repetitions of the same images.
     'What images?' And again Isthia's detached query suggested to
Damia that the phenomenon might not be limited to herself.
     'I get a pleasant setting, then figures - too distant and fussy to
be described - coming up a long road to another group of six figures.
     Both sets sit down.
     The atmosphere is peaceful and it seems to be as if the two groups
are talking.  Then the visitors, for that is the impression I get of
them, turn and go back the way they came to what looks like a vessel of
some kind.' 'What kind?' 'I can't discern that, Isthia.  I just
identify it as a vehicle.  An opening appears and the visitors go in
it.
     Then everything starts all over again.  Now, tell me that other
people are having this same dream?' 'I am,' Afra said, having entered
the kitchen quietly.
     'Afra says he is.' 'That doesn't surprise me, Damia.  What does
surprise me is that you two would be among those contacted.' 'Those?
     How widespread is this?' Damia wasn't certain whether she was
relieved or annoyed.
     Isthia chuckled.  'This time it's not just the females who're
getting it.' 'WHAT?' Damia beckoned urgently for Afra to come closer so
he could hear what Isthia was saying.
     'Well, your Uncle Ian as well as Rakella and Besseva have been
having much the same nightly visitations.  Yours are the clearest.'
'You said "contact" a minute ago?' 'I did, and that's what I think it
is now that you've amplified what the others only guessed.' 'I'm not
sure I like this,' Damia said, noticing that her hand was beginning to
tremble.  Afra put his arm about her waist, and the other hand on her
shoulder, steadying her.
     She leaned back against him.  'What does Jeran think?' 'Ah, that's
it.  Jeran isn't included in the chosen,' Isthia said.  'Of course, he
spends most of his free time with a blonde he's courting.' 'He's
serious?' 'I suspect so.  When Jeran makes up his mind, he's
unswervable.' 'Have you asked him to try?' 'To dream requires sleep,'
Isthia said pointedly.
     Afra smothered his laugh in Damia's loose hair, pressing his face
against her neck which he then nibbled.  She jerked her shoulder,
giving him a hiss to behave.  He was totally unrepentant.
     'So what do we do?  Have you told my parents?' 'Hmmm, no, not yet.
     It's been too nebulous.' 'I can also hear what the Rowan and Jeff
would say, Afra remarked, projecting his voice so Isthia heard him,
'about a third Denebian Penetration.' 'It's not penetration,' both
Damia and Isthia said together.
     'Really?' Afra regarded his lover with quickened interest.
     'An interesting reaction.
     'Plainly dream-generated,' Isthia added.  'Look, since you've been
having these visitations, and clearer ones than anyone else, I think
I'll join you there, if you don't mind .
     'If you wouldn't be bored sis the jibe.
     'My dear, boredom has a certain appeal for one who has never known
what it was.  Now, go get me some fresh fish for lunch.' She broke the
contact.
     'I'm not sure I like this,' Damia said, replacing the handset.
     'Why?' And Afra turned her around in his arms, to hold her
comfortingly against him.  'I had no impression Damia could not
recognise danger or menace or jeopardy.  As you did, I had the feeling
of visitation, a peaceful one.' Cushioned against her lover's body,
Damia sagged against him, unconsciously seeking reassurance which he
willingly gave.
     'I'm not sure I'm up to another visitor,' she said glumly.
     She gave a second convulsive shudder.  'The last one cost us too
much.' 'What?  My brave Damia sidestepping a challenge?' 'Your cautious
Damia not rushing in, blind,' and her tone was sardonic.
     'Let's see what Isthia says.  Meanwhile, I could use some coffee,
and maybe even some breakfast before we go fish for her lunch?' 'You're
trying to make light of this whole thing,' Damia accused, pushing away
from him.
     He disclaimed that immediately.  'Far from it.  The prudent would
examine the whole imposed dream sequence with an open mind 'If we're
allowed .  --' Almost absently, Damia began to prepare the coffee and
other elements of a breakfast.
     'We must be, if we've had the clearest dreams 'But they began the
night we found that Beetle artifact 'They did at that,' and Afra
frowned over the coincidence as he took the skillet from her hand and
started cooking the eggs.  'We'd best weed that front bed, too, or
Isthia will have words about negligence.' It afforded Damia some relief
to yank out weeds and fork up the soil to be sure she'd got the root
systems as well.  And, although Damia enjoyed fishing, today it was
only a way to pass time until Isthia came.  As is sometimes the case
when one doesn't care, the fish bit well and they landed ten good-sized
white-bellies before they realized they had more than enough.  When
Isthia arrived with both Ian and Rakella, they had just enough.
     Afra hadn't seen Ian for quite a few years and he was surprised at
how much the young man resembled his older brother.  Though he had not
quite the same forceful personality, he had sufficient of the
inimitable Raven charm.
     'Niece, you've improved past all recognition,' he said, dropping
the flat black carrying case to warmly embrace Damia.  After giving her
a rib-cracking hug, he held out a hand to Afra.  His eyes were somewhat
paler a blue than Jeff's but as full of vitality, good humour and
delight in their company.
     'I second that,' Rakella said, kissing Damia's cheek.
     'You were in a woeful state when you got here.  I helped nurse
you, or did Isthia ever bother to mention that?' She did not bear much
resemblance to her older sister, Isthia, but the family stamp was in
the set of her eyes and her generous mouth.
     'For that, my deep gratitude,' Damia said, 'for I've no
recollection of much beyond the most thundering headache imaginable.'
Isthia clapped her hands sharply together four or five times - claps
which Damia heard echoing in her skull and proceeded to order them to
gather at the dining table.
     Damia noticed that she was also doing a quick check of her
premises as she shooed them into the dining-room.
     'White gloves, Grannie?' 'I wouldn't need them,' Isthia replied
blithely.  'Look, Ian has some sketches to show you.  See if you
recognize anything from them.
     'They're pretty vague,' Ian said, obediently opening the portfolio
he had brought with him.  He slid pencilled drawings out, across the
sleek surface of the table, so that some faced Afra and others Damia.
     'I don't always sketch what I dream but, by the fourth or fifth
repetition, I felt I had to.' Damia held up one, showing the long road
and the two blurs of figures.  'That's exactly what I see, only, there
are at least twenty figures advancing and only six receiving, as it
were.' 'Six?' Isthia looked pleased.  'That's us, counting in Besseva
who couldn't come today.' 'And we're all high Talents, aren't we?'
Damia said, glancing at her grandmother for reassurance.  Isthia gave a
wave of her hand, dismissing Damia's self-doubt.
     'Why isn't Jeran affected?' Ian asked and, when Isthia smothered a
laugh, he added.  'Oh, I suppose that would affect his judgement, if
not his receptivity' 'So what exactly is this?' Damia asked almost
petulantly.
     'Has it anything to do with that nibbling on the DEW net off
Procyon?' Afra asked, startling Damia.
     'What nibbling?' Afra regarded her steadily for a moment.  'Larak
mentioned it.  The Fleet had been sent to investigate and found
nothing.' 'From Procyon to Deneb is a long distance, Ian said
thoughtfully.  Damia caught her breath.
     'True, but longer distances have been covered recently,' Afra
replied and Isthia nodded.
     'And with devastating effect,' Damia said, feeling a tense anger
and denial building in her.
     'Is it wrong to suppose that all .  . . ah .  . . visitors have to
be unfriendly?' Afra asked calmly, reaching under the table to put a
steadying hand on Damia's leg.
     'We've had more of the one than the other,' Isthia replied mildly.
     'I'd certainly prefer that Deneb wasn't always the target.' 'It
wasn't,' Damia said in a flat hard voice.
     'Two out of three are not good odds,' Rakella said drily, 'but are
we sure what these dreams mean?  That there's some other species out
there, asking to visit?' Isthia gave her sister a sharp look.  'Is that
how you'd put it?' 'I think I would,' Rakella said after considering
her reply.  'The dreams have not been threatening.  They have been
quizzical.  Yes, that's the word I want, quizzical.  Like neighbours
who do not wish to intrude but would like to make friends.
     'I find myself in agreement with that,' Afra said.
     'And I,' said Ian.
     Damia stared at the sketch, at the clump of figures struggling up
the hill towards those waiting at the summit.
     She waved at the drawing.  'I don't know if I want to understand
that.  I don't know if I'm afraid of what we will discover.' 'That, at
least, is honest,' Isthia said but there was approval in her
expression.
     'Only a fool doesn't learn by mistakes,' Damia said in a bitter
tone and felt Afra's fingers tighten, this time warningly, on her
thigh.  'Well, we should profit by my mistake in this.  They seem to be
offering something, too.
     'On the contrary, Damia, Sodan offered nothing.  And he took
subtly and brutally - all your energy, your strength, and your
perception,' Afra said, his tone very gentle, his eyes entreating her
forgiveness for his candid words.
     She stiffened, catching her breath until she could not deny the
love, encouragement and understanding which flowed into her mind from
all those around the table.
     Afra's fingers dug into her thigh, rousing her from her bleakness.
     'And my brother,' she added.  'Why should we believe this - this
intruder is any different?' 'Well, for one thing, whoever they are have
had the courtesy to request admission into this system,' Isthia said.
     'That's my interpretation of the dream sequences.
     'Who - what - are they?' Damia asked bluntly.
     'We'd all like some reassurance on that score,' Isthia said.  'On
the way out here, Ian, Rakella and I worked out a plan.  Ian's willing
to be subject and Rakella and I will implant a response to the dream
sequence which ought to give our visitors - not invaders, I think - an
answer to their query Damia regarded her young uncle with admiration
and some consternation.  He was by no means as strong a Talent as she
was, nor had he spent much time developing his innate Talent.  But she
held back her protest.  She had no wish to tempt a repetition of the
Sodan affair.  She did give Isthia a long and worried look.
     'Shouldn't we inform Earth Prime?' she asked.
     'I'd rather we had something more concrete than a nebulous pattern
of dreams,' Isthia replied.  'Jeff's still trying to calm everyone
down,' and then she laughed, 'and help Cera deal with the Procyons who
feel she is far too young to be responsible for that system 'Cera's the
most responsible of us all,' Damia said indignantly.
     'Exactly,' Isthia said, smiling at her granddaughter.  'But you
can quite appreciate why we must be circumspect with this latest-' She
jiggled her hand, searching for the appropriate word.
     'Flap?' Afra suggested blandly 'Flap'll do.  There're only the six
of us, having the dreams.  Now if more had been involved - even just
Jeran-' 'Good al' prosaic Jeran,' Ian said disparagingly and Damia
suppressed a giggle.
     'Isn't he just,' Isthia said at her mildest.  'At any rate, until
I feel we have sufficient evidence to require an alert of any degree, I
think we keep this among ourselves.' She sent a querying look around
the table.  'Very well then.
     We'll proceed with Plan A. And when is lunch going to be ready?'
Of them all that evening, Ian seemed the most relaxed as he submitted
to the hypnotic session, woke, joked that he didn't remember a thing,
and ate a huge supper, consumed most of a bottle of Isthia's treasured
pre-Beetle vintages before taking himself off to his bed.  During the
afternoon, Afra and Damia had brought two conformable chairs into Ian's
room where Isthia and Rakella could be comfortable during their vigil.
     Damia had been generous to her own wine glass at dinner but she
found it difficult to relax once she and Afra had gone to bed.  She
couldn't find a comfortable position though she tried several as
surreptitiously as possible, not wanting to rouse Afra.
     'I can't sleep either,' Afra said, though even his quiet tone
startled her in the dark room.  He turned her on to her back and
gathered her into his long body.  'Shall I sing you a lullaby?' 'I'm
not a baby any more, to be lulled asleep by a song, she protested but
she did not resist his comfort and settled her head on his chest.
     To her surprise, not only did he begin to sing softly but also he
rocked her gently against him.  And, before she could protest his
nonsense, her eyes got too heavy to remain open and her mind darkened
responsively.
     This time she seemed to be awake even as she started the visitors'
dream sequence.  And Ian's drawings became part of it - part of it,
expanded by it and interpreted in it.
     The long uphill road was a dark one, many stars above it, passing
by in an endless stream.  A small globe appeared and the visitors
abruptly stopped their upward progress.
     Then, very carefully, several visitors picked the globe up and put
it to one side for it apparently impeded their forward progress.  Then
the file of visitors became twenty separate figures: long, thin, with
spindly anterior segments which propelled them and upper extremities
which were held forward in entreaty.  The dream seemed endless to the
sleeping Damia and she felt exhausted by its length, fervently wishing
for action.  There had been some before.
     The visitors had reached the top of the hill and met the six.
     The six also extended long, thin limbs but, though they advanced a
few steps towards the visitors, no real progress seemed to be made in
establishing a contact.
     Contact!  Damia woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in the
bed.
     What is it, Damia?  Afra asked her, and the question was repeated
by Isthia.
     We aren't making contact.  They wish to make contact.
     Then she covered her face with her hands and dropped her head to
her bent knees, shuddering violently.  She felt Afra's arms enfolding
her and she leaned into his protective clasp.
     'It's all right, Damia,' Isthia said, gliding into the room.
     'What did Ian dream?  Did your plan work?' Afra asked her.
     'I don't know yet, she said, sitting down on the side of the bed
and stroking her granddaughter's hair.  'It's all right, pet.
     'I'm not a child any more, Grandmother,' Damia murmured and gave
one last shudder before she looked up.
     'It's contact they want, though.  Afra?' He shook his head.  'I
only dreamt the usual sequence.
     When Ian finally woke the next morning, he had done no more than
that.  'I tried, Mother,' he said ruefully.  'I knew I had something to
tell them all night long but I couldn't get a word in edgewise.' Damia
felt close to panic and that must have shown in her face for both
Isthia and Afra moved to touch her reassuringly.
     'I don't want this,' she told them, 'I don't want any part of it.'
Then, before she could see the pity in their faces, she slammed out of
the house and down the narrow track to the lake.
     She had been sitting for a long time in her favorite fishing site
before Afra joined her.  She could hear him coming, 'heard' his
anxiety, too.
     'I'm a coward, Afra,' she murmured when he reached her spot.  He
hunkered down beside her and his 'concern' was a shield between her and
the reality she wanted to escape.
     'No, but you're understandably cautious.  I think we ought to
inform Jeff, especially when you had such a definite response.
     'It was Ian who was supposed to get one.  I'd rather it was he,
anyway.  I didn't handle the last one very well.' 'Isthia doesn't want
you to handle this one at all,' Afra said, a little ripple of amusement
in his voice.
     Surprised, she looked up at him.  'And?' 'Despite what you may
think of your initial attempts at establishing contact with an alien
life form, you handled the actual link extremely well.' 'You have the
nerve to tell me that?' Shock poured through her and she stared at Afra
as if she had learned nothing of the man in the past two months.
     'Telling the truth doesn't require nerve, love,' he said with a
little laugh.  'The problem lay in Sodan and his long-term plans, not
in your management.
     'I don't believe what I'm hearing.
     'You should,' Afra said blandly.  'You had bridged a communication
gap and had established frames of reference.  You've always had that
gift.  Look at how well you get on with barque cats, Coonies and the
pony.  Not to mention how good you were at teaching.  Or have you
forgotten Teval Rieseman?' "'Friends don't throw rocks"!' 'These may be
friends.  And you have to learn their language to translate their
message.
     Damia took in a long breath, held it, seeking that younger
so-self-confident self.  Sodan had damaged more of her essential being
than she'd realized.
     'He has certainly robbed you of self-esteem and confidence,' Afra
said.  'I'd hate to think he'd won on that vital count.' She stared at
him, her beloved with whom she had shared so much, and here he, Afra
the cautious Capellan, was suggesting that she -'You're the only one of
us who could make the contact they wish-' 'But-' 'I'm serious, Damia,'
and Afra nodded his head urgently, 'you're the only one capable of
doing it.' 'Only if you're with me 'That plea came out of her mouth
before she could stop it.
     'I'd insist on inclusion.' I'll be coming, too, Isthia said.
     Are we allowed to think again?  Damia asked sarcastically I
applaud it.
     Was that what your clapping meant?  Afra asked as he locked eyes
with Damia.
     They were both answered by Isthia's laugh.
     I had to be certain you'd obey my injunction, so I added a
deterrent.  Please come back to the house, Damia, Afra.  Her request
bore no hint of command.
     Sighing at the inevitable, Damia got to her feet and, with Afra's
long fingers twined in hers, made her way back to the house.
     'Are we telling Earth Prime now?' Damia asked as they joined
Isthia in the kitchen.  Neither Rakella nor Ian were present.
     'No, not yet.
     'Is that wise, Isthia?' Afra asked.
     Isthia leaned forward across the table, still littered with Ian's
sketches.  'Look, you two, I have survived two invasions of a highly
inimical force, bent on total destruction.  I do believe I can tell the
difference when - ah - visitors do come in peace.' 'Remembering that
the reason for most stellar travel is to provide colonists and mineral
wealth for the explorers?' Damia asked cynically.
     'I don't have much precognitive Talent,' Isthia surprised them by
saying, 'but what I have is straining to make that contact.  Ian's
dream last night did have one positive result,' and she flicked one of
the drawings on the table towards them, 'if you'll notice the stars?'
Damia drew the sheet towards her, frowning, for the seemingly random
scatter of stars gradually became familiar to her.
     'These are the constellations above Deneb !' 'Exactly.  And this
globe has protuberances suspiciously like the DEW sensors beyond the
heliopause.' 'Oh,' and Damia's single syllable came out on a long sigh
of denial 'That's not so far to take a personal capsule.  Is it?'
Isthia asked softly.
     'No,' Afra replied equably.  'Damia went much further than the
heliopause to reach the Sodan entity.
     'I'm not sure,' and Damia spaced her words carefully, 'that I
could go that far again.' 'Ah, but you won't be going by yourself,
pet,' Isthia said comfortably.
     'I shouldn't be going at all.' 'That's why you must,' Afra said,
gently pushing his index finger into the soft part of her arm.  She
felt not only the vibrancy of cool-green but a resolution she could not
fight.  She'd been terribly wrong once, and Afra had suffered.  Afra
and Larak.  She must trust Afra now if his feeling was that strong.
     Isthia was shaking her head slowly.  'I wish we had a reliable way
to convey a response.
     'What do you mean, Isthia?' Afra asked.
     'I mean, I send a message by Ian and Damia gets the answer.
     'Send the question by Damia then.' 'If Damia doesn't mind ' Isthia
looked hopefully at her granddaughter and Damia conceded gracefully.
     'Then we'll try it tonight.' 'Why wait until tonight?' asked Afra.
     'Sleep seems to be the vector,' Isthia said.
     Afra chuckled.  'Then Damia can go to sleep.  'I what?' Afra rose,
took Damia by the hand and, with a perplexed Isthia following, stalked
out to the corner of the porch where the hammocks swayed gently in the
breeze.
     Afra sat Damia down in one, picked her feet up and motioned for
her to get comfortable while he set the hammock swaying.
     'I can put Damia to sleep any time,' he said, grinning broadly.
     'Now, wait a minute-' but Damia's protest was cut off as Afra
began to croon the same song he'd sung her to sleep with the night
before.  She had no choice in the matter but her last outraged thought
was that she'd settle this with him when next she was awake.
     The sequence started instantly, only this time Damia took control
and, as the visitors made their way up the hill, she separated a figure
from those at the top and walked it down towards the visitors.  She
stopped it at the globe.  Then, beckoning broadly to them, she urged
them to follow her back up the hill.  She was then back at the start of
the dream and repeated her reassurance, to be sent back to the
beginning at which point she was becoming rather annoyed that they
couldn't get so simple a message.
     She woke up grumpy, her head foggy with sleep.
     'Afra Lyon, you stop doing that to me,' she said, shaking a finger
under his nose.
     'Works, though, doesn't it?' He was not the least bit repentant.
     'How?' asked Isthia, mystified, but she regarded Afra with
considerable respect.
     'Goes back to when Damia wouldn't sleep at night.
     The daycare Talent and I used a prudent post-hypnotic suggestion
and, with a bit of rocking and a line or two of a lullaby, Damia would
drop off to sleep just fine for her mother' 'And it has lasted this
long?' Damia was incredulous.
     'I've proved it.  Mind you,' and Afra's voice held the note that
meant he was teasing, 'I wish I'd been fore thoughtful on other
matters.
     'As well you weren't,' Damia said direfully.
     He helped her up out of the hammock and hugged her.
     'So, tell us what happened?' Isthia asked, getting back to the
more important matter.
     'I told them we'd meet them at the DEW, and indicated that we'd
welcome them.  That's what you wanted, wasn't it?' Isthia nodded her
enthusiasm.  'Now, do we get Jeran 5
     assistance?' 'We'd have to explain everything,' Damia said with an
exaggerated groan.  'You know how Jeran is.  A, B, C and D!' 'Damia,
did you feel threatened by the dream?' Afra asked, no hint of levity in
his expression.
     'No.  I'd like to believe Isthia's intuition is correct.' 'Like to
believe?' Isthia asked.
     Afra held up his hand.  'That's fair, Isthia.
     'I suppose so.  Well, let's tell Ian and Rakella.  We'll need
their help anyway.' The one vehicle at Deneb Tower which could carry
three long bodies was a medium-sized rescue pod with four conformable
seats.  It had probably been left behind by a liner for its engine was
missing but it still had working directional thrusters.  They put in
fresh oxygen tanks and dusted down the console, rather pleased to have
a vehicle that had standard communications as well as a viewplate and
external sensors.  Jeran was not on duty, which was no problem as Ian
and Rakella knew how to run up the generators.  Damia could feel her
palms sweating and her stomach was griping badly as she settled herself
into her chair, Isthia on one side, Afra just behind her.
     'I'll make the lift,' Isthia said, settling her hips deeper into
the seat.  'You're completely cured, Damia, but you save your strength
for the contact.' Damia had a moment of panic for that decision, but
Isthia had never lied to her and probably wasn't now.  It just would
have been so reassuring to push off again, as she used to do so
blithely.
     You could now, too, love, said Afra in a fine thin tone.
     He reached forward to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
     Relax!
     She was quivering with tension and forced herself to unwind.  She
could, however, sense the rising keen of the generators and felt Isthia
tense as she waited for exactly the right mo She launched them, a good
strong thrust that Damia could objectively admire.  It was good to be
in deep space again.  And then the pod's proximity alarm beeped
urgently.
     'Bring up the screen, Damia, Afra said, leaning forward to peer
over her shoulder, 'There it is!' cried Isthia, unnecessarily pointing,
her expression exultant.
     'It' was not a large ship, which immediately encouraged Damia to
believe in amicable motives.  'It' was also a deep-space craft, having
the usual haphazard design of ships that were never intended to land.
     It did have what looked very much like weaponry: wide-mouthed
orifices that were stained with old fires and long snouts pointing
outwards and looking effective.
     Ian, turn off the DEW, Isthia said.  We don't want the Fleet
charging out here and blowing us and our visitors up.  Yes, that bunch
of toggles under the red rimmed glass panel.  Turn 'em all off.  The
disconnection won't show up for an hour or two.
     At which time we'll know one way or the other 'I think I have to
go to sleep again,' Damia said drily.
     'Will just the song do it, Afra?  These seats aren't made for
rocking.' 'I could rock the pod,' offered Isthia.
     'We'll try without that, thank you,' Afra said and, with his hand
on Damia's shoulder, began to sing the potent lullaby.
     She knew she was shaking her head as sleep once more claimed her.
     The pattern was gone.  Instead she was inside the other ship,
looking out at her tiny cargo pod.  This time other figures were
clearly visible and they were definitely alien.
     Despite their unusual appearance, she could sense no danger,
nothing 'heavy', only relief.  The 'visitors' looked to be tall though
she had no gauge by which to compare them, save the bulky equipment.
     They did not sit, but stood on the three rear appendages, stubby
legs which ended in splayed feet with three thick 'toes'.  The upper
limbs had five longer digits, one on each side of a squat 'palm' and
three along its top.  The heads were long, tapering to what appeared to
be a muzzle but she could not see a mouth.  One eye of a composite
nature crowned the thick 'head'.  There seemed to be dorsal ridges
along the backbone.  Maybe one of the three feet was actually a caudal
appendage.
     Their skin or pelt, she couldn't discern which, was sleek and
varicoloured, ranging from greys through green, brown and a slaty blue.
     Some were definitely taller than others but she didn't think the
smaller ones were immature or of another sex.
     Instantly her dream self turned towards a flat surface, set at a
distance above the deck.  This surface abruptly lit up and images began
to form.  More of this species, racing to enter what she had to
identify as shuttles.
     These took off into space and she watched them link up with larger
versions of the ship she was dreaming on.  In a massed array, this
fleet left its orbit, obviously in battle readiness.
     To her shock, she saw their objective: a Beetle Hive Sphere.  She
watched the battle, saw 'her' ships being destroyed, saw the Hive
Sphere send its fighters out, watched them being destroyed and then,
with great relief, saw the Hive ship suddenly explode, sending huge
chunks spinning off, sometimes colliding with 'her' ships and
demolishing them.
     Abruptly those scenes segued into huge fragments turning end over
end against .  -- Suddenly the background changed and it was the
Denebian system from which the twisted detritus escaped.
     Then all the dream figures turned inwards to face her and she was
overwhelmed with a sense of urgency, of interrogation, of fear.
     In yet another wrench of perspective, she was back in the pod,
crying out.
     'They know about the Beetles.  I saw them destroy a Hive.  Then
there was all this debris spinning in space, away from Deneb.' She
turned first to Isthia and then to Afra for a reassuring interpretation
of what she'd seen.
     'Are they warning us then?' asked Isthia.
     'No, they know we've been attacked and survived, as they have
survived,' Damia said, choosing her words slowly.
     'Then what do they want of us now?' Isthia wanted to know.
     'Just don't put me back to sleep again,' Damia said flatly,
rubbing at her temples.
     'It seems an admirable way of communicating between species,' Afra
said, teasingly, but he patted her arm sympathetically.
     'The universe doesn't have to be full of species who are
inimical,' Isthia said.  'Perhaps what these folk need are allies
against the Hives.  We've survived an attack so we'd make good allies.'
'They've certainly gone to great lengths to explain,' Damia admitted.
     She was beginning to believe that Isthia could be right.  Her mind
had not been overwhelmed or raped during this closer encounter.  They
had managed to convey vital information.
     'Isthia, can you put me into a hypnotic sleep?' Afra asked.  'I
was part of both mind-merges: the first Rowan focus, and then the
B-Raven section that sent the Hive Sphere into the sun.  I can at least
give them our battle account.' Then he settled himself in the
conformable and linked his hands across his thin waist.
     Damia had an impulse to protest but Isthia unfastened her safety
harness and drifted to Afra, holding herself down with one hand while
she placed the other firmly on his left temple.  Afra seemed to
collapse into sleep.
     She turned to look out at the visitors' ship, now noticing how
pitted its surface was, how worn and scratched the symbols on what she
took to be its bow.  There were other ideograms elsewhere, some more
legible than others.  A complicated language rendered in bars and dots
and occasionally cross strokes.  Not as complex as some of Earth's
oriental scripts, if that was the right word for them.
     'How long did I sleep that last time, Isthia?' 'About half an
hour.  I didn't think to time it,' she said, floating back to her own
chair.  'Fascinating.  Absolutely fascinating.' Then she let out a big
sigh.  'I suspect my son is going to be vastly annoyed with his old
mother,' and the eyes she turned on Damia hadn't the slightest gleam of
repentance.  'I really should have taken training much earlier.  I
could have been Deneb's Prime.' Damia regarded her grandmother with
wonder, 'We tend not to make the most of our chances,' she went on.
     Extending a hand, she lightly touched Damia's arm.
     'Make the most of yours, dear child.  But then, you are, aren't
you?' 'Do you think they are emissaries of an altruistic species?' 'I'm
quite attached to that notion,' Isthia said comfortably.  'I wish we'd
thought to bring some provisions.' Damia laughed.  'This was sort of a
scramble.  Oh ho!' Her throat went too dry for more words and she could
only point at the vessel which was clearly moving under power.
     'Let's get out of its way,' Isthia said and frantically reached a
hand out to Damia.
     Damia, following Isthia's thought, pushed the pod back so
forcefully that the vessel became only a darkness.
     'Not that far 'It's following us,' Damia decided after a moment's
observation.  'What is Afra telling them to do?' 'Come on in, the
water's fine,' Isthia replied facetiously.
     'This must be the right way to handle this.
     'I thought it was, too.
     'This time it is right, Damia.' 'Yes, it is,' Afra said, though
his words were slightly slurred.  'At least I have extended the
invitation.  I've no gauge to guide me but they appeared to be amazed
at how we conduct our battles.  I think that's a good impression to
give them 'Now, what do we do?' Damia asked, watching as the alien
vessel continued to close with them.
     'Now, we inform Earth Prime that we have concluded opening talks
with an alien species,' said Afra so calmly that Damia knew he was very
nervous.
     Deneb Prime Jeran gave them a prolonged demonstration, at the top
of both lungs and mind, of what they might expect from Earth Prime.
     The local Fleet Commander appeared at the Tower, apoplectic to
have found an alien ship orbiting the planet when the warning system
hadn't so much as burped.
     I TOLD YOU WHY IT IS NECESSARY TO PURSUE THIS COURSE OF ACTION,
Afra roared with such vehemence that Isthia and Damia regarded him with
astonishment.  Cut off in mid-spate by Afra's uncharacteristic bellow,
Jeran glared at the Capellan.
     'You had no authority to do so,' Jeran said in a terse tone,
clipping his words; expression and stance illustrating his indignation.
     'He obeyed me,' Isthia said calmly and took the conformable seat.
     Ian and Rakella were still backed in the corner where they had
retreated from Jeran's angry harangue.
     Somewhat to her surprise, Damia could regard the scene with
objective detachment - or perhaps, she amended, she was merely too
stunned by the whole episode to be able to react.
     Jeran turned on Isthia.  'Grandmother,' he began.
     'Did you bother to inform Jeff or have you just been enjoying this
exhibition of vituperation too much?' Isthia had a distinct gift for
putting people in their places.
     'I have first,' Jeran said in a loud voice, enunciating very, very
clearly, 'to ascertain just what has transpired before I can send a
rational report.  They,' and he jerked his head at his uncle and
great-aunt, gave me some boodle-hoop about dreams and being called.
     Dreams, and his scorn would have scarified a lesser personality
than Isthia Raven, 'hardly constitute an intelligent reason for
admitting strangers past our perimeter defences.' 'The dreams
constituted a contact which cleverly surmounted a language barrier,'
Afra replied, 'and provided us with sufficient information to wish to
investigate more thoroughly, up to and including personal
confrontation.' Jeran stared at him, his nostrils flaring, fists on his
belt, one foot tapping as he struggled to leash his temper.
     'Between Isthia, Afra and myself,' Damia said coolly, rather
delighted to see her phlegmatic brother moved to temper, 'you must
admit, Jeran, that we would have experience in recognizing threat.
     This species does not pose one.  In fact, hostility is furthest
from their thoughts.  Their worlds have suffered from Hive attacks.
     They urgently desire to know how we repelled the Leviathan.' 'As I
was part of that assault, I explained how we contrived,' Afra went on
conversationally.  'The Mrdinis were very impressed that we had needed
no recourse to armaments to destroy it.' Jeran rolled his eyes, noting
the distraught expression on the commander's face.  'That was even
stupider, Afra.
     Giving away information about our defence?  That's the most
horrendous breach of security that --- that - Words failed him.
     WE'RE COMING IN, and Jeff's words rang in everyone's ears.  Damia
had to blink, because her father's bellow did not reverberate in her
head.  She glanced anxiously at Afra who closed one eye in reassurance.
     You see, you can even take my son's bellow without wincing, Isthia
said in a finely-tuned thought.  I did make one slight error though,
and Damia and Afra turned to her in surprise for her expression was
fleetingly rueful.  I set a sending constraint in your minds so you
wouldn't inadvertently 'path, but I didn't restrict receiving.  Never
thought you would be in receipt of anything.  Everyone knew not to
'path you until I gave permission.
     So that's how we were able to receive the Mrdinis' dreams, Damia
said and hid her smile behind her hand.  How reassuring to know that
you can be fallible, Grandmother.
     The opposite would make you unbearable, Afra added with no
rancour.
     'I simply don't understand your reasoning in this,' Jeran was
saying, 'any of you.  Especially you, Damia, since you nearly-' WE
WON'T GO INTO THAT,JERAN!  Jeff's forceful words echoed and Jeran bowed
his head, scowling blackly at the floor, around him, at anything but
his sister.
     Jeran didn't have to say it out loud, Damia thought bleakly,
though she was grateful to her father for stopping him.
     The Mrdinis are an entirely separate affair, Isthia said gently.
     Entirely, Afra added and twined his fingers in hers.
     Damia shifted restlessly, knowing that Jeran would not be the last
to remind her of that Sodan stupidity.  When Afra also edged slightly
in front of her, Damia realized his intention.  It wouldn't be the
first time he had protected her from her father's censure but this time
she would take her fair share so she eased forward to close the gap.
     Abruptly the largest cradle in the Tower yard held one of the fast
Fleet courier vessels and the orbital alarms indicated the emergence of
four large ships in space above them.
     'They are upset,' Isthia murmured, grinning.
     Damia envied her grandmother that superb self-confidence but,
oddly enough, she began to feel more positive about her part in this
encounter.
     Wearing a ferocious scowl, Jeff 'ported into the Tower, the Rowan
beside him.  The next few seconds were full of such heated exchanges of
accusation, refutation and explanation that Rakella, never a strong
Talent, folded against Ian, moaning.
     'Oh, do cool it, Jeff,' Isthia said commandingly, her blue eyes
flashing with a reciprocal outrage.  'I most certainly do want you and
the Rowan to enter into discussion with the Mrdinis.  That's what
they're here for.  Both Afra and Damia support my evaluation that these
are allies, not aggressors.  We exhibited reciprocal good faith by
inviting them within our defences.' 'That's why I'm raging, Dad.
     Letting aliens into Deneb's skies is totally irrational!' Jeran
exclaimed, gesturing wildly.  'We haven't yet got over the psychic
scars of the Beetle Penetration and then my grandmother-' 'One unarmed
vessel?  One small unarmed vessel is no threat.  It is usually regarded
as an emissary,' Isthia replied, her patience fraying.  'Oh, do be
sensible, Jeff.' 'Sensible is using the channels and procedures that
are set up to deal with occurrences of this sort, Mother,' Jeff began,
his temper only just contained.
     'Wait a moment, Jeff,' the Rowan said thoughtfully, 'Isthia may
have acted impetuously but I can sense the Mrdinis.  They are very
open.  I'm not getting a shred of hostility from their minds and
there's certainly nothing "heavy" on this alien ship.' Her glance slid
across Damia and back to Jeff.  'I'd know,' she added gently, putting
her hand on Jeff's arm so that the contact would emphasize the
impressions she had lust gained from her mental probe.
     Jeff regarded his wife for a long moment and then the anger seemed
to drain out of him.  He gestured to Jeran to relax and smiled
reassuringly at the pallid Rakella whom Ian was supporting.
     'Who made first contact?' he asked, looking from his mother to
Afra and then Damia, where his gaze lingered.
     'We all had contact,' Isthia said, 'though Damia's was the
clearest.
     Jeff nodded, accepting the statement without challenge.
     'I put a restraint on them 'pathing,' Isthia went on, in a
slightly apologetic tone, 'but I forgot to inhibit receipt.
     Damia would, of course, be both more receptive and more vulnerable
in post-convalescence.' Isthia shrugged.  'After two weeks of nightly
dream sequences, I had to accept the fact that the pattern could not be
random, had to be an imposition.  I couldn't establish a source for it.
     I was more than surprised when first Rakella, Besseva, then Ian,
and finally Damia and Afra informed me that they were also receiving
similar sendings.' Jeff turned to Jeran expectantly: his eldest son
shook his head.
     'I can't imagine why Jeran didn't receive, too,' Isthia remarked
drolly.  'But he didn't.  We six got together, to compare notes, and
tried to figure out a response to what was patently a friendly
overture.  Damia volunteered.' When the Rowan looked apprehensive,
Isthia raised her hand in a placating gesture, I would scarcely undo
the patient work of several months, Angharad.  Knowing the martial
mind, I decided that we'd check as far as we were able to.  The Fleet
takes so long to mobilize, doesn't it!  So we made visual contact,
established communications and extended an invitation to the
emissaries.  Now you, Fleet and the League can handle future
negotiations.' She let out a sigh as she propelled herself out of the
chair.  'Now, it's been a busy few hours and I look forward to some
unstructured sleep.  Come, Damia, Afra!  We'll all rest better back at
the cabin.  I don't want you exposed to the emotional levels that will
shortly be rampant around here.' Then she turned to Ian and Rakella.
     'You two come as well.  You look as shagged as I feel.  See you
later, dears,' she said, blithely flinging her fingers at Jeff and the
Rowan.
     'Come on!' and she imperiously gestured for obedience to her
orders.
     'Dad, Mother,' Damia said with a tentative farewell smile.
     As soon as Isthia had admitted to fatigue, Damia had felt it
creeping along her nerves.  Not disastrously, merely informing her that
rest was a good idea.  Swift on that thought, she felt Afra's agreement
and they both 'pathed back to the cabin's main room.  Isthia, Ian and
Rakella arrived more prudently on the lawn and joined them inside.
     'Plainly you've recovered when you can 'port that neatly,' Isthia
said with an approving nod.  'Now, what shall we have for lunch?' Jeff
and the Rowan asked permission to join them late that evening.
     'Damia, Afra, we've got to whip up a meal,' Isthia said with a
show of energy.  'Neither of them have eaten all day.
     I wonder if we have anything left after that mountain Ian and
Rakella put away at noon.' Damia scurried about the kitchen, checking
what was available, remembering that her father was only out of temper
when he was hungry.  He may have absolved them of an impulsive act in
contacting the Mrdinis, but she was certain that some reckoning was
due.
     Jeff doesn't hold grudges, love, afra murmured, winking at her.
     'Shall I uncork some of that excellent mountain white of yours,
Isthia?' Isthia grinned.  'Clever Afra.' Five minutes later, the two
Primes arrived on the lawn and, daringly, Damia 'felt' for their mood.
     Both her mother and father were tired but their public thoughts
were tinged with a satisfaction that bordered triumph.
     'Well?' Isthia said, handing each a glass of the chilled white
wine as they reached the porch.  She gestured for them to be seated
while Damia offered the small hot pastries she had managed to prepare.
     Jeff took a sip of the wine, smiled and nodded appreciatively at
his mother.
     'One of these days, Isthia Raven, you're going to land out on a
limb I can't get you off of,' he said and then he relented.
     Isthia looked smug.  'I told you they were not hostile.
     Did you have pleasant dreams?' she added slyly.
     Jeff laughed and even the Rowan began to smile.
     'A novel but effective means of communication.  You should be
astonished to learn, Mother, that we also got Commander Curran in on
one conference.  . . with Rowan doing the hypnotic link.
     The Rowan chuckled.  'I don't know who was more surprised, him, me
or them.  But the conference sank all his irs, ands and buts.' 'So you
can now support our contention of their peaceful intentions?' Isthia
asked.
     'Indisputably,' Jeff said, leaning back in his chair.
     'Commander Curran will so inform High Command and put forth an
urgent request for priority conferences.' Then Jeff looked keenly at
Damia.  She returned his gaze calmly, keeping a firm grip on her
emotions and hectic thoughts.
     'They asked for you, Damia.' 'It's too soon .  . .' the Rowan
began.
     'No, it isn't,' Isthia said, smiling to soften her contradiction.
     'There's nothing wrong with Damia's mind, I assure you.  She is
completely recovered.  So is Afra.' Damia glared at her grandmother for
the sly smile on her face.
     'I'm relieved to hear that the Rowan began again and then broke
off, staring at her daughter.
     Damia felt her mother's mental 'nudge', verifying Isthia's medical
clearance, felt her mother's inability to get past her shields, 'heard'
her mother's annoyance alter to irritation.
     'Possibly you will also be relieved,' Afra said as he moved to
stand behind Damia, his hands lightly clasping her shoulders.  She
could feel the intensity of his emotions and knew that he had opened
his mind, and his heart, to the two Primes.  ' to know that Damia and I
enjoy a meeting of minds.' Her mother turned white and her hands
grasped the arms of her chair as she stared back at them.  Damia
received a shaft of denial coloured by a sense of betrayal before the
Rowan exerted a clamp on her emotions.  Her father did not have quite
so violent a reaction but surprise was uppermost in his mind, and
consternation, before he closed off.
     'The bonding is remarkably complete,' Afra went on in his quiet
voice.  Only Damia knew that he was trembling, for she could feel it
through his hands on her shoulder.
     Once she would have been defiant and hurt that her parents had
shut their minds to her.  'Though I have known my own heart on this
score since Damia returned from Deneb, I could do nothing until she
recognized in me a genuine suitor.' 'I do not feel alone any more,
Mother,' Damia said with gentle intensity.  'Please understand that.
     You should understand that!' 'But with Afra?' cried the Rowan.
     To everyone's amazement, Jeff started to chuckle, rubbing the side
of his face in a restless gesture and shaking his head.  Then his
chuckle became more relaxed and his shoulders shook with genuine mirth.
     'How often, Rowan dear, have we told Afra that he should form an
alliance?
     How often have we tried to find the right person for him?
     Not to mention trying to pair Damia off to any young, and Jeff
emphasized the adjective, 'Talent we could find.
     Come, now, Rowan love,' and he leaned across the distance that
separated them, 'it's a surprise, even a bit of a shock, but who better
than Afra?  If you consider it objectively?' Jeff rose then, and took
the few steps to the couple.
     He kissed his daughter in the most benevolent fashion though he
also subjected her to the most intense probe.
     Then he embraced them both warmly, his blue eyes sparkling with a
mixture of amusement, surprise and Damia noted with intense gratitude
acceptance.
     'Mother?' she asked, timidly extending a hand in the Rowan's
direction.
     'I just don't understand it, the Rowan said, not looking at
anyone.  'I've known Afra for twenty-eight years and I never expected .
     . .' She halted.  A rueful look crossed her face and, with a huge
sigh, she regarded them.  'Afra, you have always been part of our
family, a cherished friend.  But it's going to take me a little while
to get used to thinking of you as a son-in-law.' 'Well, don't make a
big thing of it, Angharad,' said Isthia, who had maintained a tactful
silence long enough.
     'You certainly know that Afra doesn't jump into things 'Oh, but he
does, and has,' the Rowan replied, jerking her chin up and reminding
Afra of exactly how he had come to Callisto Tower.  Then, with a
characteristic twitch to her shoulders, she began to relax.  'It'll
still take some getting used to.  And,' she frowned with some
petulance, 'I'll have all the bother of training a new assistant.  I'm
not sure I'll forgive you for that, Damia.' 'I thought Gollee Gren was
working out well for you, Afra said.
     'Oh, well enough,' and the Rowan dismissed that notion with a
flick of her hand, 'but he's just not you!' 'I could remain at
Callisto,' Afra offered and Damia caught her breath, not finding that
solution palatable at all for reasons she could not immediately
identify.
     'No, no,' and Jeff waved that aside, and he began to pace up and
down the porch.  'Afra and Damia have to stay here with the Mrdinis so
he couldn't come back to Callisto for a while anyhow: at least not
until verbal communications have been established between our species.
     You work far better with Gollee than you know, luv.  Once you
accept that the appointment is permanent, you'll relax into a good
partnership.  Have you any more of those hot pastries, Damia?  I'm
starved.  Never thought sleeping half the day would increase my
appetite.' He turned his charismatic grin impartially on all.
     'Oh, you!' his wife said, exasperated as well as out manoeuvred.
     If the subsequent excellent meal had its moments of tension,
Isthia deftly turned the conversation back to the Mrdinis and how to
improve communication with them.
     'Always supposing that I'm not kicked out of my Tower for this,'
Jeff said.
     'They couldn't, could they?' Damia asked, appalled at the thought.
     'Not likely,' Isthia said tartly.  'They need him, and you all,
too much.' 'Well, getting Curran on our side is a distinct advantage,
considering his initial reaction at Deneb Tower,' Jeff replied.
     'There'll be the usual bureaucratic waltzing about,
throat-clearing, data-collecting, hemming-hawing, all that fugue,' he
went on, pushing back from the table, tilting his chair on to its back
legs, and ignoring his mother's disapproving glare.  'However, their
final analysis will have to be that getting a powerful ally in the
Mrdinis compensates for any eccentricities.' 'Remember to mention,'
Isthia said with one of her enigmatic smiles, 'that the Mrdinis made
the initial contact.  And, by the way, did you find out why the Mrdinis
approached the Denebian system?' 'Yes,' replied Jeff, his expression
lighting with a grin.
     'Remember in the initial battle how we flung the one ship back the
way it had come?  As a warning?  Well, Mrdinis had been monitoring the
Leviathan, to be sure it wasn't headed in the direction of their
colonies - and they've been extremely candid about how many they have
and what systems they've explored - so they saw the ship return.  Which
evidently those ships don't do.' 'That made the Mrdinis very interested
in whoever had been so bold,' said the Rowan, her eyes gleaming as she
took up the tale.  'They took a fix on the Leviathan's course and
direction but had to return to their home planet for instructions and
provisions.  The instructions took longer than the provisioning,' and
she grinned maliciously.  'I suspect there might also have been a
perfectly understandable reluctance to annoy a species that could lob
back a Beetle scout ship.' 'Which is one reason why they were hanging
about beyond the heliopause when they found the DEW devices, Jeff went
on.  'They weren't even sure they'd got to the right place because, at
first, they couldn't find any trace of the Leviathan.  In their
lexicon, Hive ships are invariably victorious.' He turned to Damia and
Afra.
     'It was your discovery of the Beetle hull fragment, and then its
transportation back to the City, that registered on their equipment.
     They've been probing every planet in the system: probes that were
too small to register on the DEW net, but sensitive enough to pick up
traces of Beetle metal.' 'So that wretched artifact prompted the
dreams,' Damia said.
     'Exactly.  So the Mrdinis broadcast to this area, hoping to make
contact with minds that were, as they put it, sensitive to and repulsed
by Beetle metal.' 'We were so lucky to be able to turn that Leviathan
from Deneb,' the Rowan said, shaking her head at the narrowness of that
escape.
     'But we'll make that extremely clear when we speak to the League,'
Jeff went on.  'The Mrdinis gave us chapter and verse on Beetle
colonization procedures: brutal.  If we hadn't held .  . .' He reached
out, cupping the Rowan 5
     silvered head with a grateful and affectionate hand.  'The Beetles
are compulsive colonizers, driven by the fact that the queens tend to
massacre each other, the winner devouring the eggs of the loser.  To
prevent that, Hive ships leave the home world - and the Mrdinis are
still trying to locate that system - and find likely worlds.  First,
scouts are sent off to locate planets.  On finding one, ships are
despatched to 'prepare' the planet for occupation, which means, ridding
the surface of any other life-forms.  The Beetles are basically
vegetarian.  The initial force lands and begins digging out caves for
the Mothers' eggs.  When the Hive ship arrives at the prepared planet,
the ships transfer the eggs to the caves: then they are free to repeat
the process.  When that planet can support no further Hives, the Mother
ship is stocked up with appropriate workers, and they go on the prowl
again.  According to the Mrdinis, there are far too many Mother ships
roaming in space.  The incredible part is that the Nine Star League has
only had the one incursion.
     'That's not good news,' Isthia said.
     'Not at all,' Jeff replied.  'We've been far too complacent and
our luck could run out anytime.  That's one reason the Mrdinis had been
so urgently trying to warn us, despite their apprehension about our
abilities.  The Deneb DEW net is all well and good, they tell me, but
we all know that not all the League systems are protected.' He frowned,
ducking his head as he paused in reflection.  'You know, Damia, Afra,
there's no reason you two couldn't as easily work with the Mrdinis
language people on Aurigae as here on Deneb .
     'First, we have to get League permission, Jeff,' the Rowan
reminded him.
     He waved aside that contingency.  'I only need to get a few
sensitive senators to sleep with the Mrdinis and we'll get some
immediate action.' 'Senators?' Isthia gaped at her son, her eyes bright
with merriment, 'Sleeping with Mrdinis?  Jeff, you are the living end!
     'So long as I'm still living in the end, I don't care what it
takes to get the necessary done.  But we can't have a weak link in the
defensive chain and a T-4 isn't sufficient to protect Aurigae.'
'Remember that nibble at the DEWs in Procyon, was that the Mrdinis?'
Afra asked.
     'I haven't established that yet, Afra,' Jeff replied, 'but it
certainly wasn't the Beetles.  They'd've just plunged through the
system.' 'Dad,' Damia began hesitantly, 'there's no chance, is there,
that the Leviathan could have got a message back to other Hives when
Mother and you destroyed it?' Jeff shook his head and gave a cynical
laugh.  'You mean, like "stay away from here - bad vibes"?' As she
nodded, the Rowan answered with a shake of her head.  'No, we had the
minds paralysed and nothing left the Leviathan when the Raven-merge
plunged it into the sun.  The Mrdinis believe that the Beetles are
fearless.
     They are also numerous.' Her expression turned grim.
     'Their basic drive is species-propagation, nothing more.
     Jeff turned to Afra.  'Your account of our self-defence made a
tremendous impression on them, and reinforced their desire for an
alliance with us.' 'Oh?' 'They've been battling the Beetles' incursions
for a long time - how long we haven't established yet - but a long
time.  So far they've found only one effective way to destroy a
Leviathan,' Jeff replied, 'and that at great loss of life.  It involves
suicidal missions of cruiser-class ships diving into the Hive and
blowing it up.  They have to send as many as forty such ships in the
hope that one will survive to penetrate the Mother Hive.  That's why
they want desperately to know how we effected such a kill.' Jeff
grinned.
     'Yes, it worked that one time,' Afra began.
     'If necessary it will work again,' Jeff said.  'The Beetles have
no imagination.  They just keep on repeating what they've done before.'
'Nothing succeeds like success?' asked Isthia drolly.
     'Theirs or ours?' the Rowan responded.  'Successful or not, I
really wouldn't like to have to make a career of merges that
exhausting.' 'Wouldn't be exhausting now, luv,' Jeff said in an offhand
manner.  'We've three times as many top Talents now as we had then.' He
snapped his fingers carelessly.  'We could take out as many Leviathans
as we needed to.' 'Jeff!' the Rowan exclaimed in rebuke.
     'How much mental power do the Mrdinis have?' Afra asked, curious.
     'They understand mind power, but I don't think they are developed
enough for a mind-merge or a focus,' Jeff said.  'They have been
successful with one or two other species in dream communications.  We
seem to be the most advanced species they have met.  That's another
reason for their jubilation.  And, frankly, mine.  I welcome,' and when
Damia felt his eyes on her, she was aware of his compassion, 'the
chance to make contact with an alien species.
     I will have no hesitation in recommending to the League that we
move forward to an alliance with no hesitation and great haste.  We are
aware of the dangers of the Beetles and we cannot be complacent behind
the DEW.' He let his chair down with a thump and stretched his hand
across the table to Damia.  'You're needed at Aurigae, daughter.
     It's also a very handy place to send the Mrdini delegation for
language study.  And,' then he flashed her a grin, 'I'm not as
hard-hearted as that old geezer Reidinger was.  Afra can keep you
company 'Father,' Damia began formally with a twitch to straighten her
shoulders, 'why would the League trust me with Aurigae?' Jeff Raven
blinked in surprise.  'Why shouldn't they?' Then he gave her one of his
lopsided grins.  'The miners have been griping over your absence
something fierce.' Damia felt her mother's touch, gentle but
authoritative.
     'I think Damia is concerned with the report on Sodan, Jeff,' the
Rowan said.
     'Oh,' was Jeff's response, his blue eyes clouded and his face
expressionless as he said, 'Earth Prime reported to the Nine Star
League that Aurigae Prime contacted an alien ship and, on discovering
its hostile intentions, requested sufficient Prime assistance to
destroy the intruder, an action that took the life of Larak
Gwyn-Raven-' He paused and both he and the Rowan looked towards the
peaceful spot where their son was buried '-and severely injured Damia
Gwyn-Raven and Afra Lyon.' With an abrupt change, Jeff regarded his
daughter with his usual charm.  'Why?' Damia faltered, as much because
she felt the ache of Larak's loss as because she didn't want to admit
how Jeran's remark in the Tower had affected her.
     'Jeran,' the Rowan said cryptically and Jeff nodded with
understanding.  'You two have never quite mended your sibling quarrels,
have you?  Well, Jeran is only human Isthia rolled her eyes.  That is
still debatable.
     'And you did,' the Rowan said bluntly, 'run roughshod over his
authority by contacting the aliens without notifying him.' 'We didn't
know where he was,' Isthia said slyly 'Oh?' Jeff asked and, as he
regarded his mother, his eyes became intensely blue.
     Grinning, she waggled a rebuking finger at him.  'Let's not try
that on your mother, dear.
     Jeff threw back his head and laughed.  'I shouldn't, should I?'
'You're nearly as arrogant and audacious as Pete Reidinger was, Jeff
Raven,' Isthia went on.
     'He is not,' the Rowan said loyally.
     'Not around me, he isn't,' Isthia said.
     Earth Prime, and Jeran's formal address reached all the telepaths,
you are requested to return to Deneb Tower.  Fleet and League
representatives are urgently requesting transfer to Deneb to discuss
the' alien situation.
     With a sigh, Jeff heaved himself to his feet, extending a hand to
the Rowan to help her to rise.
     'No rest for Earth Prime, arrogant or audacious,' he said, putting
on an air of martyrdom and letting his back sag as if he supported an
unmerciful burden.  'Will you two be ready to go back to Aurigae
tomorrow?' he asked in a serious tone.
     'Yes, of course,' Damia said, nodding her head just as Afra,
beside her, murmured agreement.  His fingers squeezed her.
     'Excellent.' Jeff bent to kiss his daughter's cheek, then slapped
Afra's shoulder with every evidence of his usual affection for the
Capellan.  'That'll soothe ruffled feelings: Gwyn-Ravens nobly respond
to the demands of their League!' In taking her leave, the Rowan gave
Damia a brief caress on the cheek, her grey eyes thoughtful.  'It will
take time, you know,' she said, twitching her eyebrows in annoyance.
     She turned to Afra.  'Gollee Gren is good but he just doesn't have
your subtlety.' She sighed.  'But I'll manage.
     Jeff laughed, gave his mother a swift hug and kiss, and, folding
both arms about his wife, 'ported out of the kitchen.
     'Show-off,' Isthia muttered before she turned to regard Damia and
Afra with a speculative gaze.  'Wriggled your way out of that one,
didn't you?  Nothing like an emergency to get a family to close the
gaps, is there?' 'Isthia,' Afra said, drawling her name reprovingly,
his expression amused, 'if Jeff is arrogant and audacious, what are
you?' 'An interfering mater familias,' Isthia retorted with an
unrepentant grin.  'I'll clear up here.  You two have a lot to organize
before the morning, as well as getting a good night's rest.' 'I can
always try a lullaby,' Afra said and ducked away as Damia swung at him,
only half in play.
     He continued on out of the kitchen, down the corridor to their
room and she followed.
     'Afra, is there any way of cancelling that dratted command?' she
asked.  'It could become exceedingly awkward.' 'Why?' and Afra's yellow
eyes danced with amusement.
     'It's been exceedingly useful of late.' Then his expression
altered to one of sudden and delighted comprehension as he sent a quick
probe which Damia, laughing, did not resist.
     In a swift stride, he closed the gap between them, pulling her
into his embrace with one arm while he laid the other hand on her
abdomen.  'So!  How could I have missed this?' Shyly she smiled as she
looked up at him.  'Too many lullabies.' Supremely content, she nestled
against him.
     They were turned towards the window from which she could see
Larak's grave.
     'Can we call her Laria?' she asked softly.
     Afra held her more tightly, opening his mind as completely as she
had hers in this special moment, letting her see how long he had
yearned for a child of his body - for her child; the blazing joy that
burned through him for the gift of her love, for the new life within
her, for the end of his solitude.  For all this new and unexpected joy,
and a restatement of the devotion that was so strong a bond now between
them.  Within him now swelled the resolve to manage a third generation
of Rowan women.
     'I'm glad we have a meeting of minds on that score,' she murmured.
     And because she felt his urgency rise to hers in that deserving
and marvellous moment, their agreement was shortly expressed in another
fashion, immensely satisfying to both.
     THE END