The Rowan
     by
     Anne McCaffrey

The Talents were the elite of the Nine Star League.Their
gifts were many and varied,ranging from the gentle telepathic,
to the rare and extremely valued Primes.On the Primes rested the
entire economic wealth and communications systems of the
civilised worlds.But Primes were scarce-only very rarely was a
new one born.And now on the planet Altair,in a small mining
colony on the western mountain range,a new Prime existed,
a three year old girl-trapped in a giant mud slide that had wiped
out the rest of the Rowan mining community.Every Altarian who
was even mildly talented could 'hear' the child crying for help,
but no one knew exactly where she was buried.
Every resource on the planet was centred into finding 'The Rowan'
the new Prime,the first ever to be born on Altair,an exceptionally
unique Prime,more talented,more powerful,more agoraphobic,more
lonely,than any other Prime yet known in the Nine Star League.

     Born on April 1st, Anne McCaffrey has
tried to live up to he auspicious natal day.  Her first novel was
created in Latin class an~ might have brought her instant fame, as well
as an A, had sh~ written in that ancient language.  Much chastened, she
turned t' the stage and became a character actress, appearing in the
first successful summer music circus in Lambertsville, New Jersey.  She
studied music for nine years and, during that time, becam~ intensely
interested in the stage direction of opera and operetta ending that
phase of her experience with the stage direction of the American
premiere of Carl Orff's Ludus De Nato Infante Mirificu.
     in which she also played a witch.
     By the time the three children of her marriage were comfortable~ in
school most of the day, she had already achieved enough success with
short stories to devote herself full time to writing.  Her firs novel,
Restoree, was written as a protest against the absurd and unrealistic
portrayals of women in the science fiction novels of th~ fifties.  It
is, however, in the handling of broader themes and th~ worlds of her
imagination, particularly the two series (Helva, Th' Ship Who Sang, and
the twelve novels about the Dragonriders o: Pern) that Ms McCaffrey's
talents as a storyteller are tees' displayed.  One of the world's
leading science fiction writers, she has won both the Hugo and Nebula
Awards, the E.E. 'Doe' Smith the Golden Pen, and has been seven times a
winner of the Scienc' Fiction Book Club Award.
     Between her appearances in the States, England, Europe Australia,
New Zealand and Alaska as a lecturer in seconder, schools and
universities, and guest-of-honour at science fictior conventions, Ms
McCaffrey lives in a house of her own design Dragonhold-Underhill
(because she had to dig out a hill on he, farm to build it) in County
Wicklow, Ireland.  She runs a privat livery stable and her
three-day-event horses have been successful in international
competitions.  She does not do the competition riding, she hastens to
add, but enjoys the success of horse and ride, and the occasional
canter on her favourite mount, a black and white mare named Pi.
     Of herself, Ms McCaffrey warns: 'My eyes are green, my hair is
silver and I freckle; the rest is still subject to change without
notice.' Ms McCaffrey graduated cum laude from Radcliffe College
majoring in the Slavonic Languages and Literatures.

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

     However, for greatest enjoyment the following sequences are
recommended:

     The Dragon Books

     DRAGONFLIGHT DRAGONQUEST DRAGONSONG DRAGONSINGER: HARPER OF PERN
THE WHITE DRAGON DRAGONDRUMS MORETA: DRAGONLADY OF PERN NERILKA'S STORY
and THE COELURf DRAGONSDAWN THE RENEGADES OF PERN ALL THE WEYRS OF PERN
CHRONICLES OF PERN: FIRST FALL.
     Crystal Singer Books THE CRYSTAL SINGEr KILLASHANDRA CRYSTAL LINE
Talent Series TO RIDE PEGASUS PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

     Tower and the Hive series

     THE ROWAN DAMIA DAMIA'S CHILDREN Lyon's Pride

     Individual Titles

     RESTOREE DECISION AT DOONA THE SHIP WHO SANG Written in
collaboration with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough POWERS THAT BE POWER
LINES* POWER PLAY

     THe ROWAN

     Anne McCaffrey

     CORGI BOOK.

     THE ROWAN

     Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press

     Copyright ~ Anne McCaffrey 1990 The right of Anne McCaffrey to be 
identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance 
with Sections 77 and 78
     of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
     Conditions of sale 1. This book is sold subject to the condition 
that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, 
hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other 
than that in which it is published and without a similar condition 
including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
     2. This book is sold subject to the Standard Conditions of Sale of 
Net Books and may not be re-sold in the UK below the net price fixed by 
the publishers for the book.
     Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd, 61-63 
Uxbridge Road, Ealing, London W5 5SA in Australia by Transworld 
Publishers (Australia) Pty Ltd 15-25 Helles Avenue, Moorebank, NSW 
2170, and in New Zealand by Transworld Publishers (NZ) Ltd, William 
PickerinY Drive.  Albanv.  Auckland.
     Respectfully dedicated to fay A. Katz because we enjoy a meeting 
of minds (well.  most of the time)

     Prologue 

     Numerous Summits of the late 80s and 90s, governments turned to 
other researches and the western world's space program began to catch 
up with Soviet experiences.  What few people knew was that Talents were 
instrumental in the promulgation of honest monitoring of the 
disarmament and monitoring processes, thwarting many attempts to 
subvert the program.  Many Talents lost their lives to secure the world 
peace which enabled humans to turn their energies and hopes to space 
exploration.
     More Talents were mustered to colonize this solar system and to 
bridge the gap between this and other systems with habitable planets 
When young Peter Reidinger made the first mind machine gestalt, pushing 
a light spacecraft by telekinesis from orbit to Mars, a new era dawned 
for the parapsychic Talents in which they found themselves celebrated 
instead of shunned, admired instead of feared, and necessary to every 
aspect of the surge forward from the crowded and resources-poor planet 
Earth.
     To extend the interstellar gestalt, special installations were 
built for the Talents, terraformed habitations on Earth's Moon, Mars's 
Demos, and on Jupiter's Callisto From these stations were kinetically 
launched the great survey and exploration ships that colonized the nine 
stars that had G-type planets, suitable for humans.
     Though the Talents abhorred notoriety and opted for political 
neutrality, it was inevitable that their abilities should contribute to 
the stability of the interstellar government.  `Probity and neutrality' 
was both motto and method and a new kind of honest diplomacy resulted 
in spite of attempts to subvert the Talents.  Many Talents died rather 
than dishonor their calling: the few who were corrupted were so swiftly 
disciplined by their peers that such treachery was eschewed as 
profitless.  The Talents became' incorruptible.
     The need for Talent became chronic, far outstripping the supply.
     For those potential few, the training was arduous; the rewards did 
not always compensate Talent for the unswerving dedication required by 
their taxing positions.

     PART ONE ALTAIR

     Torrents of rain covered the western side of the great Tranh 
mountain range of Altair, streaming in muddy runnels down slopes 
already saturated with nine days of steady precipitation.  The sturdy 
minta trees were bloated and their root systems bulging to the surface, 
adding the slime of their overload of sap to the rivulets which 
increasingly dislodged the shallower root systems of the few brush 
varieties that could flourish in such rocky soil.
     Little brooks matured into streams, then rivers, into cascades of 
increasing volume and force, filling up blind canyons until such 
deposits also overflowed.  And the minta slime seemed to grease the 
watery ways.
     After seven people had slipped and broken bones on the main street 
of the Rowan Mining Company's small settlement, the manager had ordered 
miners and their dependents to curtail all outdoor activities and 
arranged door-to-door deliveries for supplies, using the Company's 
sturdy hopper vehicles.  Operations in the several producing shafts had 
already been suspended when the pits began filling.  When the unceasing 
torrents began to interfere with transmissions, there weren't even 
entertainment circuits to amuse those immured in ever-dampening and 
cramped quarters.
     In the same lugubrious vein, Met reports gave no hope of an 
alteration in the deplorable conditions.  The records show that, on the 
tenth day, the mine's manager asked his home office in altair Port for 
permission to evacuate all nonessential personnel until the weather 
improved.  His report pointed out that the accommodations were rather 
primitive and had not been constructed with excessive rainfall in mind.
     He cited an alarming number of respiratory ailments among his 
people, almost epidemic in proportion.  Enforced idleness and 
substandard conditions had also seriously undermined morale.  He put in 
an urgent order for pumps to drain the shafts when, and if, the rain 
ever did stop.
     The records showed that the directors debated withdrawal.  That 
particular installation of the Rowan Company was only just showing some 
profit which would be wiped out by the cost of a perhaps unnecessary 
expense.
     Meteorology was duly consulted and long-range satellite forecasts 
indicated that the rains were to abate within the next seventy-two 
hours, though arctic and antarctic pole conditions did not suggest any 
break in generally overcast weather, much less sunny intervals, within 
the next ten days.  Approval to evacuate was withheld but advice on 
treatment of the respiratory complaints and appropriate medication was 
dispatched immediately to the Rowan Company's coordinates by the FT&T 
Prime.
     It was early morning when the mudslide began, so high above the 
plateau on which the Rowan camp stood that it was not detected.  A few 
people were already cautiously abroad, using their assigned hour with a 
hopper to do necessary errands, to the small infirmary for medicine for 
their sick, to the commissary for supplies.  By the time the 
instrumentation in Operations registered the incident, it was already 
too late.  The entire western face of the mintaclad slope was in 
motion, like a tsunami of mud, rock, and pulpy vegetation.  Those 
outside saw their fate bearing down on them.  Those inside their homes 
mercifully were unaware.  Only one, a child still in the hopper while 
her mother carried her parcels quickly through the unabating rain to 
the house, escaped the disaster.
     The sturdy little hopper was borne up on the lip of the sludge 
river, its ovoid shape an advantage, its heavy plastic hull slipping 
over, under, and along the inexorable slide of heavy, wet mud.  Its 
occupant was bounced about, bruised, and knocked unconscious as the 
hopper rolled and caught, was freed and carried over a precipice, its 
fall cushioned by the mud that had preceded it.  Nearly a hundred 
kilometers from the Rowan camp, it became wedged on an outcropping, 
covered by the vast river of sludge as the slide flowed on until its 
impetus was dissipated into the long deep Oshoni valley.
     The crying began sometime after the mud ceased its downward flow.
     A pleading, quavering appeal to a mother who did not answer.  An 
announcement of hunger and hurt, sporadic at first, then increasingly 
insistent.
     Abruptly the cry was cut off, and a whimpering took its place, a 
whimpering which rose in volume and intensity.
     Was silenced again, during which time everyone with a psi rating 
of 9 or more experienced relief, for the nondirectional sound grated on 
the mental ears of the sensitive.
     Throughout the settlements of Altair, a search was conducted to 
discover the injured, abandoned, or abused child whose distress was 
being broadcast planet wide.
     `I've children of my own,' the Secretary of the Interior Camella 
told the Police Commissioner as the Colonial officials met in the 
Governor's office in emergency session, `and that is the cry of a 
frightened, hurt, hungry child.  It's got to be somewhere on Altair.
     `We've done street searches, checked the hospital records of any 
potential psi children born within the last five years .  . .` He shook 
his head over failure.  He didn't himself have any Talent but he had a 
great respect and admiration for those who did.
     `The crying pattern, the incoherency, the repetition, suggests an 
infant of two or three years,' said the Chief Medical Officer.  `Every 
sensitive on my staff has been trying to make contact.' `What I don't 
understand is why it cuts off so suddenly,' the Commissioner said, 
riffling through the reports he'd brought with him to show the extent 
of the search.
     Opened for colonization a scant hundred years before, Altair did 
not have a large population - the present density surrounding Altair 
Port and City amounted to some five million, two hundred and 
fifty-three thousand, four hundred and two people.  Another one 
million, seven hundred thousand and eighty-nine people were beginning 
to carve additional settlements, generally mining concerns exploiting 
the mineral and ore wealth of the great planet, across the planet's 
immense main continent.
     `Reports are a bit slow coming in from all the Claims,' Secretary 
Camella said, her voice puzzled.  `That freak weather pattern is moving 
eastward towards us.  But we must identify the child: Someone this 
strong so young must be carefully monitored.' Involuntarily she glanced 
out toward the FT&T installation at the far edge of the Port Space 
Field.  A puff of dust, followed rapidly by half a dozen more, 
indicated that the incoming freight was being racked up by the kinetic 
abilities of Altair's major asset, Siglen, the T- 1 Prime.  Her mental 
kinesis augmented by a gestalt with the powerful generators that 
encircled her installation, Siglen could pick up messages from as far 
away as Earth and Betelgeuse, could locate and land freight drones as 
easily as others lifted the ordinary artifacts of everyday living.
     Mankind's exploration of Space had become feasible because the 
major psionic Talents of telepaths and teleporting kinetics were able 
to span the vast intersystem distances, providing reliable and 
instantaneous communication between Earth and its colonies.  Without 
the Primes in their tower stations, constantly in mental communication 
with other Primes, able in the gestalt to shift both export and import 
material, the Nine-Star League would have been impossible.  The Primes 
were the kingpins of the system.  And such Talents were rare.
     Without the Federal Telepath and Teleport network, Mankind would 
still be trying to reach its nearest spatial neighbors.  The Earth 
Government, once a centralized, world-wide authority had finally been 
achieved, had ordained an irrevocable autonomy to FT&T, thus ensuring 
not only its impartiality but its effectiveness in keeping contact with 
the now far-flung colonies of Mankind.  When the Nine-Star League had 
been formed, it had ratified that autonomy so that no one Star System 
could ever hope to control FT&T, and with it, the League.
     Most communities took pride in the number and variety of Talents 
among their inhabitants.  The fear and distrust of paranormal abilities 
had been submerged by the obvious benefits of employing Talented folk.
     There were, of course, many degrees of Talent, with micro- and 
macro applications.  Naturally, the stronger Talents were the most 
visible and the rarest.  The strongest in each area of expertise were 
accorded the title of `Prime'.  The rarest of Primes were those who 
combined telepathic and kinetic abilities and became the main link 
between Earth and the planet on which they served.
     `We may well be witnessing the emergence of a Prime!' Interior 
couldn't quite stifle that burgeoning hope and the somewhat vain dream 
that this new Talent might eclipse Siglen.  She might be Altair's 
greatest asset but a prickly one.  Camella had to deal with her and 
found no joy in that aspect of her duties.  Her predecessor, now 
happily fishing in the eastward foothills, had christened Siglen `the 
space stevedore', an epithet which Interior tried very hard to forget 
in Siglen's more trying moments.
     For Altair to have produced a Prime Talent so soon would be most 
prestigious.  If the child's potential was properly developed, and the 
strength inherent in its manifestation augured well, Altair would 
attract the best sort of colonist, hoping that something in the 
atmosphere of the planet nurtured Talent.  (No-one had ever proved that 
connection.  Or disproved it.) Altair had been fortunate enough to have 
a reasonable range of Talents in the original complement of settlers: 
precognitives; clairvoyants; `finders' with strong metal and mineral 
affinities who had discovered the high-assay ores and useful minerals, 
increasing Altair's exports; the usual range of minor kinetics, macro 
and micro who could shift, connect or manipulate things; a good range 
of the healing Talents, though no Primes yet, in the medical field, and 
the more ordinary empaths who were invaluable in any sort of employment 
which might generate boredom or minor dissension.  Empaths and precogs 
were also members of the Constabulary arm of Civil Government, not that 
there was much criminal activity on Altair: people were generally far 
too occupied in carving out their personal bailiwicks on Altair's broad 
and fertile acres, or exhuming its hidden treasures.  The planet was 
too new to have developed the `civilized' crimes of densely populated 
and deprived urban areas.
     Altair was lucky in its spatial position in the Nine-Star League 
and, because it was central to several new colonial ventures, had been 
one of the first colonies to receive a full Federal Telepath and 
Telekinetic Station with a Prime telepathic kinetic, Siglen.  That 
advantage had greatly boosted Altair's appeal to both individuals and 
industrial concerns.  To have developed a Prime Talent would fill the 
Governmental cup to overflowing.  So the Secretary of the Interior 
turned to the Medical Officer.
     `That's all well and good, but first we have to have the child,' 
the Medical Officer said, voicing her very thought though the man was 
unTalented.  Then he cleared his throat testily.  `My advisors suggest 
that the child is injured - yet there's been no report anywhere in the 
medical system of a wounded or shocked infant victim.' `Demonstrably 
there IS one,' the Governor said, bringing his fist down on the table.
     `We'll find it, and know why an infant was allowed to cry so long 
without attention.
     New lives are the most valuable resource this planet has.
     Not one should be squandered.
     A wail, a piteous, mind-scoring wail cut through his rhetoric.
     MOMMEEEEE!  MOMMEEE!  MOMMEEEE, WHERE ARE.  . . The plaint was 
abruptly severed.
     In the ensuing silence, the Secretary pressed careful fingers 
against temples which still reverberated from that mental shriek.  The 
most perfunctory of knocks was made at the Council Chamber door which 
opened to admit an anxious administrative assistant.
     `Secretary, Siglen wishes urgent communication with you.
     Interior exhaled in relief.  Siglen could as easily have inserted 
her message into Interior's mind but the Prime was a stickler for 
protocol - for which the Secretary now blessed her.
     `Of course!' The screens all around the Council room came on, 
lending considerable immediacy to this event.  Siglen made few demands 
on the Council.  Now, as the angry woman stared out at them, her eyes 
seemed to penetrate deep into the thoughts of each of those present.
     Siglen was a slab of a female, soft from a sedentary life and a 
disinclination to exercise of any kind.  She was in her Operations 
room, the hum of the gestalt generators a background noise.
     `Interior, you are to find that child wherever she is, and 
discover who has abandoned her and deal with them to the full extent of 
the law.' She had large eyes, her best feature, and they were wide with 
indignation and frustration.  `No child should be allowed to broadcast 
on such a level.  I cannot keep interrupting my flow of work to deal 
with what is clearly a parent's responsibility' `Prime Siglen, is it 
fortunate that you are free to contact us `I'm not at all free.  I'm 
falling behind on today's shipments .  . .` She gestured impatiently 
behind her.
     `That simply is not good enough.  Find that child.  I can't waste 
time silencing her.' Interior muttered something dire under her breath 
but composed her expression, and sank her thoughts.  `We were about to 
ask you to help us find Siglen's indignant expression interrupted her.
     `I?
     assist in finding a child?  I assure you I am no clairvoyant.  I 
will endeavor to keep her quiet enough to allow me to discharge my 
duties to this planet and the service to which I have committed my 
life.  But you .
     and a bejeweled finger, its tip enlarged by perspective so that 
the whorl pattern was clearly visible, `will locate that appallingly 
bad-mannered infant!' The contact was abruptly cut.  The child began to 
whimper and that was also abruptly cut.
     `If she keeps shutting the child up, how are we going to find 
her?' Interior asked sourly.  `You've had your clairvoyants on it, 
haven't you?' she asked the Commissioner.
     `Indeed I have, but you know as well as I do,' he replied somewhat 
defensively, `that a clairvoyant requires "something" on which to 
focus.' `Yegrani didn't,' the Medic said ruefully `Yegrani's been dead 
for years,' Interior said with real regret and then caught a look on 
the Commissioner's face.
     The wail began again, piteous, gasping, begging for help.  They 
could hear it falter, pick up again with an overtone of outrage.
     `Ha!  Siglen's met her match.  She can't silence the brat.
     `It's not a brat,' Interior said, `it's a frightened child and it 
needs all the help we can muster.  Look, these days children are simply 
not left alone for .  . `she checked the digital on the wall, `. . .
     days.  There has to have been an accident.  You have no reports of 
any in Port or City, let's concentrate on the Claims.  There are quite 
a few isolated mining settlements on this planet where a child might be 
left alone.  Don't we have reports of an unseasonal rain in the west?' 
`Five thousand miles is a long way to "throw" a mental cry,' the 
Governor remarked, then looked startled at what his own words implied.
     `My word!' `Indeed there could have been an accident.  Earthquake, 
or flood perhaps with the recent appalling rainfall.' Interior rose 
resolutely, nodding courteously to the Governor.  `We have the 
resources, people - let's use them.' As they all left the chamber for 
their own offices, Interior caught the Commissioner's arm.
     `Well?  Is Yegrani still alive somewhere?' Being careful to check 
that no-one had heard her or paid them any particular attention in the 
general departure, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod.  `Surely 
she would help us save a young life?' `Under the circumstances, she 
might very well, but she's outlived Methuselah by another lifetime and 
hasn't much strength.  We'd best try to narrow the search down to one 
area.' That took less than an hour once every element of civil service 
became involved.  First satellite pix were reviewed and the 150 
kilometer-long swathe of destruction could not be mistaken.  Interior 
herself phoned the industrial concern which had laid claim to that 
section.  They were swift to open records to the Incident inquiry.
     They had not heard from the mine manager and were beginning to be 
concerned.
     `Not concerned enough to send us an alert, I notice, Interior 
remarked caustically.  Then she turned to the Commissioner.  `What I 
don't understand is why you didn't have a registered precog on this 
disaster.
     `It isn't what could be called a gross personnel disaster, he 
replied with a look of chagrin.  `I mean, I know a substantial number 
of people have obviously lost their lives but their deaths don't affect 
all Altair in a knock-on situation.  Unfortunately.  Then, too, most of 
our precogs have urban affinities,' he added apologetically.
     `I think I'll introduce a fine for companies that do not keep in 
twenty-four contact with their field installations,' muttered Interior, 
jotting down a note in capital italics.
     `Say again?' `Look!' she said as the Company's personnel files 
scrolled past.  `Fifteen kids between the ages of one month and five 
years.  How much detail does your clairvoyant need?' `I don't even know 
if she'll help us,' the Commissioner said ruefully.  `She hasn't opened 
a connection to my calls.' The crying started up again, was cut off, 
and continued with a desperate edge to the wail.
     `That child is growing weaker,' the Medic exclaimed as he barreled 
into the Incident room.  `If she's buried in a mudslide, she's got no 
food or water - and maybe not much air left.' The printer murmured to 
itself, smoothly extruding new copy.  Interior bent over it, groaning 
with a note of despair in her voice.
     `I ordered a comparison survey of the terrain before and after the 
slide.  There' re ravines fifty-meters deep now with mud and debris.
     The slide is sixty-klicks wide in places.  If she's buried in any 
depth of mud, she'll be asphyxiated soon.  Particularly if she keeps 
crying like this, using up her oxygen.
     The Commissioner moved to a console, gesturing for the others to 
step back.  `I'm adding a Mayday to her private code but whether she'll 
answer or not `Yes?' The guttural voice dwelt on the sibilant.  No 
picture appeared on the screen.
     `Have you heard the crying?' `Who hasn't?  I could have told you 
Siglen wouldn't help.
     It's beyond her capabilities.  Bouncing parcels from place to 
place requires no finesse, since the gestalt does all the work.' As 
there was no visual contact, the Commissioner rolled his eyes at the 
bite in Yegrani's tone.  For years, there had been enmity between the 
telekinetic and the clairvoyant, though the Commissioner happened to 
know the original fault was more of Siglen's making than Yegrani s.
     `There is fear that the child is running out of air, Yegrani.  The 
mud is fifty-meters deep in places along a 150-klick swathe.  We've 
plenty of.
     `Look to the left above the Oshoni valley, on a ledge, 
approximately two klicks from the tongue of mud.  She's not deeply 
entrenched but the hopper skin has been fractured and sludge is oozing 
in.  She is frantic.  Siglen has done nothing to reassure the child as 
a sensitive, caring person would have done.  Guard this one well.  She 
has a long and lonely road to go before she travels.  But she alone 
will be the focus that will save us from a far greater disaster than 
the one she has escaped.  Especially guard the guardian.' The 
connection severed but as soon as Yegrani had `sighted' the child's 
position, the Secretary of the Interior had forwarded a printout of the 
conversation to the rescue teams, waiting in their special vehicles.
     The Governor himself requested the launch and gave Altair's Prime 
the coordinates.  She did not ask how they had been obtained but 
faultlessly sent the mission speeding to its destination.
     `Did she mean "left" looking at the bloody thing, on its left?' 
demanded the captain as the rescue team emerged after their journey.
     Their shells had slid to a halt on the valley floor, just where 
the out thrusting `tongue' of mud ended.  `Phaugh!' he pinched his 
nostrils, `the stench of minta's enough to choke you!  Let me see that
geo print.' `The ledge should be there!' his second in command 
exclaimed, pointing to their right.  `Solid ground, too, from which to 
work.' `Get the two klick fIx,' the captain ordered, pointing to the 
scan operator.  Stay off that mud!  Anyone who falls in has to walk 
home.' The team scrambled to the stone out thrust above the ledge and 
brought their detectors to bear in careful sweeps.  An intrusion was 
detected approximately ten meters out in the mud.  The medic extended 
his sensitive equipment and caught vital signs.  The digger boom was 
rigged and swung out.  Two volunteers, on cables linked to the boom, 
descended into the ooze above the point of detection and began to 
shovel the muck away.  As fast as they shoveled, the uncooperative 
sludge slid back in.
     `I want that suction tube and now!' cried the captain, inwardly 
well satisfied with the instant obedience to that order.
     The hopper, wedged on to the outcropping, was not deep and once a 
large enough surface was cleared, the tractor beam was attached.  It 
fought the suction of the mud while the shovel team worked with 
desperate speed, muttering about kinetics never being where you needed 
them.  Suddenly sufficient air got under the hopper to break the seal, 
and only the quick reflexes of those on the bank kept the craft from 
colliding forcefully with the tractor arm.  The little vehicle swung 
and bumped about before finally settling to solid ground.
     Mud sheeted off the hull and oozed from the fracture, as the 
entire team watched anxiously.  How much of that stuff had seeped into 
the interior?  Everyone was immensely relieved to hear a thin, 
tremulous cry, mental and physical.  As one, the team attacked the 
battered door to wrench it open.
     `Mommie?' A tattered, bruised, mud-encased child crawled to the 
threshold, sobbing with relief, squinting in the sudden daylight.
     `Mommie?' The team medic leapt forward, radiating reassurance and 
love.
     `It's all over, honey.  You're safe.  We've got you safe.' She 
pressed the hypno spray to a muddied arm before the child could realize 
that her parents were not among those clustered around the hopper.  At 
that, the sedative was not quite fast enough to allay the anguished 
mental yowl which all Altair heard from the orphaned Rowan child.
    
 * 

`We've done as much as we can,' the Chief Medical Officer said 
in a slightly defensive tone.
     `We know you have,' Interior replied, radiating all the approval 
she could project.
     `The fact remains that the Rowan child is not cooperating,' the 
Governor remarked with a rueful sigh.
     `It's only ten days since the tragedy,' Interior added.
     `And there are definitely no relatives to take charge of her?' the 
Governor asked.
     Interior consulted her records.  `We have the choice of eleven 
parents of similar genotype because many of the miners were from the 
same ethnic background.  The Company headquarters did not keep backup 
files of the infirmary records, so we don't even know how many children 
have been born since the camp was established ten years ago.  So, no 
immediate relatives.  There are doubtless some back on Earth.
     The Governor cleared his throat.  `Earth has more high ranking 
Talents than any other planet.' `We do indeed need to guard our natural 
resources, Interior replied with a slight smile.
     `Let it be noted and so stipulated in the records of this meeting 
that the .  Rowan child,' he had paused for someone to supply a name, 
`is henceforth a Ward of the Planet Altair 4. Now what?' and he turned 
to Interior.
     `Well, she can't stay indefinitely in the Pediatrics Ward,she 
replied and turned to the Chief Medical Officer.
     `My chief therapist says she's basically recovered from shock.
     The lacerations and hematoma sustained in the slide have healed.
     She has also managed to block all memory of the disaster but she 
can't quite delete the fact that the child had parents, and possibly 
siblings.' He nodded as the others murmured against more repressive 
measures.  `But .  . .` and he spread his hands, `she is parentless, 
and although the T-8 junior therapist has managed to .  . . to deal 
with the general telepathic "noise", the child's control is limited and 
her span of concentration woefully short.' Everyone grimaced, for the 
entire planet was still favored with outbursts from the Rowan child.
     `Does she receive as well as broadcast?' the Governor finally 
asked.
     The Medic shrugged.  `She must or she wouldn't hear Siglen.' `Now 
that is something that has to be stopped,' Interior said, setting her 
lips in a firm line before she went on.
     `Slapping the child down for perfectly normal.
     `If loud,' the Governor amended.
     exuberance - which you must admit is a welcome change from the 
crying - is going to inhibit what Talent the child has,' Interior went 
on.  `Siglen may be a Prime T&T but she doesn't possess a single neuron 
of empathy, and her insensitivity to the child's situation borders on 
the callous.' `Siglen may have no empathy,' the Governor said, a 
thoughtful look filming his gaze, `but she has great pride in her 
profession and she has already trained two Primes to their current 
responsibilities at Betelgeuse and Capella.' Someone grunted cynically.
     `She's the most logical person in this system to undertake the 
rowan child's education.' `She's been made a Ward of Altair,' Interior 
stated, sitting erect with opposition, `and no-one's likely to contend 
that.  She'd have more kindly treatment on Earth at the Center.  They'd 
care about her.  I vote we send her there.  And as soon as possible.' 
Lusena had the task of explaining it all to the Rowan child.
     The T-8 had been working steadily with her, playing games to get 
her to speak with her physical voice, rather than her mental one.  Once 
the child was recovered from the physical effects and the sedative 
dosage had been reduced, Lusena had taken her to select a pukha toy 
from the hospital's supply.
     Pkkhas, deriving their name from the imaginary companion 
discovered by needful children, had become widely used in pediatrics.
     They could be programmed for a variety of uses, but more often 
were used in surgical and long term care with great effect and as 
surrogates for intense dependency cases.  The Rowan child needed her 
own pukha.
     Considerable thought had been given to its programming: its long 
soft hair was composed of receptors, monitoring the child's physical 
and psychic health.  It could, receiving danger signals from the Rowan, 
initiate pacifying sentiments, encourage conversation and, of paramount 
importance, moderate the little girl's mental `voice'.  It also 
responded with its soothing, rumbling purr when the little girl became 
restless or distressed.  although Lusena and the pediatrics staff would 
adjust the pukha's programs throughout its usefulness, every sensitive 
on Altair knew when the Rowan christened it `Purza'.  Her silvery 
laughter was a great improvement over whimpering, and almost everyone 
was sympathetic to the little orphan.
     Siglen's personal assistant, Bralla, a T8 empath, certainly was 
and did her best to soothe her mistress - who could, Bralla had 
admitted to the stationmaster, be more juvenile at times than the Rowan 
child.
     `Siglen might benefit by having a pukha herself,' Bralla told the 
stationmaster, for Siglen had been extremely irascible when the Rowan 
child's babble intruded on her concentration.
     Gerolaman snorted.  `The kind of cuddling she wants she'll never 
get.' And snorted again as Bralla frantically signaled him to guard his 
sentiments.
     `She's not really a bad person, Gerolaman.  Just.  .
     `Far too accustomed to being THE most important person on the 
planet.  She doesn't like competition, not no way, no how.  You 
remember that dustup with Yegrani?' `Gerolaman, she's not deaf!' Bralla 
rose, `She's about to need me.  See you later.' Purza was not always 
the key to exemplary behavior for a three-year-old.  Siglen's 
intolerance, even with Bralla's discreet assistance, fell all too 
frequently on the Rowan child.  Finally, the Secretary of Interior 
decided that someone had to do something about Siglen, and it was going 
to give her intense personal and official satisfaction to do so.
     `Prime Siglen, a matter of urgent importance, Interior said as 
soon as the T- 1 came on screen.  `We have been able to divert a 
passenger ship tomorrow to collect the Rowan child.
     `Collect her?' Siglen blinked in astonishment.
     `Yes, we shall get her out of your hair by noon, so you will 
kindly see that her remaining hours on Altair are not punctuated by 
your reprimands.' `Remaining hours on Altair?  You must be insane!' 
Siglen's eyes widened with shock and horror, and her fingers stopped 
fondling her sea-jewel necklace.  `You can't expose a child .  . . a 
mere infant .  . . to such a trauma.' `It seems the wisest course,' 
Interior replied grimly, shielding the real reason.
     `But she can't go.  She's Prime potential .  . .` Siglen 
stammered, her complexion ashen.  She released her necklace to grip the 
edge of the console.  `She'll .  . . she'll die!  You know as well as I 
do,' and Siglen's words crowded each other out of her mouth, `what 
happens to the truly Talented in space .  . . I mean, look at how ill 
David became.  Remember how devastated Capella was.
     To subject an infant.  . . of unknown potential.  . . to such 
mind-destroying trauma!  Why, you must be mad, Interior.  You cannot!
     I will not permit it!' `Well, you're not permitting the child to 
exercise her Talent.  She'll get expert attention and training on Earth 
at the Center.' `You'd abandon that child of Altair, you'd send her 
away from kith and kin `She doesn't have any on Altair,' Interior heard 
herself saying, and then realized that Siglen was about to launch into 
one of her attitudes.  `Prime Siglen, it is the order of the Council 
that the Ward of Altair be transported to the Earth Center - with your 
well-known delicacy of kinesis on the passenger ship which has been 
diverted to Altair for that purpose.  Good day to you!' As soon as the 
image on the screen was erased, Interior turned to the Medic and 
Lusena.  `I'd've thought she'd flip the kid out to the ship without its 
having to land!' `Is there any foundation in what she said about David 
of Betelgeuse and Capella?' asked the Medic frowning.  He'd been a 
minor medical administrator ten years ago and not privy to details of 
that period.
     `Well, none of the Primes travel well, and none of them ever 
teleport themselves any great distance,' Interior replied thoughtfully.
     `But the Rowan child will be a lot better off away from Siglen's 
sort of discipline.' `I'll just get back,' Lusena said, rising and 
looking apprehensive.  `She was napping but I'd hate for her to wake up 
and find me gone.
     `You've done marvels with her, Lusena, Interior said warmly.
     `You'll find a tangible reward from the Council when you've 
delivered her safely to Earth.' `She's a taking little thing, really,' 
Lusena said, smiling with affection.
     `A bit odd-looking with that whitened hair and those enormous 
brown eyes in that thin face,' and the Medic looked uncomfortable.
     `Gorgeous eyes, lovely features,' Interior said hastily to cancel 
Lusena's dismay at the Medic's blunt description.
     `And you'll be all right with her tomorrow?' `I think the less 
fuss made the better,' Lusena replied.
     All the fuss the next day was due entirely to the Rowan child's 
total reluctance to enter the passenger vessel.  She took one look at 
the portal of the ship and dug her heels in, literally and mentally.
     From her mind came a single high note of abject terror.  From her 
lips a monotonous, `no, no, no, no, no.' Purza, clutched so tightly 
around its middle that Lusena feared for some of its programming, was 
purring in loud response to the little girl's distress.
     `Sedation?' the ship's medical officer suggested to the distraught 
Lusena, who vainly tried to persuade her charge that no danger existed 
on this ship.
     `We might have to keep her sedated the entire trip,' Lusena 
murmured.  `Even the most intensive therapy does not seem to have 
significantly reduced her trauma.  It's entering a ship that's upset 
her so.  Not that I blame her.' One moment she had her arms wrapped 
about the struggling body, the next moment the Rowan child had 
disappeared, even the pukha discarded in her haste.
     `Oh, my word, where can she have gone?' Lusena cried in panic.
     I warned you, came the ominous voice of Siglen.  The child 
shouldn't leave Altair.
     Lusena's attention was caught by Siglen's phraseology, mindful of 
Yegrani's clairvoyance.  `She has a long and lonely road to go before 
she travels.' `Oh, lords above,' Lusena murmured, her sympathies 
entirely with the child.
     Nor will you force such a young and powerful mind to leave the 
planet of her birth, Siglen intoned.  Then she added, sounding almost 
sympathetic, especially as she has just proved that she is telekinetic 
as well as telepathic.
     `But that child has got to receive proper training,' Lusena cried, 
suddenly fearful for her.
     And I, mindful of my responsibility to my Talent and to preserve 
this planet's resources, will undertake her education.
     `Not if you treat that child the way you have been, Siglen,' 
Lusena cried, startling the people on the boarding way as she waved her 
fist in the air There was an audible pause, a thickening of the air 
about the small group, a palpable silence.
     She has been a very naughty, badly behaved little girl, was the 
somewhat chastened reply.  She must learn manners if she is to be my 
pupil.  But I will not have her terrified out of her mind by traveling 
in space.  You will be reassigned as her companion, Lusena.
     `Guard the guardian,' Yegrani had said.  Lusena had not had the 
slightest notion that events would conspire to appoint her to that 
gratuitous position.  She sighed but, when Secretary Camella implored 
her to be the Rowan's nursemaid, she agreed.  She genuinely cared for 
the little orphan who needed a staunch friend to deal with the stresses 
and tensions which Lusena could foresee without a vestige of 
clairvoyance in her Talent.
     Go and collect her from your room in the hospital, Siglen told 
her, but rather more politely than she usually delivered orders.  That 
seems to be the only place she knew to go.
     `I'll collect her,' Lusena said, scooping up the pukha.
     `But you had better be kind to her.  Don't you dare be anything 
but kind to her, Siglen of Altair!' Of course, I will be kind to her, 
Siglen said, chidingly.
     What is her name?
     `She calls herself,' and Lusena paused significantly, `the Rowan.' 
She felt the slightest resistance and opened her mouth to retort.
     She'll find something else more suitable when she has been in my 
Tower awhile, was the soothing answer.  Kindly bring the Rowan to me 
now, Lusena.  She is weeping on a very broad band.
     In point of fact, the Rowan child did not take up residence at 
Siglen's Tower for nearly nine years.  Lusena had two children of her 
own - a girl nine and a boy fourteen with minor but valid Talents.
     Lusena urged the Secretary of the Interior to let her keep the 
Rowan at home, taking a temporary leave of absence from the Port 
Hospital.  It was a pleasant enough house which was, as most Talent 
residences were, already shielded.  Lusena distrusted Siglen for no 
reason she was ever able to articulate so she accepted, even encouraged 
the procrastination for a variety of excuses: hers and Siglen's.
     `The child isn't really settled yet after that fright.  `She's 
just getting over a cold.' `I'd hate to disturb her just yet, she's 
integrating so well with her play group.' `Her current teaching program 
ought not to be interrupted.' `She would miss the support and 
companionship of Bardy and Finnan.  Next year Siglen never protested 
too hard: adding her own delays.
     There would have to be a suitable apartment for her student, as 
she felt the child would be more comfortable away from the busyness of 
the Tower and all the bustle of her support staff coming and going.
     When Interior ordered plans to be drawn up for the facility, 
Siglen found exception with each submission, sending the plans back for 
minute revisions.  The exchanges continued for nearly two years before 
the foundations were laid.
     Meanwhile the Rowan became integrated into Lusena's family, for 
Bardy, the daughter, and Finnan, the son, were old enough to be kind 
and naturally caring of the waif.  The Rowan played with non-Talented 
children her own age in a specially supervised group and learned NOT to 
manipulate her peers.  Most of them were so `deaf they were unaware of 
her subconscious attempts to control them.  Their unawareness also 
resulted in making the Rowan vocalize in their presence.  Toward the 
end of that first year, the Rowan would occasionally prop Purza on the 
sidelines of particularly active games but otherwise the pukha was 
within fingertip reach.  Three times the feline had to be peeled from 
the sleeping child to replace its furry covering, worn or damaged 
receptors, and to update its programming.
     Siglen did keep her promise about not suppressing the Rowan, 
though she sent pointed enough reminders that she was keeping her word 
and that Lusena and the others had best see to it that the Rowan did 
not distract her.  As the Rowan matured, outbursts diminished.
     Gradually, Purza spent more and more time on a shelf in her room, 
but was always on the pillow beside the Rowan at night.
     On the day that the Rowan finally came to live with the Prime, she 
did not appear to be in awe of Siglen.  She clutched Purza tighter to 
her side as the Prime towered above her, smiling in the fatuous way of 
someone unaccustomed to young persons.  Secretary Camella of Interior, 
who had driven Lusena and the Rowan to the Tower in her own vehicle, 
wanted to strangle Siglen.
     `Aren't we a little old to be dependent on a stuffed animal?' 
Siglen asked `Purza is a pukha and she's been mine a long time, the 
Rowan answered, hefting the pukha behind her in a proprietary way.
     Both Lusena and Interior tried to warn Siglen, but the woman was 
concentrating with formidable intent on the Rowan.  Lusena caught 
Bralla's eye and the woman raised her eyebrows in a despairing arc.
     But she stepped forward.
     `Siglen, do show the child the quarters you have arranged for her.
     I'm sure she'd like to get settled.' Siglen flapped one beringed 
hand to silence Bralla.
     `A pukha?' `A specially programmed stabilizing surrogate device,' 
the Rowan explained.  `It's not a stuffed toy.' `But you are twelve 
now.  Surely too grown-up to need that sort of infantile pacifier.' The 
Rowan was polite - Lusena had drilled her in courtesies, vocal and 
mental - but she could be as stubborn as Siglen, though she would never 
be as insensitive.
     `When I no longer need Purza, I will know.' Then she adroitly 
added, `I really would like to see my room.' And the Rowan smiled 
hopefully.  She had a particularly endearing smile and harder hearts 
than Siglen's had been beguiled by it.
     `Room?' Siglen was affronted.  `Why, you have an entire wing to 
yourself.  With every amenity that I myself enjoy.
     State of the art, as well, though some of my equipment will soon 
need replacement.' She gave Interior a pointed glance.  Then she led 
the way, heaving herself from side to side in a most remarkable gait.
     Siglen was quite tall, dwarfing the slender child beside her: Nine 
years had added more soft flesh although the increase was not apparent 
with the sort of loose garments she wore.  But it showed when she 
moved, making an effort of even a short walk.
     Interior mused that Siglen was putting herself out in this initial 
contact and hoped that the child, who displayed considerable empathy, 
would be responsive.  As she fell in step with Lusena and Bralla, she 
was uncomfortably aware of the ludicrous comparison between the 
rake-thin Rowan and the massive Siglen and hastily recited a 
mind-clogging nonsense verse.  Hopefully, Siglen was too busy 
impressing the child with her generosity - all paid for by the Treasury 
- to hear peripheral thoughts.  Neither Siglen nor the Rowan had 
communicated on a telepathic level, but then it had been drilled into 
the Rowan that, vis-a'-vis, she must use voice address.
     `You will report to me daily now, between 10.00 and 14.00 for 
instruction.  I have had a special room added to my Tower where you can 
observe without interfering in the daily routine.  It is most important 
. . . what is your name, child?' `The Rowan.  That's what everyone 
calls me,' and Lusena knew that the girl had picked up Siglen's not so 
carefully concealed disapproval, `the Rowan child.  My name is 
therefore the Rowan.
     `But surely you know what name your parents gave you?
     You were old enough at three to know your own name, for goodness' 
sake.' `I forgot it!' And the Rowan made that a positive enough 
termination of such questions that Siglen was taken slightly aback.
     `Well, well, well!' She repeated the word a few more times before 
they all reached the entrance to the Rowan's wing.
     The Rowan's startlement was apparent in her rigid posture as she 
peered through the door panel Siglen opened.  Interior and Lusena 
hurried up and were equally stunned.
     The entrance hall was grand - that was the only word for it, with 
hidden lighting to emphasize its opulence, the formal, rigid chairs 
made of exquisite woods, the equally fragile tables set with either 
statuary or arrangements of static flowers, picked at the moment of 
bloom perfection and held eternally at their peak.  Walking carefully 
across the intricately mosaic floor, the amazed trio entered the 
reception room, its walls adorned by the sort of gaudy, big floral 
print that Siglen preferred.  The room, which would have been spacious 
if it had not been so cluttered, was crammed with twisted-ware stools, 
two- and three-seat couches, arranged in conversational groupings: 
tables set everywhere, squatting in corners, nestled against the 
couches, their surfaces and shelves filled with what looked like 
Interstellar Bazaar items, some undoubtedly valuable enough, Interior 
thought, but none of it the sort of furnishing or adornment suitable to 
a young girl.  The walls were hung with artwork from every star system, 
judging by the variety of styles and mediums, but crowded frame to 
frame so that the eye could not fasten on anything.  Down one corridor 
was a small kitchen, an ornately claustrophobic dining area, and two 
guest bedrooms en suite.  Down the other was an almost barren `library' 
with shelves and worktops, and a swimming pool, plasgrassed, far too 
shallow for an active and accomplished swimmer like the Rowan.
     With a final flourish and in anticipation of effusive praise, 
Siglen waved her large hand across the admit-panel of the bedroom she 
had created for the Rowan: a yellow and peach confection box of frills, 
doodads, and so many embellishments the necessary pieces of furniture 
were disguised.
     `Well?' Siglen demanded of the Rowan, having taken the silence for 
amazement but needing some verbal gratification.
     `It is the most incredible apartment, Prime Siglen,' the Rowan 
said, turning slowly around and clutching Purza to her breast.  Her 
eyes were wide, glittering with an emotion that Lusena hoped the child 
could contain.  The Rowan swallowed noticeably but managed to say 
clearly, `I appreciate all your efforts.  This is worth waiting for.
     Really, you have been extremely generous.  It is all too much!' 
Lusena shot the Rowan an alarmed shaft of appeal, hoping the girl would 
stop there.  Twelve-year-olds are not the most tactful creatures.  The 
Rowan was avoiding Lusena's eyes.  Indeed she kept looking around her, 
as one item after another caught her attention.  Lusena was counting 
heavily on the Rowan's empathy.
     `You have been exceedingly thoughtful and kind,' the Rowan went on 
and approached a low bed, smothered in bright satin pillows, some of 
which colors clashed with the yellow and peach of wall, carpet, and 
furnishings.  She rearranged one pillow and planted Purza on it.  `We 
shall be immensely comfortable here, won't we, Purza?' Thus addressed, 
the pukha whirled and made a sound that was certainly not a purr, 
definitely a comment.  Eyes dancing with mischief and suppressed 
laughter, the Rowan swiveled to Lusena.  `I think the power strands 
need replacing.  That's no purr!' At once Lusena and the Secretary of 
the Interior distracted Siglen, who looked about to say more on the 
subject of dispensing with the pukha, by effusively complimenting her 
on the magnificence of these quarters, so much time spent on thoughtful 
details, and where did Siglen manage to find so many unusual things.
     Just then, a porter brought in the trolley containing the Rowan's 
effects, two carryalls, and five cartons of books and educational 
disks.
     `Ah, are these all you have?' Siglen asked in a disparaging tone, 
glancing accusingly first at Lusena and then at Secretary Camella.
     `The Rowan was awarded an adequate stipend above and beyond her 
living expenses but she doesn't make use of it,' Camella said 
defensively.
     `She isn't an acquisitive child,' Lusena said at the same time.
     Siglen made a noncommittal noise.  `I shall leave you to get 
settled.' She patted the Rowan on the head and turned, so she did not 
see the expression on the girl's face although both Lusena and Interior 
did.  Lusena moved to the girl and Interior thought she'd better make 
certain that Siglen left before the Rowan exploded.  Hastily, she 
closed the bedroom door behind her.
     When Interior got back, the Rowan was bowling with laughter, 
rolling on the bed, clutching a now purring Purza in her arms.  Most of 
the satin pillows had fallen to the floor.  Lusena was collapsed on a 
chair, tears of laughter streaming down her face.  Secretary Camella, 
who had expected rather a different scene, sank to another chair, 
grinning with relief `I simply don't believe that woman,' Lusena 
finally managed to gasp.  `This .  . . this bordello ambience .  . . is 
suitable for a twelve-year-old girl?' `Don't worry, Rowan,' Interior 
promised, `you can sleep in the library until we clear out this .  . .
     this .  -- bazaarity.
     Waving one hand in agreement, the Rowan continued to burble.
     `Well, at least you can see the amusing side of it,' Interior 
added and could not resist chuckling, too.
     `Purza says it wasn't fair of you not to program her to laugh,' 
the Rowan said and kissed her pukha fondly.
     Lusena and Interior exchanged startled looks and Lusena mouthed 
`later' over the child's head.
     `Maybe Siglen was right and it's time to remove the pukha,' 
Interior said in a low voice to Lusena while the Rowan had been set to 
unpacking her booktapes in the library.
     `This really IS the first time Rowan has claimed a spontaneous 
response from it,' Lusena said, her fingers fiddling with the cuff of 
one sleeve.  She frowned down at her hands.  `At least in my hearing.
     Of all the freakings!' Lusena was clearly upset.  `We gave up 
monitoring her room a long time ago.  She's adapted well: she has no 
trouble interracting with either the Talented or the normal.' `Start 
recording again.  The child cannot develop any aberrations.' Lusena 
almost exploded, gesticulating toward the main Tower.  `With that as an 
example?  I'd say she'll need the pukha now more than ever before!' 
Abruptly, she subsided.  `Perhaps we're borrowing trouble.  The pukha 
could be invaluable now to monitor the Rowan's adjustment to Siglen.
     Interior gave a heartfelt moan of sympathy.  `Why did I let Siglen 
talk me into this?' `Planetary pride?' Lusena asked drolly.
     `Probably.  Be a dear and, when the Rowan's asleep tonight, rig 
the pukha for monitoring, will you?' Then Interior looked around her at 
the incredible array.  `And how are we going to get rid of all this?' 
`I'll think of something!' The Rowan anticipated the need.  A troubled 
security guard reported that an empty warehouse in the Port facility 
appeared to be used as the cache of pilferers, although he couldn't 
find a single one of the items listed on the stolen property lists 
published by the Constabulary.
     With considerable discernment for a youngster, the Rowan stripped 
her apartment down to basics, unerringly retaining the most valuable 
and appropriate of the artifacts.  To Lusena's immense surprise, the 
Rowan had also managed to alter the color of the walls to soft shades 
of green and cream.
     `How'd you repaint?' she casually asked the girl.
     `Purza and me thought about it,' the Rowan replied with one of her 
inimitable shrugs.  `D'you think it's an improvement?' `Oh, vast, vast 
improvement.  I didn't realize you knew how to paint.' `That was easy.
     Purza was in the house the day you had your place done.  She 
remembered.' Lusena managed to nod understandingly.  `Well, do you 
think you're settled in enough now to begin to learn your business?' 
The Rowan shrugged.  `She's got a mass of pods to shift today.  I don't 
think she'll want me around.' Lusena phoned Interior later, while the 
Rowan was swimming under the watchful eyes of Purza.
     `She has verbalized many things to the pukha over the years,' 
Lusena said slowly.  She found it very difficult to understand how she 
could have overlooked the Rowan's subtly reinforced dependence on the 
pukha.  `Most of it perfectly consonant with the doubts and fears of 
any normal child.  But she AND the Purza personality had a long 
discussion about color and the mechanics of painting: together they 
looked up and discussed interior decoration.
     Purza evidently has considerable acumen on which objects d'art and 
paintings are likely to be valuable, and those were the ones they kept.
     Purza seems to have discovered the empty warehouse although it was 
clearly the Rowan who did the shifting.  I know she has great 
telekinetic potential and nothing was very heavy or awkward, but she 
cleared most of the drek overnight.  And repainted the next one - with 
Purza's encouragement.  I'll send you a transcript of the conversation 
- no, it's not a conversation, that takes two intelligences - the 
monologue with interesting pauses for the Purza contributions.' `Send 
me the transcript file,' Interior said, trying to keep the panic out of 
her voice, `and I'll set up an in-depth psychiatric study.' `Oh, would 
you?' Lusena was weak with relief.  `This is far beyond anything in my 
training.' `Now, don't start feeling inadequate on me, Lusena.
     You've coped magnificently with the child.  She's just just -`One 
step ahead of us?' `That's better,' Interior said, approving the wry 
tone of Lusena's voice.
     The conversation between the Rowan and her pukha became 
fascinating auditing for her guardians and any pediatric psychologist 
granted the privilege of listening.
     `Purza, Siglen's silly.  I've done that sort of lifting, placing, 
and putting since I was a baby!' the Rowan was heard to say after her 
first day's tutelage.  `I can't very well tell her I shifted everything 
out of this apartment, can I?
     Well, yes, I know, you helped, and even told me where the space 
was.  You've a very clever pukha, you know.  How many would have been 
able to estimate the volume of that warehouse so precisely?  There was 
just space left for an aisle when you'd finished.  Yes, they know.  The 
man is supposed to check that the stuff doesn't leave the premises but 
how were you to know that he'd object to having an empty place used?
     Yes, people are funny about such details.  She did give them to me 
so I may dispose of them as I see fit.  Oh, you think I should have 
asked her first?
     Yes, but asking would have wounded her feelings because she really 
did think she'd done a marvelous job in the decorating.  Only, Purza, 
how can I do good work when she considers me such a baby?' `Yesterday 
was bad enough, Purza, a whole day spent making knots of straight 
lines!  But I had to do it all over again today!  Yes, actually I 
thought of doing that, but she was with me every second and when I 
tried to deviate, she just pulled me back on line and said that I must 
concentrate harder.  Concentrate?  Who needs to concentrate on that al' 
baby stuff!  Did you hear her?' The Rowan then produced such an 
accurate imitation of Siglen's fruity tones that the clandestine 
auditors were astonished.  "`We must proceed carefully, step by step, 
until you become so totally aware of your Talent that its use is 
instinctive, efficient, and energy-saving.
     `Energy-saving?  I ask you, Purza, with all the energy available 
on Altair, we could never use it all up.  She what?
     I know history as well as you do.  So what if she did grow up on 
old Earth when their energy sources were stretched to the limit, but 
we're here!  There's unlimited power in just the winds and the tides, 
not to mention the fossil fuels Siglen ought to update herself.  And if 
she says "waste not, want not" one more time, I'm going to puke.
     It's near as bad as "Always Be Careful" - the Rowan dropped into 
the devastatingly accurate Siglen voice for the maninis.  `And I am 
thrifty.' Now the Rowan giggled.  `I saved all that awful stuff she 
crammed into my place.  Crabs, Purza, I'm so booooooooored!' That 
complaint became more and more prevalent in the pukha conversations.
     Bralla did her best to assist, tactfully mentioning to Siglen that 
the Rowan showed great application and dexterity with the basic kinetic 
exercises.
     `But then, she has the best of teachers in the entire known 
galaxy,' Bralla had added when she saw Siglen bridle.  `Of course she 
would grasp the basics quickly.  You explain things so succinctly even 
the dullest wit would understand.' It took three days for the notion to 
be absorbed and then suddenly Siglen began the Rowan's lesson with a 
new exercise, designed to strengthen her `mental muscles'.
     `It is a nice change,' the Rowan confided in Purza that night and 
then spent time rearranging the furnishings in her apartment with her 
`mental muscles', `to explain the technique to the pukha.' Gerolaman, 
the Station manager, took his turn in suggesting more challenging tasks 
for the Rowan.
     `I need a bit of help in Stores, Siglen.  It'd take this little 
girl a couple of hours while you're busy with the batch coming in from 
David.  It's more or less what you've been doing with her only more 
practical because she can't break anything, yet she'll get the 
practice.  Whaddya say?' `It'd be a thrifty use of my time and energy, 
Siglen,' the Rowan added casually, pretending indifference.
     `I dislike interrupting the flow of your lessons, Rowan child,' 
Siglen temporized.
     `Same thing, different objects,' Gerolaman remarked as if he 
couldn't care less.  And the Rowan was excused to his care.  `You're a 
clever one,' he told her when they were on their way to Stores.  `Good 
shot Siglen's not got an ounce of empathy: You were leaking a little of 
what you felt in there and that's not good.' `I was?' `You're getting 
careless.  Don't!  Siglen's got faults, the Good knows that, and we all 
suffer from them from time to time.  The main thrust of her Talent is 
the gestalt.  Most of us here,' and his gesture took in the entire 
Station, `can bounce things from a place we can see to a place we know 
about.  But she can juggle objects she can't see and get them where 
they're supposed to go even if she's never been there.  Nor likely to 
go.  So you study her, Rowan, and get to hear underneath what she says.
     Lusena says you've a high empathy rating.  Let it work for you.  I 
don't say you should attempt to manipulate her moods but you could sort 
of ease her along now and then and she wouldn't get suspicious.  That 
way,' and Gerolaman gave her a shrewd sideways glance, `you won't get 
so bored, working several levels in that white head of yours.' He 
ruffled her hair affectionately.
     For some reason that casual caress had more effect on the Rowan 
than Gerolaman's spoken advice.
     `He touched me, Purza.  He put his hand on my hair and messed it 
up, just like Finnan does.  That must mean he likes me.  Is it because 
he understands Talents?  .  . . Oh, he's not a pervert, silly Purz.  It 
wasn't that sort of a touch.
     I'd recognize the slimy kind from what Bardy told me.
     Gerolaman's got children of his own.  He treats me like one of 
them, Purza.  Fatherly.  It would be nice to have a father, Purz.' 
Gerolaman was instructed to act as paternally as circumstances 
permitted.
     `But she's a Prime Talent!' Gerolaman had replied, surprised, 
pleased, and nervous.  `I can't just treat her like I do my daughter.' 
`That,' Lusena said firmly, `is exactly what she needs!  A little 
fatherly affection!  Bardy and Finnan had their father during their 
early childhood.  Rowan's never had a father figure.  Since she has 
now realized it, we must provide a suitable substitute and you're it, 
Gerolaman!
     `Sure I'll do what I can.  The Good knows she'll get no love and 
affection from the Prime.' Gerolaman often prevailed on Siglen to lend 
him the Rowan for more `muscle' exercise.  These tended to be 
dispatched quickly enough so that the Rowan would have time to have a 
snack or `tea' in Gerolaman's office.  On those occasions, he would 
explain other aspects of the Tower responsibilities, its 
administration, how cargo was routed from one Prime station to another, 
the `windows' to other systems and moons, how to connect with mid-space 
drone shipments, the major mid-points all around the Central Worlds' 
sphere of business and colonization.  In a relaxed atmosphere, she 
developed the spatial sense she would require when, if she came into 
Prime status, she would need to know how to scan the instrumentation in 
the Tower that kept track of all matter in the Altairian sector of the 
galaxy.  She learned to appreciate and how to adroitly assist the 
lesser kinetic Talents who did not have the gestalt faculty but 
nevertheless handled the traffic of message capsules constantly shunted 
about the Nine-Star League.
     Gerolaman would often take her out of the Tower and into the 
freight yards so that she became familiar with the variety of carriers, 
freight pods, drone vehicles, specialized cargo carriers for live or 
inanimate freight.  He took her on inspection tours of the powered 
ships from scout vessels and shuttles to the great passenger and 
immense bulky freight containers.  He had her memorize the major trade 
routes and lines, the space stations and other Nine Star League 
facilities until she knew the furniture of space as well as the things 
in her own quarters.
     `You should know every aspect of this business,' Gerolaman said, 
`not just how to sit in that Tower couch and bitch when there's an 
equipment failure.' There had been one recently and Gerolaman had borne 
the brunt of Siglen's outrage and fury, for she felt that she would be 
held responsible for a failure that interrupted the smooth function of 
Altair's FT&T Station.  The Rowan had been in his office when the 
Number 3 Generator had overheated and started shedding parts.  She had 
seen how quickly Gerolaman had patched in the spare and then ordered an 
investigation of the accident.  When it appeared that poor grade oils 
had been at fault, he canceled the supplier's contract and took tenders 
for a new source.
     That morning provided the Rowan with a new insight into her own 
problems with the Prime.  The next day provided yet another.  A T-8
     stormed into Gerolaman's office, threatening to resign and leave 
Altair altogether to get away from `that woman': Siglen had taken out 
her frustration with the brief lapse of service on the first person to 
irritate her.
     `I didn't realize, Purza, that others have problems with Siglen,' 
the Rowan told the pukha that night.  `I made myself as small as I 
could and I don't think the T-8 even saw me.  I liked the way Gerolaman 
talked to Macey, kindly like, as if he was as deeply hurt as she was.
     He got her an accommodation at Favor Bay for a week off, though 
her annual holiday is not for another three months.  I wonder if we get 
holidays.  It'd be nice to get away from the Tower for a while.  Lusena 
used to take us all on trips when I lived with her.' Lusena, Gerolaman, 
Bralla, and Interior put their heads together to figure out how they 
could grant that wistful desire.
     `I didn't realize so much time has passed but the Rowan's been 
here for two years,' Interior remarked.
     `Everyone gets holiday time.
     `Except Siglen,' Gerolaman said gloomily.  "`And who could 
possibly take over if I went on vacation?"' Gerolaman's falsetto was a 
poor imitation of Siglen's fruity tones.
     `Even I get away.  Maybe that'd be the answer.  Siglen might give 
her leave of absence if I promised to keep up her exercises.  My 
family's got a nice cabin in the woods.  . -` `No woods,' Lusena 
interrupted, holding up a warning hand.  `For the Rowan, mountain and 
forest might be traumatic.  I always kept to the plains and the seaside 
when she vacationed with us.
     `Well, then,' Interior began briskly, `there's a Cabinet 
guesthouse, spacious, but not too grand, which can be made available to 
her.  At this time of year, there aren't all that many vacationers at 
Favor Bay.' She gave Lusena a significant look.
     `I'd gladly accompany her,' Lusena replied with a long sigh.  `I 
could use the break myself.  And I've nieces, my brothers' children, 
who are the Rowan's age.  She's had no peer group contact since she 
came here and she shouldn't get so far out of touch.  She may be Prime 
material but she's also a young girl and that side of her development 
shouldn't be neglected as .` Lusena tactfully broke off.
     `I think a few words in the ear of the Medical Office might 
produce some results - especially if Bralla,' and the Interior winked 
at the woman, `and Gerolaman notice that the Rowan is becoming 
listless, with no appetite .  . . you know the sort of thing that can 
afflict the overextended youngster, Lusena.' `Indeed I do.' `Ill?' 
Siglen's eyes enlarged while she also appeared to compress herself.
     `How is the child ill?' Rarely indisposed herself, Siglen had no 
patience with sickness.
     `Well, as you know, Siglen, girls her age are prone to minor 
ailments and I do think she's sickening for something,' Bralla 
remarked.  `Why, you know yourself that her appetite's been poor these 
past few days.  You might suggest to Lusena to remove her until the 
symptoms disappear.' `To the infirmary?' `Well, a full medical check 
never hurts,' Bralla replied.
     `I'll make arrangements immediately.' So the Rowan was given an 
official leave to improve her health: Siglen practically ordering her 
out of the Tower.
     Favor Bay was essentially a family resort, with an excellent 
crescent beach of fine powdery sand: a marina catered to water sport 
enthusiasts and the bright, clear water encouraged them.  There was 
also a small fair with a mechanical amusement park and an aquarium 
situated on the northern tip of Favor Bay's crescent.  The Cabinet 
guesthouse was set up on the southern hill surrounding the Bay, in its 
own grounds, neatly obscured from public view by shrubs and trees of 
Terran origin which had adapted to Altair and flourished in the mild 
climate of that part of the coast.
     `Not a minta among `em,' Interior had remarked in an aside to 
Lusena.  `Doesn't grow in that sort of soil.' An official air carrier 
whisked Lusena, her ecstatic nieces - moria, Emer, and Talba - and a 
subdued Rowan to the resort.  The driver saw the party safely 
installed, good-humoredly hauling in the many pieces of luggage which 
the nieces had brought.  The Rowan managed her one small carisak, and 
Purza, quite handily by herself.  She was, however, given the grandest 
room where a balcony gave her a splendid view of the sea and coastline 
for miles in all directions.  That was the first bone of contention.
     Although each child had a luxurious bedroom with adjoining bath, 
comparisons became inevitable as the amenities were discussed at great 
length over the afternoon snack.  At first Lusena dismissed the arguing 
as part and parcel of normal maneuvering of status-conscious thirteen 
and fourteen-year-olds.  The Rowan merely listened, more interested in 
the delicious foods arrayed on the table than power plays.
     Until moria remarked that she ought to have Emer’s
     room, since the closet space was better and she really hadn't 
enough room for her clothes.
     `Fabrics must breathe,' she explained in an arch manner.
     Then, seeing the Rowan's surprised expression, found a ripe target 
for her effusions.  `Garments need to be refreshed by circulating air, 
you understand.  That's even more important than proper cleansing and 
pressing, particularly with expensive gauzes.' moria shifted her 
attention to her aunt `Is there someone to tend to our wardrobe?' 
Lusena was nonplussed by such a question.  Her brother was exceedingly 
well connected with the mercantile bankers of Port Altair, and the girl 
was accustomed to a more sophisticated life than Rowan, whose social 
life was nonexistent.  Lusena had no idea if moria's household included 
any indentured colonists, working out the expense of their 
transportation to Altair in menial capacities but, judging by moria's 
question, there probably were.
     `Did you bring any gauzes with you, moria?' was what Lusena asked 
to give herself time to think.  `I did tell your mother that this would 
be a low-key holiday.' `I looked up the A-Z and it specifically 
mentions evening dances at the Regency Hotel where formal attire is de 
rigueur,' moria replied in a tone that suggested Lusena should know.
     `We have no escorts.' `There is also an agency which supplies 
escorts of impeccable character,' moria replied and Emer giggled.
     She and her sister exchanged anticipatory looks.  Their parents 
did not entertain on the same level as moria's but that was by choice, 
certainly not necessity.
     `Who are unlikely to wish to escort a thirteen Lusena said 
severely.
     `I'll be fourteen in three weeks' time .  . .` moria was 
persistent.
     Thirteen- or fourteen-year-olds to any Regency ambience.' `I was 
certain that Rowan would want to dance,' moria retorted, eyeing the 
Rowan with a penetrating stare.  `She's old enough to know how.' Her 
tone implied that anyone who didn't was deprived, underprivileged, and 
asocial.
     `Talba and I can dance,' Emer hastily put in.
     Lusena was beginning to regret the notion that her nieces would be 
suitable as friends for the Rowan.
     `Dancing is not a recreation in which I have any interest, the 
Rowan replied casually, with a mild hauteur and indifference that quite 
shot the wind out of moria's sails.  `I am here to enjoy the sportive, 
not the cultural aspects of the resort.  You did bring appropriate 
attire for swimming and boating, did you not?' The Rowan's tone was 
more coolly dismissive than moria's, but then, Lusena thought, Siglen 
was a mistress of the put-down.
     Emer and Talba goggled but moria blushed and sulked for the rest 
of the meal.  Lusena wondered what was going through the Rowan's mind.
     Would she make an adjustment or might she, tempted by moria's 
example, respond by manipulating the others: something the Rowan was 
quite able to do, consciously or unconsciously.  And that was not what 
this holiday effort was about.
     Lusena sighed.  Her timing was wrong.  A year or two at this age 
could produce such astounding swings in attitudes and standards.  The 
Rowan had left her schoolmates as a child with childish interests and 
concerns.  Now, hovering at the edge of the major physiological and 
psychological adjustments in a young girl's life, a perilous rite of 
passage might be forced.
     Lusena pressed briefly, cautiously, against the Rowan’s
     mind but the girl's immediate thoughts were of satiety with the 
excellent meal just served and a mental debate over which area of the 
resort to explore first.
     `I see no reason,' Lusena began briskly, hoping to alter the mood 
of the afternoon, `why you can't all change into swimsuits.  We can 
explore the beach while our lunch is being digested and then we'll be 
ready for a dip.  moria, as the oldest, you're in charge of water 
safety.  I know your family often holidays by the sea whereas Emer, 
Talba, and Rowan haven't done very much sea bathing.' moria's manner 
altered with the possession of even this nebulous superiority and, 
forgetting her sulk, she ran up the stairs well ahead of the others in 
order to be the first changed.
     It turned out to be a very pleasant afternoon for the water was 
cool enough to give a brisk tingle, the sun warming, and the beach 
deserted.  Having marshaled her young charges into the water until they 
were exhausted with their exercise, moria stripped to allow the sun 
full access to her already tanned skin.  The Rowan watched with 
discreetly averted eyes.  moria had a splendid start on a feminine 
body.  The still juvenile Emer and Talba also slipped out of their 
suits, oiling their paler skins with a sun block and then, suddenly, 
the Rowan was lying supine on the beach blanket as if she was a 
frequent sunbather.  While moria chattered away about the merits of 
various tanning preparations, Lusena was positive that the Rowan must 
be making some bizarre internal adjustments for in the space of about 
fifteen minutes, she acquired a nice sun-burnishing.
     moria stopped mid-spate and stared at the young Prime.
     `I don't recall you having a tan, Rowan?' `Oh,' and the Rowan 
opened one eye drowsily to regard the older girl, `I've always tanned 
easily.
     Now that, my girl, is coming on too strong!  Lusena said, for once 
bending the Talent's rule not to communicate telepathically.
     You might even say I was doing it up too brown, Luse?  and, eyes 
closed, the Rowan smiled ever so slightly.
     That evening when the girls had settled to sleep, Lusena opened 
the line to Purza.
     `I think she's a spoiled snob of a prig,' the Rowan was saying to 
her pukha.  `She apes mannerisms and pretends to be far more mature 
than she is.  Trouble is, Purz, she believes she's acting properly.
     Acting is exactly what she's doing.  Acting.  Silly bouzma!' 
Lusena wondered where the Rowan had acquired that term until she 
remembered that some of the cargo handlers around the Tower facility 
came from mixed cultural backgrounds.  The Rowan had been eavesdropping 
again.
     `Emer's OK and Talba'll do whatever she's told,- the Rowan went 
on, more musingly than critically.  `I'm glad I'm not moria's kid 
sister.  She'd be a pain in the arse!  Yes, yes, I know that's cant 
language and Siglen would have a fit.  But she's not here and I am, and 
moria would be a pain in the arse!' A giggle came through clearly.
     `And I got a better tan than she has and it took me a lot less 
time and perspiration at no cost.  Imagine having to smear such 
expensive gunk on my skin.  All I had to do was alter the absorption 
level of the epidermis.  Simple!  I wonder how tan I should get!  Don't 
be silly, Purza!  Pukhas don't need tans.  You'd scorch your fur and 
blow all the circuits.' That sentence caused Lusena some intense 
cogitation.
     In the mention of its circuits, was the Rowan accepting the fact 
that the pukha was only a therapeutic device?  But by being concerned 
that `you'd scorch your fur' was she attributing some degree of 
anthropomorphism to it?
     Animals did not tan: humans did.  Use of the pronoun implied a 
recognition of the pukha as an entity.  Her conversations with it 
indicated a subliminal response - her alter ego speaking through the 
pukha?  So far there had been no conflict with established ethics and 
morals.
     Although constant discreet psychological testing revealed that the 
Rowan was basically a well-adjusted personality, the continued 
dependence on a pukha, which was usually abandoned once a child reached 
adolescence, could indicate a possible instability.  A proven 
instability, even a suspected one, might put the quietus on any hope 
that the Rowan would make Prime.  Lusena couldn't bear to think of the 
procedures that would ensue should the Rowan be considered an unstable 
Talent.
     Not that dependence on a pukha was a real cause for alarm.  Lonely 
children of ten had imaginary friends - it was a healthy development 
stage that should be passed through without trauma.  The Rowan's pukha 
had certainly been a boon to the child and to her preceptors.  Once the 
holiday was over, Lusena decided she would have to discuss a weaning 
process with the Medical Officer.
     The next day dawned so bright that Lusena immediately arranged for 
a sail down the coast to a sea garden where the girls could safely 
indulge in some underwater exploration.  moria fretted during the short 
training session because she'd `done all this sort of thing so often 
before' Turian, the instructor, was handsome and far too intelligent to 
respond to moria's coy attempts at flirting on the trip down.  He 
pinned her with a cold stare and remarked that in his experience it was 
those who didn't listen to safety precautions who invariably made the 
mistakes underwater.
     Once they had all submerged and were following Turian through the 
sea gardens, Lusena lightly touched the Rowan's thoughts and felt the 
girl's utter delight and pleasure in the experience.  The Rowan was a 
strong swimmer.  Clear, bright water was unlikely to summon memories of 
minta-stained mud.
     It was exceedingly unfortunate that it was moria who was caught by 
the sting-sheet which Turian had particularly warned them all against.
     It was equally unfortunate that the Rowan was closest to her and 
remembered the first-aid measure.  She rubbed moria's stings with hands 
full of sand.  (And that had been done kinetically though Lusena hoped 
she was the only one who noticed that at the moment of panic.) When the 
Rowan began the metamorphic massage which Lusena had taught her as 
being useful in reducing shock, moria complained that the Rowan was 
deliberately bruising her feet.  The accident put an end to the 
expedition and was, when Lusena reviewed the week later, the beginning 
of the trouble.
     If moria was somewhat mollified by being taken up in Turian's arms 
and jetted back to the sloop, it didn't help that he treated her like a 
silly, thoughtless adolescent.  Fuel was poured on her wounded pride 
when he complimented the Rowan on her quick thinking and apt use of 
first-aid measures.
     Lusena perceived that the Rowan was surprised at praise from any 
quarter and shrugged it off, but Lusena could tell the girl was 
pleased.  Unfortunately, moria noticed, and affected a little squeal as 
Turian, his expression worried, rubbed lotion on the long, thin sting 
welts.  Also unfortunately, moria proved to be one of the nine out of a 
thousand who had an allergic reaction to sting toxins and Turian 
cranked up the engine to get the girl to hospital with all dispatch.
     The others took turns applying cool sea-water compresses to the 
malevolently swollen flesh.  moria had good reasons now to moan `I 
think she did it on purpose,' the Rowan confided to Purza that evening 
after moria had been treated and then sedated.  `I don't know what 
she's trying to prove, except that she's real silly, because moria's no 
match for the woman Turian's living with' Lusena was a trifle surprised 
that the Rowan had dipped into Turian's mind that way.  Or maybe she 
hadn't.  Turian had allowed her to take a turn at the sloop's helm on 
the return voyage.  They had been deep in discussion which might have 
covered more than the mechanics of powered sailing.  The Rowan seemed 
to elicit information from a wide range of personalities.
     `moria's stupid,' the Rowan remarked to the pukha, `but she's 
determined not to be limited to childish activities.  Maybe I should 
warn Lusena to watch out.  No?
     You don't think I should.  Yes, I suspect you're right.
     Lusena doesn't miss much, does she?' And the Rowan giggled 
sleepily, for that moment very much a young girl.
     That was the end of that evening's monologue.  And Lusena had been 
warned.  moria was much improved the next day but quite genuinely not 
up to much activity.
     Though the inflammation was reduced, the welts were raw and red.
     moria quickly became bored with her invalid state and Lusena 
suggested games.  If moria won she avidly wished to continue but once 
she started losing, she wanted to try something else.  Emer and Talba 
were amenable, so was the Rowan during the morning.  But, after lunch, 
in a partnered computer game which moria and Emer lost to the Rowan and 
Talba, moria accused the Rowan of cheating!
     `You couldn't win by that much of a score unless you were cheating 
somehow.  Talba's no good at this, so how could you possibly win?' 
moria complained in a carrying snarl which brought Lusena instantly 
into the room.
     None of the girls knew that the Rowan was Talented.
     That had been one of the reasons Lusena had picked children who 
hadn't previously met the girl.
     `Talba is so good at Fighter Pilot,' the Rowan replied, putting a 
comforting arm about the younger girl.  `You're just not able to adjust 
to having a partner: you want to dominate and you don't win this game 
by dominating.' `You did cheat!  You did!' moria screamed, her face 
reddening and the sting marks turning dark suddenly.
     Talba stared at them, horrified.
     `Oh, you're really quite stupid, you know, the Rowan said in a 
tone that bore a strong resemblance to Siglen's.
     `There is no way to manipulate the components of this program from 
an external source and there's absolutely no point in cheating in a 
childish g' moria stared at her, too infuriated to do more than 
stutter.  Then abruptly she got control of herself, her color abated, 
and she leaned forward in an ominous threatening posture.  `How do you 
know there is no,' and then her tone and accent mocked the Rowan's cool 
speech, `way to manipulate the components of this program from an 
external source if you didn't try?' The Rowan stared at her with 
contempt and pity, and then she took the distressed Talba by the hand.
     `C'mon, we'll go for a walk on the beach until certain tempers 
calm down.' Lusena recognized that as a suggestion out of her own book 
but she decided to deal with moria now, and comfort Emer, who was as 
upset as her sister.  `Rowan is quite accurate, moria, that there IS no 
way to cheat at Fighter Pilot.  It's a matter of cooperation and fast 
reflexes.' It was possible, Lusena thought optimistically, that the 
drugs had had an adverse effect on moria to make her act in such a 
volatile manner.  Before the evening meal, she was contrite and managed 
a creditable apology to the Rowan on those grounds.  The Rowan accepted 
- unfortunately almost too casually, for moria hated to admit she might 
be in the wrong to a younger person - and appeared far more interested 
in the dinner menu.
     Sometimes the Rowan could be extremely adult in her attitudes and 
perceptions, and then revert to childlike indifference.  In this 
instance, she ought to have used more empathy with moria, and didn't.
     Lusena caught the expression on moria's face and maintained a 
stronger presence when all four girls were together.
     moria was able to swim the next day and that evening they all went 
to the amusement park.  The amenities for young people included a 
carousel which enchanted the Rowan: horses and bills and lionets and 
catarons and two amazing sea creatures that even the attendant could 
not identify.  But the outside circles of beasts rose up and down with 
the motion of the carousel and if a rider caught ten of the brass 
rings, he won a free ride.
     moria insisted on riding just behind the Rowan who caught every 
ring she reached for.  The mechanism did not recharge fast enough for 
moria to acquire one.  She changed places on the next ride but she was 
not as agile as the Rowan.  By now Lusena was aware of the tension and 
watched both girls closely.  The Rowan was not using her kinetic 
ability to catch rings, of that Lusena was positive: the girl was 
simply more deft, with excellent timing so that it didn't matter if her 
cataron was up or down or midway, the Rowan collected a ring with each 
circuit.
     Nothing would do then but for moria to insist they go onward to 
one of the other rides.
     `Rowan's got enough rings to do two free circuits,' Emer pointed 
to the rings Rowan played with, her index fingers touching and her 
hands tipping the roll of rings up and down.
     `Oh, I'll go on if you want to,' and with that the Rowan tipped 
the rings into the collection maw.  `Where will we go next?' Why her 
willingness should infuriate moria, Lusena couldn't understand.  The 
rest of the excursion was somehow colored by moria's seething fury 
which communicated itself to Emer and Talba.  The Rowan seemed 
oblivious.
     `That girl wants for manners, the Rowan told Purza that evening.
     `She made Emer and Talba miserable and Lusena' 5 worried.  Should 
I find out what's bothering moria?  No?  Well, I know it's not done but 
I really don't want to spend the rest of my holiday appeasing that old 
bouzma.  I have to do that all the time with Siglen.  If I just .  . .
     No?  I can't?  Even to lighten up our holiday?  Can I not just 
lean on her a bit when she gets particularly antsy?  Just a little!
     It'd make things a lot easier all `round.
     OK!  I promise.  Just a little!' Most of that night went by 
sleeplessly for Lusena as she reviewed the conversation.  The Rowan had 
clearly displayed an understanding of Talent ethics.  Leaning wasn't a 
violation exactly, not even a genuine intrusion of mental privacy, 
Lusena conceded: a little leaning often did a lot of good and she had 
applied leans on the Row an in her early years.  It was the most minor 
of infractions of the basic Law but she would monitor the Rowan.
     Talents, particularly Primes, had to be so careful of their 
interactions.
     The Rowan did lean on moria the next morning at the first note of 
petulance.  It was adroitly done, Lusena thought, and it certainly did 
improve the atmosphere at the breakfast table.  The morning was spent 
pleasantly in swimming on their private beach.  The Rowan was careful 
to keep her `tan' slightly less bronze than moria's and to comment 
wistfully that she would never attain the lovely shade moria had 
acquired.
     That evening Lusena took them all to a concert in the open air 
amphitheater, a re-creation of an ancient structure with brilliant 
acoustics.  The program was varied, suiting many tastes in a 
vacationing public.  At the conclusion, an announcement indicated that 
the last group would be playing dance music at the Regency.
     Naturally moria begged to be allowed to go.  `Who needs a partner?
     There's sure to be some unaccompanied boys wanting to dance.  I 
just know it.  There were hundreds in the audience.  Oh, please, 
Lusena.
     The others can sit and listen.  Emer adores this group anyway.
     She wouldn't mind.  And if Rowan's never been to a dance, this 
would be an intro.  Please, please.' moria might come from a 
sophisticated household but Lusena did not believe her parents would 
condone her attendance at a hotel dance no matter how the girl pleaded.
     So she flatly refused and took the girls home.  moria coming up 
with more and more reasons why they should attend.  Lusena was so worn 
out by her whining that she almost leaned on the girl herself and 
wondered why the Rowan didn't.
     Lusena was startled then, two hours later, when the Rowan knocked 
at her door `She's gone!' `Who's gone?' Lusena exclaimed inanely.
     `Why?  Were you peeking?' `I didn't need to, not with her climbing 
down the trellis and making a lot of noise,' the Rowan said.  Then, 
looking Lusena straight in the eye, went on.  `She was also 
broadcasting as loud as if she'd Talent.  She doesn't like me, you 
know.  `moria's at a very difficult stage in adolescence,' Lusena felt 
obliged to explain.
     `Well, she's NOT an adult.  She's far too silly and she could get 
in a lot of trouble at the Regency.  The boys she wants to attract were 
popping junk at the concert.  They won't know one end from another by 
now.' The Rowan paused, concentrating, scowling.  `They don't.  She'll 
be in big trouble if she meets them.  She's wearing gauzes.
     `How much of a head start does she have?' Lusena zipped herself 
into the nearest clothes to hand.
     `You should catch her on the main road.  Unless she gets a ride 
but I don't see any vehicle going her way along that road.
     A very sullen moria was retrieved.  When she quite accurately 
blamed the Rowan as her informant, Lusena did her best to center 
moria's thoughts on her willful disobedience, detailing the 
consequences of such irrational behavior.  moria smarted under the 
lecture, though when Lusena mentioned that the boys at the concert had 
been popping, the girl did pause thoughtfully.
     `I'm not a parent, moria,' Lusena said sternly, `but I am in 
charge and you are grounded!' When moria raised her head challenging 
that authority, Lusena leaned and moria's eyes widened with surprise.
     `You're a Talent!' `It runs in the family,' Lusena remarked drily.
     `Or doesn't your father ever mention his?' moria stared at Lusena 
as if she'd sprouted wings or horns.  `The more fool he,' Lusena 
muttered and gestured firmly for moria to get into her room.  `You'll 
be staying there tomorrow!' Because she intended to enforce that 
punishment, the original plans for the next day had to be altered.
     Lusena said that moria would be keeping to her room and neither 
Emer nor Talba questioned it, completely ignorant of the early-morning 
episode.  The Rowan announced that she wanted to swim as the waves 
looked energetic enough to surf on.
     Lusena joined them later, having checked that moria was still 
deeply asleep.  She kept in touch with the girl's mind when she did 
wake, listening to the grousing and complaining as moria ate the meal 
left for her and idled about the room.  Lusena caught a glimpse of her 
on the balcony, observing the others down on the beach and then the 
girl withdrew, her thoughts most uncomplimentary and her resentment 
aimed at the Rowan.  Lusena wondered if she would have to send moria 
home prematurely.
     The holiday had been arranged for the Rowan's benefit not moria's.
     The Rowan had caught the knack of riding the rolling combers back 
to the beach.  The sea was rough but not overly so and there was no 
undertow on this beach so when the girls clamored for Lusena to join 
them, she did so, keeping a light touch on moria's mind They were all 
riding the crest of one large wave when Lusena heard the Rowan give a 
terrible shout.  There was a look of agony on her face so intense that 
Lusena probed to find out what had injured the girl.  But the pain was 
psychic.  Frantically propelling herself through the comber, the Rowan 
staggered on to the beach and started running for the house, mentally 
broadcasting a shout that nearly deafened Lusena.
     DON'T!  YOU CAN'T!  YOU MUSTN'T!  YOU'RE KILLING HER!
     Shrieks now came from another source - moria!
     ROWAN!  YOU CAN'T, YOU MUSTN'T DESCEND TO HER LEVEL!  Lusena tried 
to free herself from the wave, was tumbled about roughly and came up, 
gasping for breath.  She wasn't kinetic but somehow she was on the path 
with no recollection of having reached it and running as fast as she 
could toward the house.  She saw the Rowan on the balcony outside her 
room and then a final shriek from .  . . Lusena could not immediately 
identify the source but the pain came from an anguished soul.
     Panting with exertion, she finally reached the Rowan's room.
     moria was crouched in one corner, knees drawn up to her head, her 
arms wrapped over it, whimpering in jagged little cries.  The Rowan 
stood in the center of the room, her face a mask of grief, of 
unimaginable sorrow as she stood, clutching the Purza's head, its fur 
shorn in hunks about her, its dismembered limbs cut into many pieces.
     Some force prevented Lusena from entering and she sagged against 
the threshold, trying to find some way to comfort the Rowan, knowing 
there was none.  Then, as she regained her breath after her exertions, 
she blinked to clear her eyes, thinking at first that sweat clouded her 
vision.  But no, slowly the hacked pieces of the pukha were 
reassembling themselves in a feat of kinetic reconstruction that Lusena 
doubted few but a potential Prime could have managed.  The Rowan knelt, 
placing the pukha head where the rest of its body could rejoin it.  She 
knelt there stroking the length of the creature, crooning to it.
     `Purza?  Purza?  Please speak to me.  Tell me you're all right!
     Purza?  Purza!  Please, it's Rowan.  I need you!  Talk to me!' 
Lusena bowed her head, tears streaming down salt encrusted cheeks, 
knowing the magic, and the Rowan's childhood, were gone.
     `I was under the distinct impression that this holiday would have 
brightened the child,' Siglen said, rattling her necklace of thick blue 
beads irritably.  Her heavy face was drawn down into petulant lines.
     She didn't like hearing that her magnanimity in permitting the 
Rowan to take such an unprecedented holiday had not been a complete 
success.
     `Unfortunately,' Lusena began uncertainly, `I erred in my choice 
of companions.  There was a serious confrontation between the Rowan and 
one of the girls.  Up until that point, the Rowan was thoroughly 
enjoying the respite.  My niece is at a very difficult age .  . .` she 
faltered.
     `A childish spat?  Which results in four days of melancholic 
behavior?' Siglen was disgusted.
     `Girls verging on puberty are so vulnerable, so easily upset.
     And,' Lusena went on quickly, for Siglen's face was falling into a 
pontifical mode, `ridiculous things can sometimes get magnified all out 
of proportion to their true significance.  The Rowan is, as you know, 
basically a sensible and well-balanced youngster.  But ` and here 
Lusena faltered again.  Siglen had always been contemptuous of the 
Rowan's dependence on the pukha.  Siglen's
     fingers made the rhythmic rattle of impatience on the hollow 
beads.  Lusena took a deep breath and plunged on.
     the wanton destruction of the pukha was devastating.' Siglen's 
eyes bulged with indignation.  Her fingers gripped the necklace so hard 
that Lusena worried that the chain would snap.
     `I told you that pukha should have been phased out long ago.  Now 
you see what comes of ignoring my advice!  I will have no more 
temperamental fits from the Rowan.  She's to be on duty in the Tower at 
the usual hour tomorrow.  I'll tolerate no further delinquency.
     Especially for such a specious reason.  As it is, I shall have to 
report her dereliction to Reidinger.  Primes must be responsible.  Duty 
first!  Personal considerations come a long way down the list.  Now, 
try to imbue that in your charge.  Or,' and Siglen shook an ominous 
finger at Lusena, `you will be replaced.' Shaking with outrage at the 
woman's insensitivity, Lusena stalked down the ramp from Siglen's 
Tower.  She was so upset that she almost didn't hear Gerolaman's 
`hsst!' He looked ill-at-ease - no, conspiratorial - for there was a 
decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes.  Mystified, she followed him to a 
small closet.
     `Look, it isn't the pukha, Lusena, but, with a bit of luck, it'll 
be something to help her,' the stationmaster said and flipped up the 
cover of a caribox.
     Lusena exclaimed in amazement and a sudden spurt of hope.  `A 
barquecat?  Who did you bribe to find one?
     They're unobtainable!' She peered in at the mottled bundle of the 
curled-up cub and drew back the hand that inadvertently went to stroke 
it.  `It's the loveliest colors,' she said, admiring the pattern on the 
tawny fur ends and the deep creamy base that highlighted the markings.
     `How did you find one so like Purza's fur?  Oh dear,' and Lusena 
dropped into anxiety again.  `Maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea 
right now.' `I thought of that aspect myself, but this was the only cub 
left and only because I wanted it for the Rowan would they give me the 
option.  Of course, I have to give him back if he doesn't take to the 
Rowan.' `Will it adapt to surface life?' Lusena asked, having to hold 
her hands tightly behind her in her overwhelming desire to stroke the 
sleeping beast.  Barquecats had that effect on people.
     `No fear.  It's cruiser bred so it's more accustomed to gravity 
than most but it'll have to be sequestered in the Rowan's quarters.
     One, the mutation's never been cleared for Altair and two, they 
absolutely cannot be allowed to crossbreed.  I had to swear an oath of 
blood to neuter him when he's six months just in case he did get out.
     He's got a clean vet-cert because the rest of the Mayotte's litter 
was still in quarantine, pending dispersal.  They're just weaned.' `You 
are a real gem, Gerry.  I've despaired.  She just sits and looks at the 
pieces of Purza, tears streaming down her face.  She hasn't said a word 
since she got back.  I've even tried some pretty severe metamorphics on 
her which usually restore balance but they didn't dent her depression 
this time.' `And her?' Gerolaman jerked a thumb over his shoulder in 
the direction of Siglen's Tower.
     `Siglen wouldn't know an emotion if it bit her.  She put me down 
smartly because the holiday was my idea.' `Don't blame yourself, 
Lusena.' `I do.  I thought I was a good judge of character and 
compatibility.  And my own niece, at that!' `Trouble is, the Rowan's 
not around her own age often enough `The Rowan acted with great dignity 
and common sense.  My niece is wretchedly spoiled, self-centered, 
arrogant, envious, and determined to have the last word.
     It was NO fault of Rowan's.' Gerolaman patted Lusena's shoulder.
     `Of course not.' Lusena groaned, shaking her head.  `And Siglen's 
reporting the Rowan's delinquency,' and she grimaced over the word, `to 
Reidinger!' Gerolaman raised his eyebrows high and gave an amused 
snort.  `That might just be a blessing in disguise, you know.
     Reidinger's got more sense than Siglen.  Always had.  That's why 
he's Earth Prime.  You did know, didn't you, that Siglen fancied 
herself for the job?  Well, she didn't get it and it rankles her mortal 
soul.
     Don't you fret her telling Reidinger.' He gave Lusena a final pat 
on the back before handing her the covered barquecat box.  `Try this 
and see.  You'll know quickly enough if the critter won't accept her.' 
He winked.  `I don't think I'll need to bring it back to the Mayotte.' 
Carrying the box with great care, Lusena hurried down the corridors to 
the Rowan's quarters.  At the very least the Rowan would appreciate the 
honor she was accorded in having a chance to acquire a precious 
barquecat.
     They were as special as pukhas, only alive and as independent as 
the bobcat, from which they had mutated in the century of space 
exploration and travel.  Some say they had evolved from those early 
felines as far as man had evolved from the ape.  And with a suitable 
increase in intelligence.  There was a widespread notion that 
barquecats were telepathic but no Talent had ever had communication 
with them, not even those with strong empathies to animals.  Barquecats 
were equally comfortable in free-fall or gravity.  Most marked was 
their ability to adjust to sudden alterations.  Barquecats had been 
known to survive space wrecks which killed all humans aboard.
     Scouts or small crews insisted on having a barquecat as companion 
on cruises of any duration beyond the range of a Prime Station.  Some 
likened them to the canaries ancient colliers had carried deep into 
shafts, for the barquecats invariably noticed pressure alterations too 
minute for humans, and instrumentation.  They were said to be 
responsible for saving thousands of lives with this faculty and they 
could lead repairmen unerringly to the source of a leak, ping, or 
fracture.  Traditionally, they lived on the vermin that infested every 
type of commissioned vessel but in fact they were the first to be fed 
in the galley.  Their breeding was carefully monitored by their ship 
crews and the progeny were scrupulously registered.  The placement of 
barquecat cubs took as much time, discussion, and power plays as 
ancient historical marriages between heads of state.
     Despite that, adult barquecats were laws unto themselves, 
bestowing affection and favors in whimsical fashion.  To be accepted by 
a barquecat was considered a mark of esteem.
     As she hurried to the Rowan's quarters Lusena fretted briefly.  It 
could be traumatic if the barquecat didn't accept the Rowan.  Possibly 
it could complicate the Rowan's melancholy to be rejected again so soon 
after moria's antic.  Something had to happen to break through her self 
absorption.  And the girl knew all about the peculiarities of 
barquecats.
     `It's worth the risk,' Lusena muttered to herself and touched the 
doorpad.  It swooshed open and Lusena had to blink to adjust her eyes 
to the gloom.  Once again the Rowan had reduced the illumination to a 
funereal level.
     Ruthlessly, Lusena spun the rheostat to a bright daylight.
     `Rowan?  Come out of your bedroom this instant!  I have something 
to show you!' Lusena infused mind and voice with nebulous hints of 
surprise and anticipation.  The Rowan was still young enough to have an 
insatiable curiosity She placed the box on the low table between the 
main seating units and dropped with a sigh of relief on to the one 
facing the Rowan's room.  She let her pleasure at her surprise ripple 
through her thoughts as she waited.  In part, Lusena agreed with Siglen 
that this melancholy had gone on quite long enough.  Loss is measured 
on varying personal scales, but loss was still what the Rowan had 
unquestionably suffered in Purza's destruction.
     Lusena continued to wait, rather longer than she expected, until 
the door opened and a wan Rowan appeared.
     `Gerolaman has indentured his mortal soul for you, Lusena told her 
charge in a conversational tone of voice.
     `It'll be up to it,' and she pointed to the box, `whether or not 
it'll take to you.  Especially as you're not really yourself at the 
moment.  So I don't know if I'm doing you a favor or not.' Lusena was 
pleased to see that she had fired the Rowan's interest, if not 
enthusiasm.  The girl took slow steps into the room, raising her chin 
slightly to peer over the back of the couch to see what was on the 
table.  Lusena waited until the Rowan came round before she motioned 
her to sit.  Still moving like a badly lubricated android, the Rowan 
flopped down.  She looked at the box and then at Lusena, who felt the 
first pressure of query against her mind.
     Lusena flipped back the cover and the Rowan's response was all 
that Lusena could wish: delight and incredulity.
     `Is it really a barquecat?' she asked, her eyes flicking up to 
Lusena's face with the first glint they'd held since that morning at 
Favor Bay.  Impulsively she reached out and then secured her arms to 
her ribcage, knowing better than to disturb a barquecat's slumber.
     `A really truly live barquecat cub.  Even if it doesn't like you, 
remember to be very grateful to Gerolaman for the chance.' `Oh, it's so 
lovely.  I've never seen a fur so spectacularly marked and lustrous.
     Tawny tips and creamy base and such an unusual pattern on the 
tips!
     There wasn't one like that in the Animal Index of the Galaxy.
     It's simply the most lovely creature I've ever seen.' Once again 
her hands fluttered over the caribox.  `Lusena, when will it wake?
     What do we feed it?  How can we hide it from her?' `I don't know, 
it's omnivorous, and she never intrudes on your quarters.' Lusena 
answered all the questions in one breath, immensely relieved at the 
girl's resurgence.
     `So as long as it doesn't escape, Siglen's not likely to know it's 
here.' Even if they had to return the cub, its presence had shaken the 
Rowan into some awareness beyond her loss.
     `Oh, look, it's stretching.  What do I do now, `Sena?
     What if it doesn't like us?' Her face suddenly went dull again.
     `Purza had to like me but the cub doesn't `Well, we'll just have 
to hope it fends merit in you, then, won't we?' Lusena was certain that 
she had struck just the right note in her reply.  For all her Talent, 
for all the potential of her ability, and despite more frequent 
glimpses of maturity, enough of the child still remained in the Rowan 
to require support and reassurance.  Could a tiny bundle of fur provide 
that need?
     It stirred.  The tiny mouth opened and the white fangs were 
visible around a pale pink tongue curling in a yawn.
     The dainty seven-fingered toes of the front paws extended the tiny 
blunt claws of the breed.  Its back arched and it twitched its full 
banded tail before rolling on to its stomach.  Then it opened its 
silvery-blue eyes, the pupils mere slits in the bright room.
     It looked with momentary disdain at Lusena whom it was facing 
before it turned its classic head toward the Rowan.  With one of the 
grating cries for which the breed was famous, it rose to all fours and 
with great deliberation padded over to the girl.  Lifting its forepaws 
to the edge of the box, it tilted its head inquiringly at her.
     `Oh, you darling!' the Rowan said in a whisper and slowly extended 
a finger for the barquecat to sniff.  It did so and then promptly 
butted the finger with its head, turning slightly so that the Rowan 
could scratch behind the delicate ear.  `Lusena, I've never felt 
anything so soft.
     Not even .  .` she broke off but more because the barquecat was 
insisting on an energetic caress than because she couldn't finish the 
sentence.  `It wants to drink.  Water.' The Rowan blinked.
     `It didn't ever speak to you, did it?' Lusena was astonished.
     Quickly the Rowan shook her head.  `No, it didn't speak to me.  I 
felt no mind-touch at all.  But undeniably I know that it is thirsty, 
specifically for water.
     `Well!' and Lusena brought both hands down hard on her knees and 
rose.  `If that's what that rascal wants, then water it shall have.' 
She tried to keep the elation she felt within bounds as she headed for 
the kitchen alcove.
     `I have been awful, haven't I, Luse?' asked the Rowan in a soft, 
apologetic tone.
     `Not awful, Rowan, but terribly bruised by Purza's loss.' `Silly 
then.  Mourning the loss of an inanimate object.' Lusena returned with 
a bowl of water which she handed to the Rowan.  `Purza was never an 
inanimate object in your eyes.
     Just as the Rowan put the bowl in the caribox, there was a quick 
rap on the door.  She had the lid down when the door slid open and an 
anxious-faced Bralla came in.
     `I was so positive we had one that I never thought to really look 
. . - sorry to be so abrupt but she's in such a state .  . . Bralla 
looked from one face to another, her body in a posture of entreaty.
     `What are you talking about, Bralla?' Lusena asked, for the T-4
     often forgot to project.
     `You DO have a recent hologram of the Rowan, don't you, Lusena?
     Surely you took some at Favor Bay?' `I did, but why the flap?' 
Lusena had no trouble finding the holograms which she hadn't even 
unpacked from the caricase.  There were several very good ones of the 
Rowan.
     Lusena picked one of her, smiling, standing alone by the stern of 
the boat, her silver hair wind-whipped like a bright, ragged ensign.
     `Oh, thank goodness, Bralla stopped fluttering for a moment.
     `Reidinger insists on having a recent hologram of you, Rowan.  It 
has to be dispatched immediately and I can tell you, Siglen's in no 
mood on account of that, too.  Oh, now that's a very nice one!' She 
threw a pleased smile at the Rowan who was trying as unobtrusively as 
possible to keep the barquecat from poking the lid up with an 
importunate head.
     `This is perfect.  Though I don't know as you'll ever get it back.
     Shall I copy first?' `If you would .  . .` and Lusena wasn't sure 
if Bralla heard the request for she was out of the door as if `ported 
away.
     `Why would Reidinger want a recent hologram of me?' the Rowan 
asked, hastily lifting the confining lid over the now squalling 
barquecat.  It was not the least bit interested in leaving its box but 
it evidently resented being covered.
     After a cursory look about the room, it went back to drinking.
     `I'm not really sure,' Lusena said, covering her thoughts because 
she knew exactly why Reidinger wanted one: he could then focus his 
thoughts directly to the Rowan.  Oh dear!  Would she be up to the sort 
of a searching interview for which Reidinger was famous?  Lusena looked 
down at her ward, at her total absorption in the barquecat and gave a 
discreet sigh of relief.  If Reidinger gave her even half a chance…
 When 
the cub had finished drinking and had eaten sparingly of milk-soaked 
bread, it preened briefly and then curled up for another nap to rest 
from such arduous exercise.  As soon as its breathing settled, the 
Rowan made for the keyboard and accessed information on barquecats, 
fact and fiction `What he should eat,' she said, handing Lusena the 
first few pages, `and what he is likely to want to eat.  I want to 
catch Gerolaman before he leaves for the day.  Be right back.' She was 
out the door before Lusena could protest.  Oh, Lord, what time was it 
on Earth?  Lusena ground her teeth.  She wanted to be near the Rowan 
when - and if Reidinger did contact her directly.
     By that evening, there was no doubt that Rascal approved of the 
Rowan.  Waking from his second nap, the cub had looked around for a 
litter box (for Lusena had thought to provide a temporary affair) and 
then hauled himself up her arm, settling companionably on her shoulder, 
claws hooked into the fabric of her shirt.
     `Don't fuss, Luse,' the Rowan told her, `he's not sinking them in 
deep.' She giggled and gave a funny shudder.  `But his whiskers tickle.
     There, now, Rascal.' Although the cub appeared to be settling down 
for a lengthy residence, he suddenly vaulted from the Rowan's shoulder 
to the back of the couch, running along it to the opposite end.  He 
turned then and sat glaring at the girl accusingly.
     `What on earth did I do?' `Why -. .` Lusena began in surprise and 
then saw the Rowan suddenly tense to an erect sitting position.
     `Yes, Prime Reidinger?' I've been meaning to address you directly, 
Rowan, the deep voice said as clear as if he had been beside her on the 
couch and speaking audibly.  Even I, and Reidinger added a chuckle, 
require a talisman on which to focus and I have added your hologram to 
those on my special access list.  I have, by the way, informed Siglen 
that you are to take whatever regular holidays are current in Altair's 
schooling system.  She may drive herself but there are rules which 
apply to minor children that must be observed.
     I haven't minded, Prime Reidinger.  There is a lot to be learned
 A loyal child, too.  The discussion I just had with Siglen should clear 
the air over several misapprehensions on her part.
     And about your future training.  Let me make this plain to you as 
well.  Rowan: you have the right to contact me directly on any question 
you might have.  A suitable hologram is on its way to you to make that 
contact easier.  You have the range.  The Rowan heard the smile in his 
voice.  Use it.  You should also be receiving holograms from David of 
Betelgeuse and Capella.
     It won't hurt for you to get to reach them mentally from time to 
time.  Good practice as well.  They both studied with Siglen.
     The Rowan caught the dry note in his mental tone and wondered 
about it.
     One more thing: Gerolaman is to conduct a Tower Basics course and 
I wish you to join his students.  Tower management is not merely 
mental, you know.  There was a distinct pause and the Rowan wasn't sure 
if she should respond with thanks for his intercession or what.  You 
have a barquecat cub?  Well, my dear young lady, you have been honored.
     Yes, sir, I think so, too.  And thank you for the holidays and the 
Basics course and .  . . and everything.
     Never fear, Rowan.  I'll take it all out of your hide at a later 
date.
     Then the space he had occupied in her mind abruptly became empty 
and the Rowan blinked with surprise.
     `Rowan?' asked Lusena tentatively, leaning across the table to 
touch her hand.
     `Earth Prime Reidinger was speaking to me,' she replied and then 
she looked down the length of the couch to the tawny cub.  `He knew 
about Rascal,' she added in a mystified tone.
     `Reidinger probably would,' Lusena remarked caustically, glancing 
quickly at the cub as he now marched toward the Rowan again along the 
back of the couch.
     `How could he?' Lusena shrugged.  `The Reidinger Family have 
always had unusual Talents and perceptions.  They've been Talents for 
centuries.  What else did he say?' The Rowan grinned with pure malice.
     `I'm to have the same holidays that schools give here.  And I'm to 
join Gerolaman's course on Tower Basics.' Lusena paused.  `I didn't 
know he was giving one.
     The Rowan laughed.  `According to Reidinger he is.' `Then he is.' 
When Gerolaman arrived late that evening to check on the cub's settling 
in, he was looking exceedingly pleased with himself.  He accepted the 
brew that Lusena offered and sat opposite the Rowan, whose lap was 
occupied by a fist-sized ball of fur.  He raised his glass to her.
     `I thought you'd make the grade.  I'll make it official and you'll 
get the papers direct from the Captain of the Mayotte.  He said to tell 
you Rascal is from a line of real champions.' `I can see that,' the 
Rowan replied, smiling fatuously at the sleeper.  She hadn't so much as 
twitched a muscle since Rascal had curled up after his supper.
     `It's been a good day,' Gerolaman said, stretching comfortably.
     `Placed a barquecat and got notice that a fully subscribed class 
of young T-4s and 5s are arriving next week all the way from Earth, to 
learn what there is to know about Tower management and maintenance.
     Siglen says that it's a mark of her standing in FT&T that Altair 
has been chosen.' Gerolaman winked at Lusena who chuckled.  `You're 
included, Rowan.  I was told to inform you myself.  You'll be in the 
Tower as usual in the mornings, but you'll attend my classes in the 
afternoon and evening.  OK?' The Rowan nodded acknowledgment and Lusena 
silently applauded her discretion.
     `I haven't taught you all I know yet by a long stretch, but now 
it's official.  You mind yourself with these imported Talents, girl.
     It's a mixed bag, T-4s, 5s, kinetics, empaths, a couple of 
mechanicals, but only one true telepath.  Still, it'll give you more 
insight into some of the other manifestations of Talent.  And perhaps a 
friend or two your own age.' `How many?' Lusena asked, noting the 
Rowan's sudden wariness.
     `Eight, I'm told.' `That many?  Surely Siglen won't permit them to 
be quartered at the Station?' `Not on Station.  Over at the guest 
facility,' Gerolaman replied with a knowing grin.  `My wife's moving in 
to keep them under control.  Not much gets past Samella even if she is 
only a T-6.  Strong empathy, especially for teenage nonsense.  Smells 
it before it can happen.' He drained his brew and rose.  `I've got a 
lot to organize before they get here so I'll leave you, ladies.  Oh, 
and I'll get you what you need for the cub on my way home.  The Mayotte 
Captain gave me a list.  Bring it in tomorrow.' The Rowan once again 
expressed her deep gratitude for the barquecat.
     `I should have thought to get you one a long time ago, Rowan,' 
Gerolaman said in a gruff voice and, with a curt nod of his head at 
Lusena, left.
     The next day the Rowan found that Siglen was by no means delighted 
with the thought of her Station as a training facility.  But this 
distracted her to the exclusion of any other topic, including the 
Rowan's recent behavior.
     Siglen fired orders to Bralla and Gerolaman who, the Rowan 
observed, both pretended to be disgruntled over the `invasion'.  They 
had so many complaints to lodge with Siglen over suitable 
accommodations, lecture room, which part of the big landing field 
beyond the Tower would be far enough away to avoid interference with 
these lamebrained numskulls that they'd have to pamper and instruct.
     By midday, Siglen got so flustered that she rounded on Bralla.
     `If Earth Prime Reidinger has chosen Altair for this course, then 
we must cooperate with him in every possible way, and I am heartily 
tired of listening to your laments.
     Prime Reidinger knows exactly what he's doing.  And that's the end 
of that.' The Rowan could not help but notice the sly and secret glint 
in Bralla's eye: the diversion was successful; Siglen had had to resort 
to upholding Reidinger's decision.  The Rowan began to look forward to 
having company in her lessons.
     Later, when she asked Gerolaman, he handed her the ID file on his 
prospective pupils.
     `Facts and figures and holograms, he told her with a grin.  `Get 
to know them a little.  They won't know you're not the same general 
level as they are: Reidinger's orders,' he added when she stared in 
surprise.  `That's why there `re no indigenous Talents in the course.
     Make it easier for you to integrate in the group.' She took the 
file back to her quarters and ran it.  Each entry included a hologram, 
academic record, and a coded strip, obscuring private details from 
prying eyes but the open information reassured the Rowan.  Three boys 
and one girl were Earthborn: the twin brother and sister who were only 
a few months her junior, came from Procyon, the other two girls were 
Capellans.
     She called up the holograms and sat for a long while examining the 
likenesses and trying to imagine the personalities.  She stared longest 
at one of the Earth boys because Barinov was as handsome as a tri-d 
performer, with blond and curly hair that he wore long to his bare 
shoulders: he'd been hologrammed in swimming briefs.
     He deserved to be.  He was as muscular and gorgeous as Turian.
     And only three years older than she.  It was just as well moria 
wasn't Talented.  Then Rascal managed one of his incredible leaps from 
her tape sheif to her shoulder, demanding attention now that he had 
awakened from his latest nap.
     The students all arrived on the same official passenger shuttle 
which the Rowan and Gerolaman met.  They had obviously had a chance to 
become acquainted during the short transfer.  They were in high spirits 
as they crowded through the doorway, laughing and joking, their 
personal effects bags bobbing behind them in a display of kinetic 
skill.  Then one of the boys noticed Gerolaman and the Rowan and two of 
the bags dropped to the ground.
     `Tsk, tsk,' Gerolaman said, grinning a welcome.  `Stationmaster 
Gerolaman, T-5, and your instructor in this course.' He nudged the 
Rowan discreetly who was staring at Barinov.  He was even more handsome 
in the flesh, even flesh covered by casual clothing.
     `My name is Rowan,' she said.  `I hope you'll like it here on 
Altair.' She berated herself for her lapse in manners and smiled 
impartially around.  She felt two, no, four distinct mental touches, 
more like handshakes than intrusions.  She let them see her excitement 
at meeting new Talents and deflected.
     `Sure beats gloomy old Earth,' one of the boys said, raising a 
hand in greeting.  The Rowan recognized him from the hologram as Ray 
Loftus, born in the South African mega-city.  He shaded his eyes with 
one hand as he looked across the flat landing field toward Port's low 
skyline and whistled.  `Is that all the city you folks got?' he asked, 
adding a low disparaging whistle.
     `Abort, Ray,' laughed Patsy Kearn.  `Don't let him make fun of 
your city, Rowan.  That's all he's used to, cities.' `Not cities, Pat, 
city, a proper high-tech skyscraping city,' Joe Toglia said, making 
outlines of huge buildings with a flailing of arms.  `I'm as much 
citified as he is even if my folks live at the perimeter of Midwest 
metro.  Hi, there, Rowan.  The Rowan responded to the friendly warmth 
emanating from the two Procyons, Mauli and Mick, the twin empaths.
     Theirs was a curious Talent since it had an echo effect: the 
second mind reinforcing what the first mind projected.  They weren't 
even attempting to shield so anyone could hear them.
     No-one quite knows what to do with that trick, Mauli told the 
Rowan.
     They would like to very much, Mick spoke almost simultaneously.
     They're certain we can be extremely useful If they can only figure 
out where, how, why.
     `That's enough of that,' Gerolaman said, scowling in mock reproof 
at all three.  `Not all of us are telepaths.  But every one of you 
knows the proper manners to display, don't you?  Now, whichever of you 
is kinetic, bring the gear and we'll get you settled in your quarters.' 
He shooed them toward the big passenger land vehicle.
     The Rowan clambered in last and sat next to the tall thin 
dark-haired Capellan, Goswina, who had a very private air about her.
     There was the faintest tinge of green to her skin.  Her eyes were 
also greenish, but closer to yellow.
     Seth and Barinov appeared to be continuing an argument but Barinov 
looked right at the Rowan and winked.  She wasn't quite sure what she 
should do.  She certainly wasn't going to imitate moria's arch coyness.
     `Altair is a lovely planet,' Goswina said in a gentle voice and 
the Rowan was grateful for the interruption.  `Capella is a very harsh 
place.  Are those really trees?' She pointed toward the wooded hills 
rising behind Port Altair.
     `Oh, yes.' `And people can visit them?' `Oh, yes,' although the 
Rowan realized that she'd never been to the forest.  An uneasy memory 
stirred in her mind but she lost the thought as she saw the rapt 
expression on Goswina's face as she continued to gaze in that 
direction.
     `Will we be allowed to visit the forest?' `I don't see why not.
     You're eighteen and old enough to go unescorted anywhere.' `You 
don't have problems with indent gangs?' Goswina looked mildly relieved.
     The Rowan lifted the explanation of this phenomena from Goswina's 
public mind: indent meant indentured, and on Capella groups of 
indentured persons would often indulge in unlawful activities once 
their worktime was over.
     `Not on Altair.  We don't have that many indentured people here 
yet.' `You're lucky!  When there are a lot of them, they display the 
only talent they have: a propensity for violence.
     Then the land vehicle drew up in front of the guest accommodations 
and Ray Loftus whistled again, this time in appreciation.
     `Hey, not bad!  Not bad at all.  Glad I came!' He grinned broadly 
and hopped out of the vehicle, to be the first inside the facility.
     Samella was there and Ray's grin faded a little as he immediately 
recognized her supervisory attitude.
     The Rowan remained through introductory remarks from both 
Gerolaman and Samella on privileges, the conduct expected of the 
students, and handed out daily schedules.  Then each was assigned a 
room and told that they were free until the evening meal.
     `Aren't you staying, Rowan?' Goswina asked her as she turned to 
follow Gerolaman.
     `I have to stay in the Tower but I'll be back after The Rowan 
suppressed the fierce urge to teleport herself because Barinov was 
looking in her direction just then.  But, just in time, she remembered 
Gerolaman's warning.  A fourteen-year-old T-4 wouldn't be able to pull 
that sort of stunt yet.  Among other Talents, she didn't have to be 
quite so careful of using her abilities but it would be stupid to show 
off.  - Although she had been completely at her ease in that interview 
with Reidinger, it occurred to her that everyone else scrupulously 
obeyed him and she'd better, too.  If he wanted her to act no more 
Talented than a T-4, she would oblige.
     She was a bit surprised then when Gerolaman took her by the elbow 
and steered her back to the land vehicle.  He wasn't upset with her, 
his mind-touch the usual calm blue, with the yellow of laughter 
threading it, and the tang of him at a normal level.
     `No funny stuff, Rowan.  That's not part of this drill.
     Reidinger's orders!  Most of all, you don't swat an insect with a 
fifty-pound sledge, m'girl,' he murmured, grinning down at her.  But he 
ruffled her hair before she climbed into the vehicle.
     `Gotcha!' And she kept that advice firmly in the forepart of her 
mind over the next two months.  In the mornings while she was assisting 
Siglen, teleporting basic supplies to the outlying Claims, Gerolaman 
had the rest of them doing exercises she'd long learned and passed 
beyond.  She listened in and once in a while, when her stomach rolled 
with exasperation at Ray's awkwardness or Seth's incompetenceee, she'd 
give things a discreet push.  She didn't think Gerolaman noticed her 
minor interferences.
     She joined them in the afternoon for Gerolaman's lectures which 
covered every mechanical aspect of a Tower, including dismantling and 
reassembling of every piece of equipment and the diagnostic tests that 
would isolate a dysfunction.  Barinov and Seth were the mechanically 
apt Talents.  Gerolaman paired them with Ray and Goswina, timing them 
in reassembly.  Patsy Kearn was deft at micro-kinetics so she was 
teamed with Joe Toglia for computer-board repairs.  Then each of the 
students had to duplicate what others had done.  The Rowan had never 
had to work micro before and she found the exercise far more exhausting 
than assisting Siglen.  But she also found it exhilarating.
     Then Gerolaman set up situations which produced dysfunctions and 
each student had to write down (`and no peeking in anyone's head while 
you write,' Gerolaman warned) what they thought was the matter and how 
to repair it.
     It annoyed the Rowan that either Barinov or Seth finished their 
analysis first and smugly waited while the others thought the problem 
through, but she was more often correct than they were.
     `Arriving fast at the wrong answer can be more of a setback to a 
crippled Tower than taking that little bit longer and being accurate,' 
Gerolaman told the two, frowning at them.  `You two are supposed to be 
the mechanical Talents but Rowan's got a higher average of correct 
answers.  Tell the class exactly what led you to think this problem was 
caused by corrupted circuitry, Rowan.' She stammered at first in her 
explanation because Barinov's handsome face was sullen from the 
reprimand.
     Seth didn't mind as much but he wasn't the one that the Rowan 
wanted to attract.  Back in her own quarters after the session, she 
could not settle to anything, even to playing with Rascal who was in a 
vivacious humor, attacking pillows and rugs as if they were hostile 
enemies.
     Ordinarily his antics would have amused her.  She went to bed, 
still haunted by the sullen face of Barinov.
     To her complete surprise, the young man smiled broadly at her the 
next afternoon.  She was tempted to `path him to find out what had 
occasioned the sudden alteration, but Siglen's training was too strong.
     And the Rowan was half afraid to try for fear of what she might 
learn.
     It was enough that he had smiled at her.
     She could and did keep from competing so accurately against him, 
pretending that she hadn't taken metal fatigue into consideration on 
that day's problem.  She didn't miss Gerolaman's surprise and decided 
she'd better `pretend' a little less obviously.  However, when Barinov 
came over to sit by her at supper that night, smiling and friendly, she 
felt she had acted with discretion.
     `Look, we're all going into Port for a concert.  The twins are 
allowed so you should be able to come, too.  And we've talked Goswina 
into venturing forth so you'd be the only hold-out.  You haven't been 
grounded or anything, have you?' he added, noticing her hesitation.
     She also felt his mind push at hers and let him see that she 
wanted to come very much.  `So, ask Samella.  She cleared me for 
driving the landcar.' `I see no harm, Samella said with a shrug.  `It's 
a group activity.' The Rowan had to dampen her elation and was rather 
put out that there wouldn't be time for her to go back to the Tower not 
unless she teleported - and Samella's knowing glance canceled that 
notion.  Even if she just `lifted' a change of clothing from her closet 
to a toilet stall, there'd be questions.  But she was feminine enough 
to want to freshen up.
     `Don't delay, Rowan,' Barinov called after her.  `You look fine 
just the way you are.
     She wondered about that when she saw the smudges on her face and 
hands in the rest-room mirror.  Impartially, she examined herself: her 
dratted hair.  It just wasn't logical to be fourteen and silver haired, 
though there were other mutations that seemed less bizarre and no-one 
commented on them.  Her face was far too thin, narrow, with a pointy 
chin.  Her very thin high-arched eyebrows were at least fashionable but 
her eyes were too large for her face.  But she had a figure now: not 
much bosom but a big one would have made her look topheavy.  Why had 
Barinov smiled at her?  Especially after yesterday?  Maybe he wanted to 
figure out how she managed a higher percentage of correct answers.
     Well, two years in a busy Tower under Siglen's tutelage had not 
been useless even if Siglen still kept her to baby exercises.  Maybe 
when she finished this course creditably, Siglen might give her more 
responsibilities.
     The concert was very good indeed, with three bands and some 
extremely clever light and sound variations: much more sophisticated 
than the Favor Bay recital.  Barinov sat very close to her for the 
first part, his muscled thigh pressing against hers.  His energy was a 
rusty-brown, which surprised her, and his aroma was indefinable, not 
unpleasant, exactly, but not reassuring.
     What she really didn't like was the way he kept nudging her mind, 
poking here and there, trying to find a way in.
     In the first place it was very bad manners and in the second she 
did not like his insistence.  His intrusions increased when the light, 
sound, choreography, and lyrics combined into erotic suggestiveness: 
not highly erotic, just enough to get positive hoot-holler and whistle 
reactions from the audience.  They were sitting well up in the 
ampitheater so she couldn't miss seeing some couples, and several 
groups, moving into the dark outer corridors.  She knew such things 
occurred for Lusena had completely briefed her on sexuality and 
sensuality but this was the first time she'd witnessed it in public.
     On her other side, Goswina squirmed nervously.  Those furtive 
leavings distressed her.
     Subtly, the Rowan emanated a soothing empathy to ease Goswina and 
that seemed to help.
     The finale of the concert, however, was a deliberately sensual 
construction, ending on a triumphant blare of sound, spectacular light 
effects, and everyone on stage in frankly sensuous postures.  Goswina 
rose from her seat - to leave, not to cheer and shout approval.  The 
Rowan followed for she caught the girl's choked exclamations.
     ``Wina!  It's only a show!' the Rowan said, catching her up in the 
crowded parking lot.
     `Do they have to be so .  . .s0 disgustingly vulgar?  Suggestive 
displays are simply not condoned in public on Capella.
     Goswina' s voice was low and taut with disgust and she was 
actually shaking in fury.  `I just hate it when it's so very obvious.
     It's supposed to be a very private, wonderful experience.  Not 
cheap, tawdry and .  . . and public.' Without meaning to pry, the Rowan 
`knew' that Goswina had had an attachment which had been deep and 
meaningful, which she had had to leave behind her for this course.
     That she missed her friend with an intensity that surprised her 
for she felt she was too young to have a lifetime commitment.
     Fortunately, Goswina was too involved in her own emotions to have 
been aware of the Rowan's trespass.  And the Rowan was involved in 
extricating herself so that she was not as aware of externals as she 
might have been.
     Moving shadows became the solid figures with imperfectly shielded 
intent.  Goswina let out a little scream before her mouth was covered 
and her arms pinned tightly to her sides just as the Rowan felt herself 
attacked.
     `Oh no, you don't!' She snarled aloud, but mentally stabbed out, 
exerting a kinesis in all directions for she wasn't sure how many 
attackers there were.  Indiscriminately she sent them all spinning away 
from Goswina and herself.  She didn't bother to limit the push she 
exerted and had the intense satisfaction of hearing soft bodies meeting 
solid objects with considerable force, inflicting pain and damage.
     Ruthlessly she closed her mind, sparing herself their anguish and, 
for the time being, any immediate sense of guilt at having injured 
another human being.
     `Rowan!' her companion gasped.  `What did you do?' `Only what they 
deserved.  Let's get out of here,' and the Rowan grasped Goswina and 
pulled her out of the shadows and into the more brightly lit parking 
field.  `There'll be public cabs at the `But `No buts, no explanations 
and don't tell me you want to be involved in those!' `Oh, no!  No!  Oh, 
dear!  We should have stayed with the others.' `We should have, but we 
didn't.' The Rowan was getting exasperated with Goswina.  Ray, 
Goswina's taking me home.  I feel sick.  Ray Loftus would be less 
likely to question a `pathed message from her.  And right now, she 
didn't want anything to do with Barinov `S curious interest.
     `I've told Ray that we're going back separately.  Now, c'mon.
     There're plenty of cars.' Goswina was quite willing to let the 
younger girl take the initiative.  She collapsed into the corner of the 
car which monotonously inquired the destination `The Tower.' `The Tower 
is restricted.
     `I am the Rowan.' The car responded by lifting from the road and 
smoothly turning south-east, gaining altitude quickly and speeding 
toward the now visible configuration of lights about the Tower complex.
     `You're not a T-4, are you, Rowan?' Goswina asked in a quiet 
voice.
     `No.  I'm not.
     Goswina sighed then, relief and satisfaction emanating from her.
     `So you're the reason this course is being held on Altair.  You're 
a potential Prime so you can't travel.' `I don't know that I'm the 
reason - Goswina uttered a noise of disbelief.  `You'll need a Station 
support team.  You'll need people you can trust and empathize with.
     Building a team takes a lot of time and experimentation.  I know.
     My parents are Capellan support personnel.  That's why they let me 
come, in the hopes that I'd be acceptable .  . . to you when you're 
Stationed.' The Rowan could find no immediate reply.  But Goswina's 
explanation made a lot of sense.  How many of this group had guessed 
the purpose?  And her real Talent stature.  Barinov?  That made more 
sense than his developing a true attachment for an odd-looking 
adolescent.
     `Please, Rowan.  I like you very much and I'm very grateful to you 
but we would not work well together.
     I .  . . I frighten easily and you're very strong.  That's good,' 
Goswina said hastily, lightly touching the Rowan's arm and the girl 
could see Goswina's gentle smile, `for you.  You must be strong.  I 
don't honestly think I'm the sort of person who should be in a Tower.
     But my parents wanted me to have this chance.  My younger brother, 
Afra, he's only six but he's already shown considerable potential.  At 
the least, T-4, in both `path and `port.  He adores going to the Tower 
with my father and Capella's always teasing him that he's going to take 
over from father' The Rowan chuckled and briefly clasped Goswina's 
fingers in hers, emphasizing her appreciation and friendship.  Goswina 
was delicate blue and florally fragrant.
     `I think we'd better deal with the present, Goswina.
     Now, you're not to say anything when we get back `except that I 
didn't feel well.  The place got so loud and stuffy `It was open air, 
Rowan `The noise!  And all that lighting gave me a headache.
     That's what you're to say `But those `Thugs?' the Rowan filled in 
wryly `They'll know they've been acted against.  And you hurt them.' 
`Let them explain why - if they give anyone the chance to ask.' The 
Rowan refused to relent.  She was furious that, having assured Goswina 
that Port Altair was a safe place, they had actually been assaulted.
     And Goswina, too, whose empathy made her the least able to have to 
cope with nastiness.
     `You were much braver than I would have been.' The Rowan snorted.
     `Not brave.  Angry.  Here we are.
     `Occupants: identify.' `The Rowan here and Goswina of Capella,' 
and the car was permitted through the security web `Now, you see me to 
the Tower, Goswina, and then the car'll take you to your quarters.
     That way we keep to the story,' the Rowan said, giving the 
necessary directions.
     `Remember now, Goswina,' she said as she got out at the Tower 
entrance.  `And when he's old enough, I'll make sure Afra takes the 
course here, too.' `Oh, would you?' Then the car carried her away.
     The Rowan told Lusena about her headache caused by the blinding 
flickering lights and meekly agreed to having her eyes tested the next 
day.  While Barinov was concentrating on the problem that Gerolaman had 
given them to solve, she had no compunction about probing in past his 
public mind.  She didn't know his source but it was clear to her that 
Barinov was deliberately cultivating her because he'd learned that she 
was a potential Prime.  She had no further hesitation then about 
competing against him, or any of the others.  A Prime ran the Station: 
sentiment did not enter into its management.
     So during the last week of the course, she ran Barinov a very 
subtle dance which occasionally caused the gentle Goswina to flush.
     Over the next four years, other courses were given by Gerolaman at 
Altair which the Rowan was not specifically required to attend.  She 
often dropped in when it came to the troubleshooting: She liked 
matching wits with the other students but she never permitted herself 
to become too friendly with any of them.  She ignored overheard 
insinuations that she was cold, aloof, too haughty, conceited, 
stuck-up.  She was pleasant enough to everyone, even those she 
genuinely liked, but she kept those preferences to herself.  Sometimes 
Gerolaman would invite her into his office to have an informal chat and 
discuss her opinions about this or that student.
     At some point after each course had finished, Reidinger would 
contact her for a talk, discussing various aspects of the material 
covered, and the problems proposed and solved.
     The Rowan told Lusena that she felt as if she was being given a 
long-distance final exam.
     `Well, I'd say you were lucky, young lady, to have his personal 
interest.  Bralla says,' and here Lusena grinned with some malice, 
`that he expects monthly reports from Siglen about your progress.' `Oh, 
is that why she suddenly allows me to handle the ore drones?' The Rowan 
was not completely satisfied to be given the chore since the routing 
was usually pretty basic transferral.  `How many years will she keep me 
on inanimates before I'm allowed a real job?' Lusena had no adequate 
consolation.  Instead, backed by Reidinger's authority, she could and 
did arrange for the Rowan to take time away from the Tower.  When Tower 
traffic was very slow, they went camping on long weekends on Altair's 
scenic Eastern Shore and several times on the Great Southern Wasteland 
which, the guide showed them, was teeming with all sorts of insect and 
invertebrate life forms, fantastic flowers that blamed at night or in 
the dawn-lit hours, drooping and dying once the blazing Altairian 
primary seared the planet's equatorial areas.  The Rowan enjoyed water 
sports the most so that the executive house at Favor Bay was a frequent 
holiday site: Bardy and her husband, or Finnan and his wife and young 
children joining them.
     The summer of her sixth year at the Tower coincided with the 
scheduling of a larger than average group, some of whom were older 
personnel from planetary as well as interior stations, taking the 
course as a refresher.  By this time, most of the students knew that 
the Rowan was an unusually strong telepath and teleporter: the 
likelihood was that she would make Prime.
     Where, in the Nine-Star League, was the real quandary.
     Plainly, it would not be Altair for there was no deraliction of 
Siglen's sure handling of her Tower; David was firmly entrenched at 
Betelgeuse, Capella at her Station.  Procyon's Guzman was aging but 
still years away from retirement.
     There was no possibility of her acceding to Earth Prime but the 
rumor strengthened that Reidinger might settle some of his more onerous 
duties on her.  Or that League Council might be considering a Station 
at Deneb, one of the newest colonies, though that was most unlikely.  A 
colony had to have both exports and the credit to purchase imports from 
League members as well as sufficient off planet correspondence, or a 
trade route, to justify the expense of establishing a Tower.  Right 
now, Deneb had no surplus of material or credit.
     `I've told Reidinger,' Gerolaman said to Lusena the evening before 
the new group was to arrive, `something's got to be done for the Rowan.
     She'll get stale, bored, and while she's a sensible kid, it's not 
right to keep her twiddling her thumbs.  She knows far more about 
Station mechanics and operational procedures than Siglen ever did.
     She's fully capable of Prime responsibilities right now and she 
isn't even at full adult strength.' He shook his head slowly, 
fretfully.
     `And that woman never gives her any real work.' `Humph.  She's 
jealous of the child, and you know it as well as Bralla and i do.' 
`She's always going to be a child in Siglen's lexicon.  I often 
wonder,' and Gerolaman scratched his jaw, `if it wouldn't have been 
better to have sedated the child and taken her to Earth when you had 
the chance.' `Oh, no,' Lusena said, sitting upright in contradiction.
     `You weren't there.  You didn't see the terror in her face when we 
tried to get her to board the shuttle.  And her mind was chaotic with 
fear.  That's why Siglen intervened.
     She wouldn't have otherwise, I assure you.  That was the only time 
I've ever seen Siglen worried about someone other than herself!  And 
you know that Primes are agoraphobes.  Look at the breakdown David of 
Betelgeuse went through.  And Capella!  They had awful voyages to their 
stations.' Gerolaman scratched his head thoughtfully.  `Well, Siglen 
sure was sick.  I came on the same ship and there was more medical 
staff than Station personnel, from the Moon onward.  Though I thought 
at the time, she was hoping they wouldn't send her to Altair.  She was 
so sure that she'd be Earth Prime if she just hung around long enough 
down at the Blundell Building,' he said in a dissatisfied grumble.
     Then he picked up the sheaf of hard copy, the records of the 
incoming group.  `I think something's going to happen soon, though.
     Look, every one of the repeats is someone the Rowan worked well 
with in the courses.  Ray Loftus, Joe Toglia: they've been transferred 
from Capella with excellent ratings.  Reidinger's tagged three for me 
to vet as potential Stationmasters.  He hasn't done that before.
     Devious, that man is.  Pure devious.' `If only he'd tell the 
Rowan, maybe she wouldn't spend so much time fretting.' `You take her 
off to Favor Bay, just as you planned.
     Give her a good break, and come back in time for her to show these 
lamebrains up in the troubleshooting phase.' Lusena started to smile at 
the relish in Gerolaman's malicious anticipation and then sighed.  `If 
she were just a little more subtle with her corrections, a little less 
forceful in her opinions.  Gerolaman raised his eyes in surprise and 
waggled a finger at the woman.  `Station crew measure up to their 
Prime, you know that, Lusena.  That's what all this is about.  They 
support the Prime, they assist the Prime and the Prime calls the plays.
     Primes aren't in it for popularity awards.  They've got to be 
tough on everyone and are usually tougher on themselves.' He made a 
slicing motion with his hands.  `That's the way it's got to be or FT&T 
falls apart.  Let that happen and then the League has a wedge to gain 
control.  FT&T won't function half as well as a bureaucracy, with this 
system or that system throwing its weight around and demanding 
preferential thises and thats.  FT&T is strictly first-come, 
first-served: high, low, or middle men get the same considerations.' `I 
do,' and Lusena gave a rueful sigh, `but I don't forget that she's a 
lonely child, and always has been.' `But not for always.  Yegrani 
promised.' `A promise which is a long time coming.' With that Lusena 
left the Stationmaster's office.  `And I have guarded the guardian,' 
she muttered to herself with considerable satisfaction.
     Favor Bay in the full height of spring was glorious and Lusena 
noticed that the Rowan began to brighten as soon as she stepped from 
the groundcar.
     `The only thing wrong with this place,' the Rowan said, glancing 
about and then pulling windswept silver hair off her face, `is that I 
can't bring Rascal with me.' `He doesn't seem to mind being left with 
Gerry,' Lusena replied.
     `True cupboard love,' the Rowan said with a wry grin, `so long as 
you feed me, I love you.' Lusena laughed.  `Partly, but he is 
affectionate with you and runs to the door whenever he hears you 
coming.  He never notices me even when I feed him and he only tolerates 
Gerolaman.' The Rowan made a skeptical noise in her throat, and turned 
to `port first Lusena's baggage and then her own up to their respective 
rooms.  `Someday it would be nice to have something who loved me!  Not 
the Rowan Prime, not the provider, but me!  Someone preferably.' Lusena 
replied in the same objective tone of voice.
     `You're eighteen now.
     `Are we sure of that?' `Medically, yes,' Lusena said with a 
tartness in her reply.  The Rowan still yearned to discover the minor 
details most people grew up knowing: birthdate, family name, family 
background.
     `Not many people here in Favor Bay know that you're Talented, much 
less Altair's coveted young Prime.  You've always been here as part of 
a family group.  You're fully old enough to do a bit of private 
research.' The Rowan regarded Lusena with a wide-eyed smile.
     `Siglen would have apoplexy if she heard you say that!
     Persons with our Talents and responsibilities cannot indulge in 
gross physical activities.' Her mimicry was devastatingly accurate.
     `Gross physical, indeed,' and Lusena laughed.  `Oh, I shouldn't 
laugh at her, but really, Rowan, Siglen is not temperamentally, or 
physically, suited to enjoying the "finer emotions in life `Even if she 
recognized them.  .
     `Whereas you're a slender young.
     `Fey-looking, isn't that what that redheaded Earth kinetic in last 
year's course called me?' The Rowan shot Lusena a challenging look.
     `Fey is attractive.' Lusena refused to budge from that 
interpretation.
     They were in the house now and the Rowan peered at her features in 
the hall mirror.  `I could dye my hair!' `Why not?' `Indeed, and why 
not?' They tried several shades but, although the Rowan would have 
preferred to wear long black tresses, she didn't have the right skin 
tone to go brunette.  So they settled on a mid-blonde.  For summer 
wear, the Rowan decided to have short curly hair as well and the result 
pleased them both.
     `Any improvement?' the Rowan wanted to know, twisting a curl to 
curve down on to her brow.
     `Piquant!  Fashionably sensible.  Now, go enjoy yourself.
     The color's guaranteed not to fade in sun or sea.' `I'll just swim 
and sun a bit: to make sure the claim is accurate.  Coming along?' `Not 
today,' and Lusena shooed the Rowan on her way.
     There was a good deal to be ordered for the food preparation unit.
     Some visitors were not as scrupulous in replenishing stocks when 
they left.
     A leisurely swim, time to adjust her skin tone to a decent tan, 
greatly improve the Rowan's mood.  She and Lusena dined out and several 
men cast admiring looks in their direction.
     `You're sure no-one here knows who I am?' `Not likely.  Besides, 
even Gerolaman would have to look twice to recognize you right now.
     Oh,' and here Lusena shrugged her shoulders, `it's suspected that 
you might have some Talent, but then a third of the planet can lay 
claim to some sort of minor Talent.' `It'd even be nicer to be me and 
not have to worry about that sort of thing at all.
     Lusena wasn't sure if the Rowan had spoken that wistful sentence 
aloud or not.  Over the years, Lusena had occasionally `heard' purely 
mental comments but she'd never mentioned it to save the Rowan any 
embarrassment at having been overheard.  On the other hand, it 
signified the girl's complete trust in her.  Lusena had never regretted 
these fifteen years, though now and then both Bardy and Finnan had 
unkind words about her dedication.
     That was why, two days later, when Bardy's husband, Jedder Holey, 
advised that her daughter had gone into an early labor, Lusena felt 
obligated to leave immediately to Haleys' claim site on the eastern 
edge of the Great Southern Wastelands.
     `If I tag along, Bardy'll be upset, the Rowan told her firmly.
     `Bardy needs you by yourself.  You said I'm old enough to manage 
for myself.  And you did say,' the Rowan went on, overriding Lusena's 
objections, `that no one knows exactly what or who I am so I'm 
perfectly safe.
     Frankly, I'd welcome the idea of a few days alone.  Most kids are 
out on their own at sixteen.  I can't be vacuumwrapped all my life.' 
The Rowan had read deeply enough in one quick shot to perceive all 
Lusena's reservations and her dilemma over her daughter.  `It isn't as 
if I can't keep in touch, dear Lusena.  I'll behave.  I'm not Moria!' 
`Indeed you're not!' Lusena had never forgiven her niece even if her 
brother remained unaware of why the holiday had been shortened by 
several days.
     `We might as well use Camella's shuttle since it's at the airfield 
for our use.  You'd have no delays getting there then,' the Rowan 
continued, rapidly but neatly filling Favor Bay took on a glamourie 
that it had never before Lusena's travelpak with items from her 
drawers.  `You'll be on your way in ten minutes.  Bardy can't ask for a 
better response than that!' `Oh dear!' Lusena's mobile face shadowed 
with regret.
     `Nonsense, dearest friend,' and the Rowan embraced her, wrapping 
Lusena with love, affection, and understanding.  `I did monopolize you, 
and you know I did.
     Bardy has every right to resent me deep inside but she was 
generous enough never to chide me for it out loud.  I needed you far 
more than she did.  Until now.  She needs you now.' As the Rowan stood 
on the verandah, she felt the oddest exhilaration: a curious sort of 
release, even though Lusena had always been discreet and subtle in her 
care of the Rowan, so that there had never been a reason to resent the 
supervision.  But she was alone - alone for the first time in fifteen 
years, since that famous miraculous escape of hers.
     Not even a pukha with her She spun on her heel and went back into 
the house, slapping her hand against the door, running fingers along 
the hall table, pinging the vase with its fresh spring blossoms, 
twirling into the sitting room and stroking the polished wood, the 
brocade of a chair, as if to establish their inanimacy and that she was 
the only living being in the house.  She whirled in a wild pirouette 
and then collapsed on to the sofa, laughing at her own whimsy.
     What a wonderful feeling.  To be alone!  To be on her own!  At 
last.
     She reached out for Lusena's mind: The poor woman was still 
dubious about the wisdom of leaving her charge all by herself, but she 
really had to respond to Bardy's appeal.  The Rowan softly and gently 
lifted the anxiety from Lusena's mind, setting up a diversion anytime 
Lusena might start to worry about the Rowan who was going to thoroughly 
enjoy her first really true holiday from her previous regime.
     had for the Rowan.  She ate only when she felt hungry, with no 
Lusena to remind her of `normal' mealtimes.
     Especially with no Siglen encouraging her to eat this, or have 
more of that, or please to finish the food she was given since there 
were many in the world who were starving for a taste of such 
magnificent cuisine.  By the time she felt any hunger, she was ravenous 
indeed and took one of the cycles down to the main town, following her 
nose to the best of the many smells wafting about on the light spring 
breeze.
     She parked the cycle in the rack outside a charcoal shop and 
glanced through the handprinted menu hanging from the ceiling.  The 
smell of roasting fish tantalized her so she took her place beside the 
other patron in the grill shop.  A second discreet look at his profile, 
and a light touch at his mind, and she recognized Turian, their captain 
and guide on that first Favor Bay excursion.
     `What d'they do best here?  It all smells so good,' she asked.
     `I'm having the redfish steak sandwich, he said, smiling down at 
her.  `Pretty little thing,' his mind was saying, `can't be a student 
as it's not holidays yet.  A convalescent?
     Looks tired.  Lovely eyes.
     The Rowan wasn't sure that she was pleased or annoyed by the fact 
that he didn't recognize her.  Well, he must have hundreds of clients 
in a single summer.  Why would he recall one adolescent girl?
     `Are they all redfish?' she asked.
     `No, but that's the freshest,' Turian replied.  `I saw it unloaded 
from the dock a half hour ago.' `Then that's for me.' So when the 
attendant asked her choice, she pointed and had a hard time not 
listening in on Turian's stream of consciousness.  He was mentally 
reviewing a list of things he had to do to get his ship back into 
commission and wondering if he had enough credit to do the jobs 
properly or where he could stint without risking the safety of his 
clients or his ship.  He was hungry after a morning scrubbing the 
winter's grime from the hull and the aroma was increasing the saliva in 
his mouth.  Or was it the proximity of the pretty girl?  She was enough 
to make any man's mouth water.  A little on the thin side: with that 
tan, she'd been here a few days at least.  Strange!  her face was oddly 
familiar.  No.  He had to be mistaken: he'd never seen her here in 
Favor Bay before.
     `D'you come from around here?' he asked, to pass the time while 
his fishsteak was cooking.
     `No.  From `Port.
     `On holiday?' `Yes, I had to take it early this year.  Office 
schedules rarely give juniors a break.' That should answer his 
questions.  `And you?' `I'm getting my ship ready for the summer.' `Oh, 
what sort of ship do you own?' Might as well start afresh with him.
     That way he was less likely to remember the details of the earlier 
acquaintanceship - and how old she really was.
     He grinned.  `Tour the sea gardens!  Swim with the denizens of the 
Deep!  That sort of thing.' If I earn enough in the summer, I can sail 
all winter where I choose to go, was his silent addition.
     `Always in Favor Bay?' She didn't recall seeing him last year, not 
that she'd been looking for him, or had revisited the sea gardens.
     `Not always.  Altair has some splendid harbors.  I move around a 
lot but this is a good spot in the summer.' The attendant set their 
dishes on the counter and was asking for payment and, as the Rowan dug 
into the pockets of her light jacket, she flushed with embarrassment as 
her fingers touched only three small credit pieces.
     How could she have been so stupid?  Always she'd had Lusena to 
remind her.  On her first solo outing, she forgot the most basic 
requirement.  She pulled out what she had, an inadequate sum for the 
meal.
     `Ooops!' She gave the attendant and Turian an apologetic grin and 
thought hard as to where in the house she'd left her purse.  She could 
`port enough into the pocket of her shorts.
     `Here!  Let me, said Turian, smiling.  It beats eating by myself 
and she's not on the take or make, not this one.
     The Rowan's relieved smile was more for his charitable thoughts 
than the deed of paying for her meal.
     `I insist you allow me to pay you back,' she said as he motioned 
toward an empty spot on the deck overlooking the bay.  `I left my 
credits at home.  True holiday mindlessness.' `Tell you what.  I'll 
spot you the sandwich for a couple of hours of not so hard labor.  If 
your folks won't object.' `It's my holiday,' she said.  `But surely 
there're enough.  . .` she gestured to the men and women walking up and 
down the street outside.
     `Everyone's busy getting their own places in order.
     Mainly I need a couple of extra hands and someone who can take 
simple instructions.' His grin told her she more than qualified.  `I'll 
teach you how to rig sail.  A skill guaranteed to be useful - sometime 
in your life again!' The Rowan knew very well that he intended no more 
than that.  Turian was still, as he had been four years before, a 
genuine and honest man.
     `Done!  A spot of hard work'd do me good and be a nice change from 
sitting on my duff in an office.  Where do I report to work in the 
morning, sir?' And she flicked her hand in a nautical type salute.
     `Cender's Boat Yard.  Down there!  Mine's the sloop rigged fifteen 
meter with the blue hull.' Grinning, she raised her sandwich and bit 
into the crusty bread and hot flaky fish.  The piquant sauce she'd 
slathered on the fish flowed down her chin.  She cleared the overflow 
with a finger and then licked it.  Turian was doing the same thing and 
his grin was one of camaraderie.
     When they finished their meal, he insisted on adding `alters' to 
her tab with him: a half melon full of fresh spring soft fruits and a 
cup of the local infusion.  Then he asked her to arrive by 7.00 so 
they'd finish the heavy part before the sun was high and gave her a 
courteous farewell.
     He went off, talking himself out of making any passes at such a 
young thing.  He had the summer before him and he usually had many 
options.
     Somewhat piqued, the Rowan cycled back wondering how to prove to 
him that she wasn't as young as all that!
     He was a good person, honorable and sensible, a capable seaman, 
and an interesting guide.
     Back in the cottage, she decided to study tomorrow's tasks.  She 
accessed information on sail-rigging, on seamanship in general, pausing 
long enough on the sections of refitting a ship that had been stored 
over the winter period to assimilate all the information available.
     Primes were generally blessed with photographic memories as 
perfect recall was a boon for the sometimes split-second decisions 
which their duties often required them to make.
     Not all those with the same basic Talents the Rowan possessed 
would be suitable as Primes.
     She also checked with the Maritime Commission Records concerning 
the credentials of one Turian Negayon Salik and, using her Station 
password, looked over his personal records, fending nothing untoward.
     Turian was thirty-two years Standard.  Sun creases made him look a 
few years older.  (From comments made by some of the females on the 
various courses, older men were apt to be more considerate.) He was 
single, had never even filed an intent to marry, let alone a short-term 
parental contract.  He did have a large number of siblings and 
immediate relatives, most of them involved in the sea enterprises.
     Aware of a curious absence in the documentation of himself and 
other members of his family, the Rowan had to sit and think what was 
missing.  Then it dawned on her: neither he nor any of his relations 
had ever taken a Talent test.  This was most unusual since most 
families ardently looked for signs of such abilities, minor or major, 
in their progeny.  Recognizable, measurable Talent meant preferential 
schooling, and often grants-in-aid for the entire family.  Not, 
perhaps, as necessary on a rich, fertile, mainly unsettled planet as 
Altair, but generally comfortable additions to incomes.  There was no 
law requiring registration at a Talent testing center but it was an odd 
enough omission.
     She checked on his ship, the Miraki, and had its voyages for the 
past four years graphed out so that she knew where he had sailed, 
anchored, and who his passengers had been.
     She learned that when he had finished his apprenticeship with a 
maternal uncle, he had been granted part of the credit needed to 
purchase the sloop, worked for the balance, and now owned her free and 
clear.  The Miraki was licensed for charter, for trawling and for 
exploration, and in the eight years since her commissioning, had done 
about every job her size permitted.  Her seaworthiness records had been 
scrupulously kept up to date and she had acquired no fines, penalties, 
or damages.
     The Rowan woke at six, ate a hearty breakfast and was nearly late 
at Cender's Boat Yard because she spent so much time choosing 
appropriate clothing.  That is, clothing appropriate for the end result 
she now wished.  She was about to leave at fifteen minutes before the 
hour - the boat yard being downhill from the house - when she realized 
that Turian had been evading, or avoiding, the stalkings of many girls 
far more adept at this sort of flirting than she.
     He thought her a nice young girl, a bit too thin.  Well, she'd 
start right there.  And elaborate.
     So she appeared at the boat yard, promptly at the tone of seven on 
the tri-d blaring from the boat yard office window, in workmanlike 
gear, and a change tied on to the handlebars of the cycle.  Her review 
last night indicated she was likely to get wet and dirty.  She also had 
a hefty handful of credits stuffed into her spare-pants pocket.
     `Have you ever rigged sail before?' Turian asked halfway through 
the morning as yet again, she anticipated an instruction.
     `Well, yes and no.  Sailing's always fascinated me so I boned up 
on re-rigging sails.  A good tertiary education teaches you how to fend 
out what you don't know.' `I'll give you this: you're deft at putting 
theory into practice.  Intelligent helpers are hard to get in any line 
of work.  What do you do?' `Oh, boring stuff, expediting imports and 
exports,' and she added a diffident shrug.  `But the pay's decent and 
the perks aren't bad.  I'd need off-world training for any decent 
advancement.  I'm being a good company person until they notice that 
I'm keen to advance.  This one has her head screwed on right, was 
Turian's thought.  He wasn't a devious person so it wasn't as if she 
was invading his privacy: everything was right up front, like an 
unvoiced monologue.
     As the sun reached its zenith in the brilliant cloudless skies, he 
called a halt and suggested they take a quick dip at the end of the 
boat yard wharf to cool off here lunch.
     She peeled to swim briefs and was into the water before him, 
laughing and splashing at him.  He still had a finely made, strong 
body, enhanced by the deep bronze of his skin.
     Refreshed after the swim, they climbed back on to the wharf and 
sat in the shadow of drying trawl nets.
     `You're such a good worker, I'll spot you lunch,' he said 
gratefully.
     `One meal you may buy: two within twenty-fours is not on.  I 
brought enough for both of us.' His sea-light eyes crinkled into the 
sun creases as he stood, dripping wet, hands on his hips and looked 
down at her.
     `You're a smarty, aren't you?' `Fair's fair.  You helped me out of 
a spot: I paid my way out of the debt.  Now I want to make it one up on 
you and the price is a sail when the Miraki is back in the water.
     Done?' They shook on it, Turian laughing while his mind admired 
her independence.  She wished he wouldn't think quite so loud: it gave 
her an unfair advantage over him.
     And yet, she seemed to be making all the right moves to prove that 
she was not as young as she might look.
     It took them three more days to be sure the Miraki was seaworthy, 
with the Rowan working right beside him, trying not to anticipate 
pre-vocal orders too frequently.  In the cool of the evening, as he 
checked off completed chores on his master list, he'd tell her what 
they'd be doing the next day.  If she had to study up on something 
varnishing required no mental effort at all, but she found the physical 
effort, especially through her shoulders rather a remarkable experience 
- she would access the proper authority before she went to bed.  She 
was sleeping much better than she had in many months.
     When Turian had every inch of the Miraki, hull, deck, bilge, boom, 
mast, sheets, rigging, engines, cockpit, galley, and living quarters 
shipshape, he had the Favor Bay Marine Engineer come to recertify her 
seaworthiness.
     She passed and the Rowan could not restrain the shout of triumph 
at what she considered a personal achievement.
     `Now, do I get my sail?' she demanded when Turian returned from 
escorting the Engineer back to the wharf.
     `Weather report says tomorrow's going to be clear, with a 
fifteen-knot breeze nor'-nor'east.' Turian chuckled and reached out to 
ruffle her curls.  She squashed the sudden surge of keen sexual 
awareness of him that his casual caress elicited.  She mustn't 
overreact to a friendly touch.  But his affectionate, half-fooling 
gesture had not surprised her as much because he had extended the 
caress as because physical touching was rare between Talents, and 
reserved for moments to reinforce mental bridgings.  She didn't wish to 
prematurely give away her designs on one Captain Turian who still 
considered her as a `young' girl despite her attempts to educate him.
     `Yes, you get your sail.  Can you take a full day of it?' `I've 
sailed before, Captain Turian,' she said archly, `and I've a cast-iron 
stomach.' `I'll provision her if you'll take charge of the galley,' he 
offered.  `And bring a change of clothing and a stout windbreaker.' He 
looked appraisingly up at the sky, squinting at its brilliance, his 
eyes narrowed.  `I make it we'll have a change in the weather before 
the day's out.' `Really?' She laughed at his assurance.  `Meteorology's 
pretty advanced these days.' Parting his lips in a wise smile that 
showed her white but slightly crooked teeth, he nodded.  `Can you be 
down here at 4.00 a.m. to catch the turn of the tide?' `Aye, aye, 
Captain,' and she flicked an impudent salute at him before mounting her 
cycle and treadling off the wharf.
     The first thing she did when she got back to the cottage was get 
an update on the weather pattern.  She knew that he had not accessed 
his ship's facility so she was intrigued to find that a new 
low-pressure pattern was forming in the arctic.  How in the name of all 
the holies had he known something which was happening thousands of 
klicks away?  And his family had never tested for Talent?
     Curiouser and curiouser!  The Rowan made up her sailing pack, and 
stuffed in wet-weather and a few non-essentials that might prove 
useful.
     With her pack slung over her shoulders, she cycled down in the 
faint light of the dawn, grateful she knew every rut and hole in the 
road to the main wharf.  When she hailed the Miraki, moored fore and 
aft to the wharf and gently rocking in the outgoing tide, her voice 
seemed overloud.
     `Stow that cycle and loose the aft line, mister,' Turian said, 
emerging from the cabin and pacing to the cockpit.
     `Now, stand by the forward line and we'll get underway.' Laughing 
at how nautical Turian had become, the Rowan did as she was bid and 
neatly jumped to the deck to coil the forward line as the Miraki's 
blades took hold and propelled her away from the wharf.
     `Stow your gear, mister, and grab us both a cup of the brew.
     We'll need it,' he said, `while we're clearing the harbor.' As she 
cheerfully did his bidding, she was positive that this was going to be 
a glorious day, certainly a highspot in the past year.  She hadn't an 
ounce of precognition in her Talent but there were moments, and this 
was one of them, when you didn't have to be clairvoyant to know the 
auspices were good.
     Once clear of the harbor and beyond the fishing boats chugging 
more slowly out to their day's labors, Turian ordered the sails 
hoisted.  The exhilaration in being under sail in a stiff breeze and 
hull down in the sea thrilled the Rowan and she caught Turian's 
tolerant grin at her abandonment to the experience.
     `I thought you said you'd sailed before,' he said, half teasing as 
they sat in the cockpit, Turian's capable hand on the tiller between 
them.
     `I have, but never quite like this.  Always on "outings", not 
adventures like this.' Turian threw back his head with a hearty guffaw.
     `Well, if a common ordinary shakedown sail is an "adventure" for 
you, then I'm glad to have offered you this rare occasion.' `00 Poor 
kid, his mind said, though his glance on her was kind, if this is all 
the adventure she's ever had.
     However, he intended to give her full measure of the experience 
and in doing so, forgot his own weather prediction.  He had filed a day 
trip to Islay, the largest of the nearby coastal islands, but they made 
such good speed to their destination that he decided to continue on, 
picking up the Southerly Current.  That should carry them neatly to the 
southern tip of Yona, then they'd swing nor'west and come up the coast 
back to Favor Bay.  That would make it more of an adventure for her.
     Meanwhile he took great pleasure in seeing the girl so eager and 
vivacious: She didn't relax much and, although he approved her 
diligence, she got far too tense doing the simplest jobs.  The odd time 
or two she had spoken with an authority and maturity that surprised him 
yet at other times she seemed even younger than she looked.
     The purple mountains of Islay Island, with Yona just south of it, 
were on the horizon when Turian sent her below to her galley chores.
     By the time they had sated their sea-sharpened hunger, he had 
steered in close enough for the settlement on Islay to be visible.
     They picked up the current and the girl's eyes widened at the way 
the Miraki drove now, spume flying the bow, heeled over.  He had her 
furl the jib and he close-hauled the mainsail.  Just as she came aft 
again to join him in the cockpit, he heard the chatter of the 
Met-alarm.
     `Grab the printout, would you, Rowan,' Ttrian said, `and get us 
something warm to drink.' He craned his head about, but there weren't 
many clouds yet on the northern horizon.
     `You were right about a weather change, she said, coming back on 
deck with steaming mugs in her hands.
     `Low-pressure ridge making down from the arctic, crowded isobars 
so the winds are likely to be gale-force.' She pulled the printed sheet 
out of her pocket and handed it to him.  `But you knew about a change 
yesterday.
     He laughed as he read the Met report, cramming it into his pocket 
to take the mug in his free hand.  `My family have been seafarers for 
centuries.  We've got a kind of instinct for the weather.' `You're 
weather-Talents?' He gave her a very odd look.  `No, nothing formal 
like that.' `How do you know?  Didn't you get tested?' `Why?  All the 
men in my family have the weather sense.
     We don't need to be tested.' He shrugged, taking a cautious sip of 
the hot soup in the mug.
     `But .  but most people want to be Talented.' `Most people want 
more than they need,' he replied.  `As long as I've a ship to sail and 
an ocean to sail her on, enough money to keep her safely afloat, I'm 
satisfied.' The Rowan stared at him, bemused by his philosophy.
     `It's a good life, Rowan,' and he gave an emphatic movement of his 
head.  Then he smiled at her.  `There have to be some like us on every 
world, who are content with what they have, and not bored by sitting on 
their butts all day in an office, shuffling papers about.' She caught 
in his mind an acceptance of that ineffable consciousness which was not 
at all a lack of ambition: but a totally different life-style.  It was 
part of his innate honesty and ethics.  Briefly she envied him his 
certitude.  She had no argument against it though she could never have 
been allowed to live as he could.  That she almost resented.
     From the moment she was rescued from the little hopper, there was 
no alternative path for her to follow.
     `You're a lucky man, Captain Turian,' she said, with a twisted 
envious smile.
     `Why is it, Rowan, that sometimes you seem decades older than you 
can possibly be?' `Sometimes, Captain Turian, I am decades older than I 
should be.' That puzzled him, and she smiled to herself.  If naught 
else works, being enigmatic might.
     `We'll have to alter our plans, however, he said, hauling out the 
sheet and rereading it.  `We haven't a chance of making it back to 
Favor Bay before those winds arrive And I don't want to be caught on 
this side of the Islands.
     We have a choice, and I'll leave that up to you, mister,' he shot 
her a challenging glance.  `We can go through the Straits,' he pointed 
ahead to the fast approaching end of Islay Island, `and shelter on the 
lea side of Yona.  There's a nice little bay on Yona's Tail.  We'll be 
safe there, and tomorrow we can make our way back.  Or we can go back 
to Islaytown, moor her against the blow, and go ashore for the night.' 
`You're the Captain.' `Passage through the Straits can be hairy at high 
tide and that's what we've got.
     `The Miraki would be safer on the lea side of the island, though, 
wouldn't she?' His smile answered her.  `Then it's the Straits.' Her 
grin answered his challenge.
     Turian hesitated a moment longer.  Islay Straits at high tide was 
a testing passage.  She might have sailed a bit on her holidays, but 
she wouldn't have encountered the boiling cross currents and riptide.
     He'd done it often enough in the Miraki and had complete 
confidence in his own seamanship and his craft.  She wanted an 
adventure: she was about to get one.
     So, when the Miraki rounded the Gut Rocks that bordered the 
entrance to the Straits, he ordered her into her wet gear and life 
vest, stopping any argument from her by shrugging into his own.
     `Prepare to tack, mister,' he roared at her over the surf pounding 
the Gut Rocks.
     By the time that was done, the Rowan had her first good look at 
the surf boiling through the Straits.
     `We're going through that?' she demanded, and he admired the way 
she covered the sudden fright she'd experienced.
     `You said you had a stomach of iron.  I'm testing it) As she made 
her way back to the cockpit, he grinned when he noticed how tightly she 
kept a hold of the life-rail, and how neatly she balanced in her bare 
feet against the plunge of the Miraki.
     To himself, Turian thought that perhaps this had not been the 
kindest way to test her seamanship but he was as proud of her courage.
     She seemed undaunted until they hit the midpoint, and suddenly the 
Miraki was cresting a huge wave, plummeting down with stomach-churning 
abruptness, wallowing in the trough before being flung up again on the 
next wave.
     The girl beside him screamed and he shot a glance at her, her face 
white as the sheet, eyes distended and staring straight ahead, in the 
grip of complete terror.  He spared one hand from the tiller long 
enough to haul her as close to him as the tiller between them 
permitted.  He grabbed her rigid hand and placed it under his on the 
tiller.  Then he coiled his right leg around her left one, angling his 
body to touch hers at as many points as the rough passage permitted.
     And it wasn't the sea that terrified her.  How he knew that he 
never questioned.  This was an old terror, somehow revived by their 
situation.  She was struggling with her fears, struggling with every 
ounce of her.  He kept as close a contact as possible, knew she'd have 
bruises on her hand from his pressure but that was all he had to 
reassure her.
     Fortunately, for all the danger, the Straits were not long and 
though under these conditions, the passage seemed to last an 
unconscionably long time, he was very soon able to veer into the much 
calmer waters.
     `Rowan?' He let go of the tiller for long enough to pull her over 
on to his knees, holding her tight against him, while he grabbed a line 
to secure the tiller on the new `0f
     course.  He cranked on the cockpit winch to trim the mainsail and 
then he was free to comfort the shuddering girl.  Gently he pushed the 
wet curls back from her forehead.  `Rowan, what scared you so?' I 
couldn't help it!  It wasn't the Straits.  It was the way the ship 
bounced and rolled and surged.  Just like the hopper.  I was three.  My 
mother left me in the hopper and it was caught in the flood, bounced 
about just like that.  For days.  None came.  I was hungry and thirsty 
and cold and scared.
     `It's all right now, girl.  We're past it now.  Smooth sailing 
from now on.  I promise you!' She made an effort to push him away but 
Turian knew that she was far from over the shock of that revived terror 
and he continued to hold her gently but firmly against him.  Casting 
his seaman's eye at wind and water, at the sea room between the Miraki 
and the shore, he was satisfied with their current course.  Lifting the 
Rowan, light and shivering in his arms, he maneuvered her carefully 
down into the cabin and laid her down on the bunk.  He started the 
kettle before he removed her life vest and wet gear.  Her skin was 
chilled under his hands so he wrapped her well in a blanket before he 
made a restorative brew.  Liberally lacing that with spirits, he handed 
it to her.
     `You drink that down,' he ordered in an authoritative tone that 
provoked a slight smile from her as she obeyed.
     Then he stripped off his own rough-weather gear, rubbed his hair 
and shoulders dry before he made himself a similar brew.  He sat down 
on the opposite bunk and waited until she felt like talking.
     `The ship?' she asked once between sips, hearing the rush of the 
hull through the water.
     `Don't worry about her.' Her smile was less tentative.  `Don't 
worry about me, then.  I haven't had that particular nightmare in 
years.  But the motion `Strange what triggers off a bad memory, he said 
easily `Catch you unawares out of nowhere.  I damned near lost ship and 
self in a strait similar to that one.  Scared me shitless and not a 
clean, dry pair of pants in the locker.
     You might say,' and he ducked his head a bit, affecting 
embarrassment, `I sort of try myself more often in the Islay Straits 
just to prove I can't scare any more.
     `I'm not sure,' she said slowly but the color was back in her face 
again, `that I'd like to go back through today, if you don't mind.' 
`Couldn't anyway,' he said with a laugh, and took the empty cup from 
her.  `Tide's the wrong way right now for the westward passage.
     `Now, isn't that a pity!' Admiring her resilience, he gave her a 
mock cuff on the jaw and then tossed a clean towel at her.  `Dry off, 
change, and get on deck again.  You're standing the watch down to 
Yona's Tail.' Something to do, he was telling himself as he went 
topside, was much better for her than reliving that old scare.  The 
Rowan was in complete agreement but she couldn't quite shake off her 
response to his immediate support of her in the depths of renewed 
terror.  He might have mocked her lack of courage: He might as easily 
have ignored her as a coward but he had read her correctly and given 
her exactly the physical reassurance she needed and had needed as that 
three-year-old child.
     Old terrors could indeed grab you at the most unexpected moments: 
this was the first time so much had surfaced past the blocks they had 
placed on that horrific experience.  Her mind might not be allowed to 
remember but her body had.  This time someone had been there to hold 
her hand.
     She dressed in her spare dry clothes, donning the warm sweater 
against the chill of bones that not even the hot stimulant had 
dissipated.  As she scrubbed her hair dry, she was wryly amused that 
Turian hadn't realized that her explanation of her terror had been 
subvocal.  But then, so physically close, he didn't even need to be 
emphatic for her to `path to him.
     His face brightened as he saw her emerge on deck.  She smiled 
back.
     `Helm's yours, and he pointed to the compass setting.
     `I'll run up the jib.  That way we'll make our anchorage well 
before dark.  I've changed our ETA with the Sea guards so they won't 
panic but d'you want to tell anyone at Favor Bay that you won't be back 
till noon?' She shook her head, aware from his obvious thoughts that he 
wasn't at all disappointed in extending the cruise.
     He had an edge of anger for people who had somehow put a 
three-year-old child in such peril.  Turian was beginning to see her 
not just as another useful pair of hands, a workmate, but as a distinct 
and interesting personality.
     She watched his lithe body as he hoisted the jib, coiled some 
lines that the rough passage had scattered, and generally checked port 
and starboard on his way back to the cockpit.  As he settled in the 
corner of the bench, he squinted at the compass and then at the 
shoreline.
     `Helmsman, set a new course, ten points to starboard.' He raised 
an arm, pointing toward the distant tip of Yona Island.  `We're making 
for an anchorage on Yona's Tail.
     Come morning, we can set a straight course back to Favor Bay.' 
`Aye, aye, sir.  Ten points to starboard on a course for Yona's Tail.
     And I beg to inquire of Captain, if he brought along enough 
provisions for a starving sailor.' `No-one goes hungry aboard the 
Miraki,' he said with an approving chuckle.  `You can catch as much 
fish as you can eat, mister, and there's plenty to garnish with.' Thick 
clouds had begun to darken the skies before they reached the anchorage, 
a pleasant little crescent bay with a fine sandy beach.  Yona was a 
popular summer resort with hundreds of similar strands along its 
eastern shore.  They were the only vessel in those calm waters for the 
cradled sailing boats and the shoreline dwellings were still in their 
winter cocoons.  As soon as the sails were furled, all lines coiled, 
riding and cabin lights on, Turian broke out fishing gear.
     `No bait?' He grinned.  `Drop your line overboard and see what 
happens.' `Incredible!' was her reaction as flat fish seemed to leap on 
to the hook as soon as it dropped below the surface.
     `Right time of year for `em.  Always plenty in this bay.
     Now, five minutes from sea to plate and eat as much as you can.
     The Rowan did for she had never been so hungry, nor appreciated a 
plain meal more.  As she washed plates, pans, and mugs after the meal, 
she was suffused with an unaccustomed sense of contentment.  She was 
also tired, with a fatigue of body, not mind; that was as soothing as 
it was soporific.
     `Hey, you're asleep on your feet, mister,' Turian said, his voice 
warm with amusement but his brows were slightly puckered in concern.
     `I'm all right, now, Turian, really I am.  You were marvelous back 
there.  If you'd been in the hopper with me, I wouldn't have been so 
scared.' At the anger in his face, she held up a hand, `It wasn't 
anyone's fault.  In fact, I survived because I was in the hopper.  The 
only one who did.' Then she wondered if she'd given away more than she 
intended.  To hear Siglen tell it, everyone on the planet had been 
aware of her terror.  Maybe he'd been at sea.  He certainly wasn't 
insensitive.
     `You've no family?' Somehow that distressed Turian most.
     `I have very good friends who have cared for me better than family 
would.' He shook his head.  `Family's best.  You can always count on 
family.  Surely you had kin left someplace?' The Rowan shrugged.  `You 
don't miss what you've never had, you know.' She knew that upset him 
deeply, a man who knew every one of his blood relatives, to whom family 
ties were sacred.  `I'll have a family of my own one day,' she said as 
much as a comfort for his distress and a promise to herself.  Maybe 
that's why Reidinger quizzed her so on the course students: he seemed 
to dwell more on the boys than the girls.  Primes were supposed to form 
alliances, preferably with other high Talents, to perpetuate their own 
abilities.  Was Earth Prime also a marriage broker?
     With that running through her mind, she was unprepared for 
Turian's embrace.  She clamped tightly down on her emotions as his arms 
enclosed her and drew her tenderly against him.  She surrendered to the 
luxury of being caressed, the feeling of a warm, strong body pressed 
against her, of gentle hands stroking her head, rubbing up and down her 
back.  She turned her head against his chest and heard a heartbeat, 
faster than normal and knew that Turian was reacting to his outrage 
over her orphaned state.
     And suddenly the Rowan realized that this was decision time: 
without meaning to, she had achieved the desired effect on Turian.
     With only the slightest mental push, she could.
     She didn't have to make a decision.  Turian did it for her.  A 
wave of tenderness, tinged only slightly with pity, but mainly 
comprised of approval for her courage and resilience, emanated from the 
man.  She had never felt so appreciated, so comforted and .  . . and 
wanted.  Startled by the intensity of his emotion, she looked up and 
received his gentle but insistent kiss.
     The Rowan had no time to do more than try to reduce the surge of 
her emotional response to an acceptable level.
     The past few hours had awakened many emotions long kept under 
strict control.  To have contained them all would have had serious 
repercussions.  She'd have enough, and so would the unsuspecting 
Turian, if she wasn't careful.  And she didn't want to have to BE 
careful for once in her life.  Sensuality flared into full awareness in 
mind, heart, and body and as Turian responded, she received his 
attentions with wholehearted honesty.
     He did not expect her to have been untouched and she was aware of 
both anger at her deception and his inability to slacken the 
incandescent desire which now consumed him.  So she encouraged him with 
body and mind, with her hands and her lips.  The hurt was minimal to 
the blaze of passion that overwhelmed him which she experienced through 
his mind and touch.  She cursed her own ineptitude which kept her from 
matching his release but the glory which awaited her the next time she 
made love with him was vividly seared in her mind.
     The Rowan awoke suddenly, aware that the comforting, warm length 
of Turian was missing from the narrow bunk on which they had fallen 
asleep.  It hadn't been the gentle slip-slop of waves against the sides 
of the Miraki which had roused her.  It was Turian's mental distress.
     He was suffering intense feelings of guilt, self-castigating 
himself for the loss of control which had resulted in deflowering a 
virgin, anger with her for what he thought was a studied attempt to 
seduce him, and a terrible longing to repeat the act of love which had 
overwhelmed him with its intensity.
     The Rowan felt keen remorse for his state of mind.
     What had begun for her as half-game, half-challenge had backfired 
with disastrous effect on an honest man, well content with his work and 
his life-style.  She was little better than Moria!
     She rose, dressed rapidly but the cold was pervasive so she 
wrapped the blanket firmly around her as she quickly made two mugs of a 
steaming stimulant.  Securing the blanket about her with one hand while 
balancing both mugs with a touch of mental assistance, she went 
topside.
     Turian was slouched in the cockpit in a mind funk, shivering 
convulsively in a mental and physical chill of devastating proportions.
     His mind kept inexorably returning to the intense sexuality of 
their spontaneous union and his inability to control his participation.
     `We need to talk, Turian,' she said quietly, startling him.  She 
handed him a mug and, throwing part of the blanket over his shoulders, 
deliberately sat close beside him.  `You've no cause at all to feel 
guilty about last night.' He shot her a furious glance.  `How do you 
know how I feel?' `Why else would you be sitting out on a freezing deck 
looking as if you'd committed a major crime.  Drink up, you need the 
warmth.' She used the firm tone Lusena often adopted with her and he 
took a judicious sip.
     `Now,' she said firmly, giving it a mental accent, `let's come to 
an understanding.  I didn't set out to have you seduce me.' He snorted 
disbelief, hauling the blanket around his right shoulder, but he did 
not move his chilled body from her warmth.  `But I did want you to stop 
looking at me as a kid, a young girl, an unperson.  I wanted very much 
for you to see me!  Me, the Rowan.' Slowly he turned his head toward 
her, the whites of his eyes more visible in the dark as they widened in 
the surprise of recognition.
     `I remember that name.  I did meet you before.  I knew your face 
was somehow familiar.' `I was with a party of four, three girls and my 
guardian, four summers ago.  You sailed us about.  At the sea gardens, 
one of the girls, a terrible flirt, got badly stung because she didn't 
listen to your warning.' `And you had, and treated the little bitch.' 
Then he cocked his head a bit.  `How old are you, Rowan?' `I'm 
eighteen,' she said, facetiously adding, `going on eighty.  So I'm old 
enough to have an affair and to know when I should.  But honestly, it 
just happened.  I liked helping you fix up the Miraki.  It's such a 
change from the sort of work I do all year long.  That alone will make 
this the most memorable holiday I've ever had, Turian, and last night 
was pure serendipity.  I don't see much of that, I assure you.
     She was reaching him with her quiet explanation, for he was 
basically a sensible man.  A hand, warm from the mug he'd been holding, 
covered hers.  She could feel the tautness of body and mind through 
that contact and tried to find in his mind a clue to reduce that 
stress.  He was still thinking in a circle that went from her youth to 
last night's eroticism.
     `I've made love to a lot of women since I first learned how but 
I've never had it quite like you!' He let his breath out heavily.
     `Never like that before!' His mind paused once more on that 
unexpected blazing intensity that caused his frame to tremble at its 
recall.
     `You've about ruined me for anyone else.' He resented that.  He 
liked his affairs short and sweet and uncomplicated, affairs in which 
he was always the dominant partner and in complete control as he had 
not been last night.
     `Me?  the kid, ruining you, Captain Turian?' she asked, with 
humorous skepticism.  `I doubt that, though that's quite a compliment 
you've paid me.  I'd no idea what to expect once we got started.
     You're a marvelously tender lover.  Even if I have no other 
experience for comparison, I could appreciate that.  And I know you for 
an honest, decent, caring man.  But ruined?  Highly unlikely.  You 
couldn't ever settle to just one woman, or one port and one reach of 
the Altairian seas.  If you want my opinion,' and she had to phrase 
this carefully or give away her illegal prying into his personal files, 
`I don't see you as a family man though your kin mean much to you.  But 
I just can't see you staying on the land to raise kids.  The Miraki's 
wife and child to you.  I'm right, aren't I?' She rather hoped her sly 
cajolery would work and was immensely relieved to feel the shift in his 
thoughts at her candid remarks.  `Even if we had a chance of some sort 
of an association, this ship would win and i'd be the one left dry He 
gave a wry laugh.  She knew that he was within an inch of reaching up 
to ruffle her hair in that casually affectionate gesture, but his 
mental state was still inhibiting him.  She took his hand and laid her 
cheek against it, to allow a healing anodyne of respect and abiding 
friendliness to seep through the touching.
     `I shall never forget how you comforted me, Turian, coming through 
the Straits, and that you knew I needed comfort.  That was so generous 
of you and it was a kindliness with which I am totally unfamiliar.  It 
disarmed me completely, you know.' He nodded, understanding at several 
levels in his mind what she was trying to convey to him.
     `What are you really, Rowan?' `I'm an orphan, I'm eighteen, I'm a 
Talent, and I serve in Altair's Tower.
     She heard the sudden intake of his breath and felt awe color his 
mental image of her.
     `Like Prime Siglen?' For though he knew what Tower personnel did 
and how they did it, he couldn't quite place his companion in that 
context.
     `Well, I'm not a Prime,' she said with a laugh, hiding the 
half-truth.  `But it's a lonely job and I've got to isolate myself from 
the people I work with.  I can't be the sort of informal captain you 
are.  Being your crew has been such a marvelous experience all by 
itself.  Working with you to set the Miraki to rights, just the two of 
us, was as far from my life in the Tower as you can get.  I haven't 
ever had such a wonderful week.  I certainly didn't intend to repay 
your friendship with a sexual imposition.
     `Imposition?' He almost shouted at her, and she knew she had 
struck just the right note.  `I've heard it called many things, but not 
an imposition!' He gave a bark of laughter and suddenly all the tension 
and dismay dissolved from his thoughts.  `Imposition, indeed.' The dawn 
was brightening the sky and she could see the amused expression on his 
face, echoing the recovery of his mental equilibrium.
     `Well, then,' she began in a meek voice though she was emboldened 
by his resilience, `without prejudice and seeing that this is a unique 
opportunity, unlikely to recur, could we impose on each other again?' 
`If you've any Talent, Rowan,' and his expression mirrored the desire 
in his mind, `you'll know I'd like that more than anything else right 
now.' Then he smiled, ruffled her hair, and added, `except perhaps some 
breakfast to give us both the energy we're going to need.' It was late 
afternoon when they reached the wharf at Favor Bay.  The Rowan could, 
and did, make certain that an easy companionship had grown up between 
them on the return voyage.  He had talked a good deal about previous 
voyages around the planet, about his many relations, and, sitting as 
close to him as possible, she had learned more about her native planet 
than she had ever thought to know.
     They were both silent as they moored the ship and did the final 
chores, setting the ship to rights, cleaning the galley, but there 
wasn't much more, or too much, to be said.  She stuffed her salty 
clothes into her backpack, climbed on to the wharf, and collected her 
cycle.  Turian stood in her way for a long moment and she knew he was 
equally loath for this idyll to end.
     `I must leave, Turian.  Clear skies and good sailing.' `Good luck, 
Rowan,' he said in a low voice, heart and mind reaching out to her but 
he stepped.  aside and she cycled past him, feeling his regret as sharp 
as her own.
By the time 
she had cycled up the long hill from the anchorage, she was sweating so 
it didn't matter if some of what poured down her cheeks happened to be 
tears.  It had been a beautiful interlude.  Lusena had been right to 
suggest it, however obliquely.  Would Lusena know what had happened?
     Lusena knew just about everything else about her.  Such a magical 
incident would take a lot of camouflage from her eagle-eyed guardian.
     Did she really want to cover it all up?  Wouldn't Lusena rejoice 
that she had met such a lovely lover?
     She had entered the cottage, slung her backpack down the corridor 
to the laundry room before the sustained squeal of the answer phone 
penetrated her self absorption.
     There was a sheaf of messages, curling down from the machine to 
the floor.  So many in just thirty-six hours?
     `Now what?' The Rowan resented the return of the pressures she had 
been able to forget.  She tore off the final sheet and bundled the 
whole screed up, settling herself first in a chair before reading any 
The first, from Lusena, had arrived just after she had left the cottage 
for the Miraki's journey and announced the triumphant arrival of twin 
girls and the prognosis of a speedy recovery of their mother from a 
prolonged and complicated labor.  A second, also from Lusena, was a 
confirmation of Lusena's opinion that both babies had recorded 
high-potential Talent at birth.  The third was her pleasure that Finnan 
had come to view his nieces and there had been a marvelous family 
reunion.  The fourth was a query from Gerolaman about her lack of 
response to messages.  The fifth which had come in the previous evening 
was an order from Siglen to contact the Tower immediately.  The sixth, 
and the first words made the Rowan yearn for Turian's supportive 
presence, burst the fragile bubble of the idyll.
     MUST INFORM YOU THAT LUSENA SHEVALLOW AY KILLED IN     GROUND VEHICLE COLLISION.  REPORT IMMEDIATELY.  SIGLEN 
The dateline 
was 1220 today as the Miraki had been plowing across the Southerly 
Current under full canvas through the seas still running high from the 
previous night's storms.  She and Turian had been side by side in the 
cockpit, warm with companionship and shared love.
     The tears streamed down the Rowan's face.  `Must inform,' she 
muttered.  `No regrets, Siglen?  No regrets at all that a fine loving 
woman is gone?' She let grief take her then, vainly searching for a 
mind touch that was lost forever to her, lost as the comfort of the 
woman who had cared for her with such dedication.  The ache expanded, 
closing her throat, pushing down into her belly, shoving upward to 
crowd into her brain and press behind her eyes.  Tears flowed and the 
sobs wracked her body.  Turian would comfort her.  Surely she had the 
right to ask that of him.  But why involve him in a private grief?
     It was something one had to live through; the ache of the heart, 
the fruitless searching of the mind, and the sorrow of the spirit.
     Lusena!  Lusena!  Lusena!
     The comunit's piercing summons was a harsh intrusion.
     Irritably, she `ported the connection open and the screen lit up.
     Fortunately it displayed a worried Gerolaman.
     `Rowan!  Where have you been?' `I was sailing.  We were weathered 
in last night in a deserted anchorage.  I'm only just in the door.
     What's happening with.  . -` `Siglen had a fit when the accident 
report came in.  She was positive you were with Lusena and she was in 
some state.' `Thought she'd got rid of me, huh?' Gerolaman's scowl 
reproved her.  `We were all worried, Rowan.  Especially after Finnan 
said you hadn't accompanied her.' `Bardy needed her mother.  She didn't 
need me hanging about and at eighteen I'm well able to take care of 
myself for a few days of holiday.' She knew she sounded querilous but 
she couldn't help it.  `Oh, Gerolaman, Lusena was .  `and she covered 
her face with her hands, weeping bitterly.
     `I know, honey, I know.  It won't be the same.  It's just that.  .
     . we didn't know where you were.  And you had to know.' `Siglen 
herself broke the news.' `Give her some credit, Rowan,' and Gerolaman's 
voice was rough, `she was upset, too.  And got worse thinking you might 
have been killed.  Secretary Camella's handling arrangements which is 
very good of her.  Now I know where you are, I'll come and get you.
     The Rowan smeared the tears off her cheeks with both hands.  `I 
appreciate it, Gerry, but there's no need.  I'll be there as soon as I 
can close up this place.' She cut the line before he could protest.
     She ignored the comunit while she gathered up her belongings, 
showered and dressed, phoned the caretaker that she was vacating.  From 
the porch she could make out the Miraki, moored to the wharf.  She had 
that memory at least!
     Then, for the first time, she `ported herself directly to her 
quarters at the Tower.  She'd had the range and strength to do so for 
several years but this was the first time she'd had occasion to make 
use of that ability.  Rascal launched himself at her from the bookcase, 
muttering imprecations at her as he clung to her shoulder.  She turned 
her head to bury her face in his soft fur, and felt the sting of tears 
again.  She bit her lip and walked toward the kitchen to give him a 
treat for his welcome.  She couldn't bear to look down the corridor to 
Lusena's empty room.
     The comunit rang imperatively.  `I'm back, Gerry, she said.
     `It is not Gerolaman,' Siglen's thick voice answered her.
     `Where have you been, you irresponsible child?  Stand where I can 
view you.  This instant.' `In a moment, Prime, I'm presently 
indisposed.' The Rowan stroked Rascal as he happily munched his morsel 
before she complied.
     `Where have you .  . Siglen's protruberant eyes bulged still 
further as she took in the Rowan's altered appearance.  `Your hair?
     You cut your hair?  And it's the wrong color!  What have you been 
doing?  Where have you been?  Do you not realize that Lusena is to be 
interred today and you must, in decency, attend.' `I'll go as soon as 
I've changed and as soon as I know where the ceremony will be.' 
`Secretary Camella is representing the Council and you will have to 
hurry to be ready.  And really, you must do something about your hair 
before attending an interment.' `Why?  My hair was Lusena's idea.
     Excuse me, Prime.  If haste is the order, I have things to do.' 
`And you will report to me the instant you return, do you hear me, 
Rowan?
     You have tried my patience beyond all bounds.
     Unable to bear such recriminations, the Rowan cut and closed down 
the connection.  Gerry, tell me where.  I want to go on my own!
     Gerolaman was not a sender but she felt him receive her message 
and knew he was acting on it.  She didn't need another shower but after 
she had changed to suitable clothing for the sad duty, she bathed her 
face in cold water until he arrived.  Rascal coughed a warning of his 
entry.
     There was great pity in the stationmaster's face for her, and a 
sorrow of his own for the loss of a dear and valued colleague.
     `Can I say anything to help, Rowan?' he asked, his hands held open 
in a gesture of helplessness.  He was dressed with appropriate 
sobriety, his usually unkempt hair parted and flat on his skull.  His 
eyes were red, too.
     She shook her head.  `You'll come with me?' `The Secretary of the 
Interior `Camella will be in floods: she was very close to Lusena .  .
     .` it hurt even to speak her name.  `I can't stand more emotional 
backlash, not all the way to the interment.
     If we can get to your office where I can use gestalt, I'll get us 
both there.  I'll want to see Bardy and Finnan.  At least, she was 
there when Bardy needed her.' `Now wait a minute, Rowan, you can't tap 
the gestalt without Siglen's permission?' `Scared I'll mis-jump us?' 
`No, trying to keep you acting sensibly!' `There is nothing sensible 
about grief,' she flashed at him.  Then grimaced and added in an 
affected tone, a hand to her forehead, `I'm grief-stricken.  I don't 
quite know what I'm doing.  Will you come with me?' `I'd better!' He 
turned and led the way down the corridor toward his office.  She 
followed.
     Once inside, she placed both hands on his shoulders.  `Is there 
anything medium large in the cradles right now?' `No.  Not right now.
     Siglen is upset, you know,' and his fierce expression surprised 
the Rowan.  Gerolaman had several loyalties but the Tower was the top 
priority.  `She hasn't been working well today `I can see that,' the 
Rowan remarked flatly, glancing at the pressure idling in the 
generators.  `What are the coordinates?' Gerolaman hesitated but she 
hooked her fingers sharply into his flesh and he gave them in a grating 
voice.  She leaned into the leashed power of the Tower's generators as 
she had done time and again over the past three years.  She felt the 
surge through her and, making sure of her grip on Gerolaman, she 
`ported them both.
     She almost laughed at the relief on the stationmaster's face as 
they arrived, without so much as a landing stumble, in front of the 
Claimtown's one municipal building.
     ROWAN!  How DARE you!  Siglen roared in her mind.
     Leave me alone right now, Siglen.  You can read me all the 
pertinent Rules and Regulations I've just broken when I get back to the 
Tower.
     Siglen had no reply to such mutinous impertinence but the Rowan 
was aware of peripheral fuming and boiling fury.
     The Rowan ignored that as she ignored Gerolaman's concerned 
expression.  `C'mon.  Bardy's house is down that way.
     `Lusena'll be in there,' Gerolaman pointed to the building.
     `There'll be nothing of my Lusena in there.  I'll remember her as 
she left Favor Bay.  But I can help Bardy In truth, the Rowan was 
almost afraid of confronting her foster sister.  She had monopolized so 
much of Lusena's life, never mind the fact that Lusena had willingly 
accepted the post.  Bardy had been solicitous and kind to the 
fosterling but there had been times when both Bardy and Finnan had 
resented their mother's absorption in her charge.  Why wouldn't they?
     That's why she wanted Gerolaman with her, to see that she faced 
her foster sibs, to deflect any recriminations.
     There were none.  Instead Bardy, true daughter of a generous 
natured mother, comforted the Rowan who burst into tears at the sight 
of her.  Finnan threw his arms about both women and, with Gerolaman, 
comforted them.
     Then there were the twins to be admired and one of them did seem 
to be a tiny replica of her grandmother which was both reassuring and 
saddening.
     So it was as a family, united in their sorrow, that they all went 
to the interment.  The Secretary of the Interior was there, obviously 
relieved to see the Rowan in attendance.
     It was a mark of considerable respect that it was the Secretary 
herself who read the eulogy but the Rowan `heard' more than the sincere 
words: She `heard' much from the others gathered there, and some of it 
was unkind, untrue, and specious.  She closed those minds out and 
concentrated on the spoken words.  The tears continued to fall into her 
hands.  Then a large handkerchief was offered by Finnan, and Bardy's 
hand, so like Lusena's in shape, closed firmly on the Rowan's arm.
     Through that contact, she was one briefly with her.
     By custom, internment was not a lengthy ceremony on Altair.
     Afterward the Secretary, firmly but kindly, insisted that the 
Rowan and Gerolaman accompany her back to Port Altair in her fast 
shuttle.
     Numbed by her acute loss, the Rowan acquiesced.  Bardy and Finnan 
said they could keep in touch with her: they still considered her their 
little sister.  But, on the trip back, the Rowan's emotions were so 
overloaded that she curled up in a chair and closed out even the tacit 
understanding sympathy of the Secretary and Gerolaman.  As anodyne, she 
forced her mind to dwell only on the tranquil return voyage of the 
Miraki, cutting through the lucid blue waters, the gleaming whiteness 
of the sail on that dazzlingly bright morning, the sensation of wind on 
her face, sun on her body, until the monotonous rhythm of the sea 
lulled her into an exhausted sleep.
     She awoke, late the next morning, in her own bed.  Rascal mumbling 
beside her head on the pillow.
     Rowan?  She recognized Bralla's tentative voice.  Reidinger has 
left word that you are to contact him as soon as you wake.
     Reidinger?  Can't Siglen do her own chewing out?
     I assure you, Rowan, and Bralla sounded prim with rebuke, Siglen 
quite understood your state of mind yesterday and wishes to hear no 
more about it.  We are all simpathetic to your terrible loss.  But 
Reidinger was most emphatic about an immediate contact.
     He can speak loud enough to wake me.
     No-one was going to wake you up, Rowan, and again Bralla reproved 
her.
     Sorry, Bralla.
     That's all right, dear, and Bralla's tone was kinder by many 
degrees.
     I'll get a brew and speak to Earth Prime immediately.
     Rascal clung to her, claws uncomfortably latching into her new 
curls, as she got out of bed, tossed a robe about her, and went to make 
a stimulant.  There'd been a note of sympathy from Reidinger among the 
pile on Bardy's table Well, he owed her a lot.
     She picked up the hologram that Reidinger had sent her of himself, 
to use as a focus.  He'd usually contacted her.
     She took a long swig of the hot drink and arranged herself for the 
long mental leap to Earth.  Reidinger's hologram had him seated in a 
chair, arms on the rest, hands relaxed, a position of repose which she 
secretly felt he had assumed only for the replication.  Even so, his 
alert, heavy-featured face, the erect posture of his body, gave off 
clues of the tremendous energy and potential of the man.  His dark blue 
eyes seemed to spark - a trick of the holographer - as if, even over 
the light years separating them, he had a total awareness of her, the 
Rowan.
     Reidinger!  She focused her mind on those large, bright eyes.  She 
was about to repeat the call with more force when she felt his touch.
     Awake, are you?  He might have been in the next room so strong was 
the contact.
     Did I wake you?  I was told to make contact as soon as I could.
     It won't be the first time and I don't use sleep much.
     Gerolaman tells me you haven't sat in yet on this latest course.
     Before she could frame a response, he went on.  I want you to sit 
in, sort out which personalities you like, with a view to a Tower staff 
of at least twenty.  Gerolaman assures me that your judgment's good.
     It's much easier, and now his tone was sardonic, if we can start 
off a new Tower with a well integrated staff, otherwise efficiency 
suffers.
     So take your time choosing.
     The Rowan shot upright in the chair.  A new Tower?
     Girl's quick.  Yes, a new Tower.  On Callisto so it's a 
terraformed Station.  FIT agree that Callisto can route a lot of the 
stuff that has had to come in System first before it can be rerouted.
     You'll be saving me a lot of headaches and give me time to acquire 
others that only Earth Prime can solve.  You're young, I know, but 
you'll be under my supervision and if you think Siglen's been rough on 
you, you'll soon learn that she was really the lesser of two evils.
     As soon as you've assembled a crew, you and they will depart 
directly for Callisto.  Check in with me tomorrow at precisely 9.00 
earth time.
     The gap left by his departure was almost palpable in the quiet 
room.
     `A new Tower,' she murmured, stunned.  `On Callisto?' That was one 
of Jupiter's moons.  Why there?  Why not on the Earth's Moon?  Surely 
that would have been feasible with all the terraforming that had been 
done to improve that satellite.  `I'm to assemble a team?  I'm to .  .
     . I'm to be a Prime!' Gerolaman, Reidinger's assigned me to 
Callisto Tower!
     I can't say that you deserve such a signal honor, young woman, 
Siglen answered her.  At least you will be under his direct supervision 
and I must say, after the other day, that's exactly where you should 
be!
     Quite right, Siglen.  Quite right.  Not even Siglen was going to 
spoil her elation.
     Lusena would have cheered!  The Rowan closed her eyes over the 
pain the errant thought evoked.  Lusena would never know that her 
charge had achieved Prime status.
     And the Rowan could not suppress her bitter tears which she wiped 
quickly away when she heard the rap on her door.
     Gerolaman entered, his smile tentative until he saw her bravely 
smile back at him.  `That's my girl.  Put regret aside.  She'd have 
been proud, no doubt of it, as I am but,' and he shook the sheaf of 
hard copy he held, `we've work to do now in earnest, Prime Rowan.  My 
pleasure and my privilege to assist.  Work did help: She had to 
concentrate on the reports first, and then had to match them up with 
the people on the course.  Half a dozen times, she found herself 
thinking she must tell Lusena this or that, and the anguish would seize 
her momentarily until she relentlessly pushed it back.  Sorrow was 
yesterday: today was for her future, the future which Lusena had 
cherished for her - her own Station and the title of Prime.
     Four years on and she still liked Ray Loftus and Joe Toglia as 
technicians and maintenance personnel.  Gerolaman approved for they had 
good records as assistants in their skills and had worked at Procyon, 
Betelgeuse, and Earth.  Mauli and Mick were available for reassignment 
and they had always intrigued the Rowan.  From the new people on this 
course, she chose a Bill Powers as assistant supercargo from his record 
as well as his calm, stolid manner and a slow smile.
     `As good a reason as any,' Gerolaman remarked, `considering you're 
going to have to look at his face a lot.' An older woman, a Capellan 
named Cardia Ren Harter, might work out as Stationmaster.  She'd temped 
in that position on Betelgeuse and Prime David recommended her.  She 
wondered about the fifty-year-old scan reader, Zabe Talumet: His 
qualifications were sound but he seemed to have moved around a lot.
     But he had a good rating in his profession.
     `You'll have to expect some shake-ups before you shake down, 
Rowan,' Gerolaman assured her.  `Personalities have to mesh and that 
takes time, trial and often error.
     Whatever crew you pick aren't set in plasglas forever, you know.
     It took nearly six years before Siglen was satisfied, and some of 
her choices have always astonished me and Bralla but we all work well 
when it comes to the crunch.' Reidinger sent four more T-4 and T-5
     ratings from Earth Prime, and when she couldn't find a good life 
support manager, bullied someone from the Moon into taking a promotion 
in the Callisto's system.
     Three days later, Bralla earnestly requested the Rowan to have 
dinner with Siglen.
     `She really did feel badly about Lusena.  And she was terrified 
that you'd been in the crash, too.  It took her a nervous half hour 
before she located the wreck and she scared the local officials out of 
their wits with a direct consultation.  She's really thrilled for your 
promotion, Rowan, truly she is.' The Rowan entertained a niggle of 
suspicion about Siglen being thrilled for her sudden advancement by 
Reidinger.  Altair's Prime had always maintained that the Rowan would 
not be ready for any responsibilities for years.  Certainly the Rowan 
had never been called to account for her impertinence, and direct 
action, disregarding Siglen's explicit orders.  Still there was little 
point in any unnecessary bad feelings between herself and Altair's 
Prime.
     So, the Rowan purchased a plainly cut, flowing dinner dress in a 
pale gray - about the only color that wouldn't clash with the 
flamboyant colors in Siglen's dining area, with a silver torque, to 
make a subtle statement of her adult status.  She presented herself at 
Siglen's suite to be greeted by Bralla who nodded approvingly and 
ushered her into the reception area.
     Siglen had made significant inroads on the dainty canapes which 
accompanied the aperitifs.  Three places at the dining table meant that 
Bralla was included, a fact which reassured the Rowan.
     Siglen initiated the conversation with a long explanation of 
systems updates which Reidinger had discussed with her at length.  The 
Rowan listened politely all through the first three courses of which 
she ate only enough to be courteous.
     `It really is too mean of Reidinger to transfer you just when 
Altair will be upgraded.  You could learn so much from the new 
equipment if you stay just a few more months here so that I can advise 
you.
     `If it's all new equipment, Siglen, you'll be learning to operate 
it, too, won't you?' replied the Rowan logically.
     She noticed the twitch of annoyance on the Prime's face but she 
could find no break in the woman's mental shield.
     The twitch expanded slightly into a weak smile.
     `I do wish you ate properly, my dear.  I gave a good deal of 
thought to this evening's meal.  You are so thin and whatever will they 
think of me,' a jeweled thumb pressed dramatically against Siglen's 
large bosom, `and the way I have cared for you.' `The medics say I have 
an active metabolism, Siglen, and I'm unlikely ever to put on much 
extra weight.' `But you will need it, my dear, to sustain you.' 
Siglen's flabby face now registered extreme concern.
     `To sustain me?  I believe the hydroponics units at the Callisto 
Station are state of the art and can supply every known edible fruit 
and vegetable.
     `I'm sure you'll be all right once you get to Callisto,' and there 
was an ominous suggestion of imminent disaster in Siglen's round tones.
     `Of course I'll be all right on Callisto.' `Yes, but you have to 
get there!' Then, to the Rowan's utter amazement, Siglen burst into 
tears, covering her face with her napkin.  She reached out a hand to 
grab the Rowan's and there was no doubt of the woman's concern and 
anxiety.  The girl looked to Bralla for an explanation.  Terror pulsed 
through Siglen's fingers to the Rowan who worked her fingers free, 
wanting no part, however vicarious, of that particular emotion.
     Bralla looked equally upset, her mouth quivering.
     `What are you talking about, Siglen?' Mopping her eyes, Siglen 
gave the Rowan a single woeful glance before propping both heavy arms 
on the table and once again giving way to noisy sobs.
     `It's space, my dear,' Bralla said, her expression rife with 
dread.
     `What do you mean?' `You know what travel in space does to Primes, 
Rowan,' Bralla told her earnestly as if that explained everything.
     `David suffered agonies when he left here for Betelgeuse.
     He was so unwise to believe that a male Prime would be unaffected.
     Capella took three months to recover from her disorientation.' 
`I've `ported myself from Favor Bay to Bardy's Claimsite without any 
disorientation -`But you were planet bound, with home gravity .  .
     Bralla argued.
     `And I've flown in shuttles all over Altair.' `Shuttles are not at 
all the same thing as being `ported, Siglen said disputatiously.  `Oh, 
I have dreaded this from the moment I heard the rumor about Callisto 
Station.  I begged Reidinger to consider T-2s, any sort of combination 
but you, Rowan.  I couldn't let you, a mere baby, go through that 
terror so soon after your hideous ordeal.  Now you don't even have 
Lusena to support you m your hour of need.' The Rowan hadn't thought of 
that abortive attempt to send her three-year-old self to Earth for her 
training.  But she did indeed remember the dark passage into the 
shuttle: into an enclosed space.  The erratic motion of the Miraki 
through the Straits reinforced that ancient terror far too vividly.
     `Nonsense.  I'll be perfectly all right.  I was a child and no-one 
had explained anything to me.  They just said I had to .  . . and she 
opened her eyes wide so as not to see the huge frightening maw they had 
been urging her into.  `I do wish, Siglen, that you didn't make a 
mountain out of a molehill.  I'll be perfectly all right.' `That's what 
David said when I warned him about spatial disorientation.  Capella 
believed me and went heavily sedated but it still took her three months 
to reorient herself.  I wish I could spare you this when you have so 
recently lost your confidante.  There isn't one of the T-4s in 
Gerolaman's course who'd be any use to you.
     Bralla agrees with me.' Bralla nodded vigorously and the Rowan 
kept a tight grip on a growing vexation.
     `If I don't find a T-4 from this group, I'm sure there'll be 
plenty more willing to accept a promotion to a new Tower.  Now, do 
please stop overdramatizing a simple `portation.  I know that you'll 
make the shift with your usual skill, Siglen, so I've no worries at 
all.' She stayed only as long as minimum politeness dictated and then 
went in search of Gerolaman.
     `Well, it's true enough about David and Capella and she went 
completely sedated and cocooned in a special shock capsule,' Gerolaman 
said.  `I know Siglen was so sick she lost 5 kilos.  And no Prime I've 
ever heard of has ever been able to `port himself or herself through 
space.  Reidinger went to the Moon once and never stirred off planet 
afterwards.' `I'm the youngest Prime, and healthy, athletic .  .
     `Everything the others weren't,' Gerolaman finished with a 
malicious gleam in his eyes.  `I'll lay bets on you, m'girl.  Now, what 
d'you think of that T-4, Forrie Toy?' `I don't like him at all.  He 
eyes me the way Siglen does a particularly creamy eclair and he won't 
meet my eyes.  He slams shields up against even the most courteous 
request.
     I'd never be able to work with such a closed mind.' `Procyon's 
sending over a T-4 female.
     `I work better with a male pairing.
     `Well, Siglen would have preferred to but Bralla was the only one 
to suit her, ever.
     `Gerolaman, do I have to remind you that I am NOT remotely like 
Siglen.' `No, you don't, Rowan, but we still have to form the nucleus 
of a working team before you reach Callisto!' `I'll try the woman.' 
Channi could not have been more of an opposite had a mad genetic 
scientist deliberately designed them.  She was a half-meter taller than 
the Rowan, big-boned, a woman who moved with deliberation (probably 
because she was afraid of injuring someone smaller than her large 
self), and while she was tested as a T-4 rating in both telepathy and 
teleportation, the Rowan could not achieve any rapport.
     `She slows me up as if I was trying to work through a wall,' the 
Rowan said and began to worry that she'd never assemble a cohesive 
Tower staff.
     Where Gerolaman kept reassuring her that there was no question 
that she would soon find appropriate matches of skills and Talents, 
Bralla would appear with suggestions from Siglen which invariably 
proved totally useless.  The time for the Rowan's scheduled departure 
drew closer and she became more anxious to start out on the right note.
     ROWAN!  Reidinger's unmistakable tones roared through her skull.
     Stop that fidgeting.  You've got enough to run a Tower right now 
with the seven you've picked and the ten who're waiting for you at 
Callisto.
     You're going to have to relax.  I don't want you in a muck sweat 
when you board the transport.
     And how are you betting on my survival?  she demanded acidly On 
what?  The genuine surprise in his tone reassured her more than the 
diatribe he launched when he understood what the bet was.
     Mauli and Mick came to help her pack the things she would be 
transferring to Callisto.  Their companionship helped ease the 
inevitable heartache as she came across gifts that Lusena had given her 
over the years.  From his special caricase, Rascal alternated between 
acid comments on his incarceration and plaintive requests to be allowed 
out but he had proved too much of a nuisance, hiding in crates or 
attacking Mauli.  When everything had been neatly stowed in the 
container, the Rowan with Mauli and Mick, `ported it into its assigned 
place in the transport waiting on the cradle for the morning's lift.
     `Are you sure you don't want to sleep in the guest house?' Mauli 
asked, looking about the rooms empty except for Rascal's case.
     `I'll be fine.  I'll just move a few things in from the stores,' 
the Rowan reassured them and saw them firmly out of her quarters.
     She put Rascal's cage safely in the food preparation area which 
was the only room that she and Lusena had not redecorated from Siglen's 
original offering.  Then, working at top speed, the Rowan papered, 
painted, and restored the rooms just as they had been on the day she 
had moved into the Tower.  For just this night, it wouldn't hurt her to 
sleep on that ghastly pink and orange bed.  She was tired enough so she 
wouldn't even notice.  But Rascal did and it took him a long time to 
stop his disgusted commentary.
     If the Rowan could have avoided the farewell rituals, she would 
have.  She hadn't had much sleep on that wretchedly soft bed and 
formalities invariably set her teeth on edge.  All the Secretaries were 
there, each with something encouraging to say to her and a small 
present to brighten her new quarters.  Secretary Camella wavered 
between radiant smiles and a teary face.  Siglen wept copiously on 
Bralla's shoulder, moaning about the imminent tribulations and why 
wouldn't anyone listen to her and take proper care of her little pupil, 
the best one she had ever trained, and to have to endure what was 
before her.
     Leading her Tower personnel up the gangway into the big and 
brightly lit transport, the Rowan ignored a flashback to the day it had 
been Purza she'd carried, not Rascal, up a ramp.  She turned for one 
last wave at the assembled, and confidently followed the steward to her 
room.
     `You've a barquecat?' the man exclaimed, noticing her burden.
     `Rascal.  The Mayotte let me have him four years ago.
     He's been a super friend.
     `Mayotte, huh?  You rate, Prime.  You got to be real special to be 
voted a Mayotte barquecat.
     `What do you have on board?' and the stimulating exchange lasted 
until he slid back the door of her cabin, explaining that it was larger 
than most accommodations and showing her the various facilities.
     The Rowan pretended interest but she had to swallow frequently and 
she began to sweat even before she thanked the garrulous steward and 
finally managed to ease him out the door.  The cabin was very small.
     She'd been in shower stalls that were larger.  But then she 
wouldn't have to be in it long.
     Now, please don't worry, dear.  Really, there is absolutely 
nothing to worry about, Siglen's anxious tones blossomed in her mind.
     It isn't the same sort of mind-wrenching trip that I had to take 
to get here the first time, you know, before Altair Tower was 
operational.
     Siglen's mind was roiling with fear for Rowan.  The girl could 
easily visual the slab of a woman, supine in her couch, her eyes on the 
vessel's coordinates on the ceiling screen, her fingers checking and 
checking the gestalt thrust needed for the launch.  It was a scene she 
had witnessed time and again, but not at this end of the operation.
     Bralla would be hovering in the background.  ¬I do hope everything 
will go smoothly for you, dear, Siglen continued, her anxiety 
intensifying.  I've checked and double checked and everything is in 
perfect working order.  I just wish I didn't have to be the one The 
Rowan gritted her teeth.  The last thing she needed was Siglen 
reminiscing over her tribulations on the journey from Earth to Altair.
     The woman meant well.
     The Rowan urged the lift-off claxon to sound, signaling their 
imminent departure.  Involved in gestalt, Siglen could not transfer 
mental garbage.  What was keeping the woman from completing the lift?
     Oh, oh, Bralla, and Siglen's wide open mind wailed as the Rowan 
child once had done.  How can I do this to her?
     The Rowan tried to close out a sudden whirling, mindboggling 
disorientation.
     Lift, Siglen!  Now is not the time to dally!  Get me off planet 
NOW!  the Rowan cried, unwilling to endure any more delay colored by a 
cowardly old woman's ancient fears.
     The Rowan leaned back against the door, closing her mind to 
Siglen's moans.  Siglen was frightening herself.
     The Rowan wasn't at all frightened, even if the cabin suddenly 
seemed constricting.  The cabin on the Miraki had been small but the 
Miraki had been on the sea which rolled around Altair.  There was fresh 
air all over.  She took deep gulps of air and it tasted properly.  She 
knew from standard procedures that air was replaced between voyages so 
this wasn't stale recycled air she was breathing.
     The passenger vehicle was not a large one: Siglen lifted far more 
mass without thinking twice about it.  She had only to `port the ship 
halfway to its destination where Reidinger as Earth Prime would catch 
and ease it into Earth's Star System.  As it neared Jupiter, the ship 
would enter the proper orbit to land on Callisto's surface.
     Once the Tower was in full operation, it would be the Rowan who 
would catch an incoming `portation and land it neatly and without a 
bump into the cradle designed to receive it on Callisto.  The Rowan 
fixed her mind on her future, her own Tower to run, free forever of 
Siglen's fussy peculiarities.
     The claxon sounded.  The Rowan found it oddly difficult to move 
from the door to the bunk.  Even silly, but she lay down.  She ought 
not to feel any motion whatever.  Siglen was an experienced Prime.
     There would be no motion, nothing at all like the Miraki coming 
through the Straits, no bouncing, rolling, slewing.
     Oh my dear child, brace yourself!  Brace yourself' Siglen even 
managed to penetrate the Rowan's shielding but then she had the gestalt 
to magnify her telepathy.
     But the Rowan knew the moment the `port began: she knew it because 
the marrow of her bones vibrated with the generator gestalt.
     Oh, Bralla, HOW could I do this to the child?  How?  Oh, what 
she'll suffer now!
     There was no escape for the Rowan from Siglen's anguished keening.
     Nor would Siglen leave her alone, determined in her unnecessary 
solicitude to support her former pupil through this ordeal.
     Then, just as Siglen had said it would, suddenly everything was 
spinning in her head: She was neither up nor down, nor sideways, but 
whirling in a desperate spiral to nowhere and she screamed and screamed 
and screamed and screamed, and heard Rascal shrieking with equal panic.
     Then she was falling into hands, hands that seized and held her 
down, down, down, forcing her into the vortex that reached out to 
envelop her and she descended, unchecked into the awful spinning, 
mind-wrenching blackness.

     PART TWO CALLISTO 

When the Rowan came storming into Callisto 
Station that morning, its personnel mentally and literally ducked.
     Mentally, because she was apt to forget to shield.
     Literally, because the Rowan was prone to slamming loose 
furnishings around when she got upset.  Today, however, she was in fair 
command of herself and merely stamped up the stairs into the Tower.  A 
vague rumble of noisy thoughts tossed around the ground floor of the 
Station for a few minutes, but the computer and analogue men ignored 
the depressing effects with the gratitude of those saved from greater 
disaster.
     From the residue of her passage, Brian Ackerman, the 
Stationmaster, caught the impression of intense purple frustration.  He 
was basically only a T-9, but constant association with the Rowan had 
broadened his perceptions.  Ackerman appreciated this side effect of 
his position - when he was anywhere else but at the Station.
     At the beginning, just after the Rowan had been assigned to 
Callisto, he had tried to transfer with no success.  Federal 
Telepathers and Teleporters, Inc.  had established a routine regarding 
his continuous applications.  The first one handed in each quarter was 
ignored; the second brought an adroitly worded reply on how sensitive 
and crucial a position he held at Callisto Prime Station; his third 
often a violent demand - always got him a special shipment of scotch; 
his fourth - a piteous wail - brought the Section Supervisor out for a 
face-to-face chat and, only then, a few discreet words to the Rowan.
     Ackerman was positive she always knew the full story before the 
Supervisor finally approached her.  It pleased her to be difficult, but 
the one time Ackerman discarded protocol and snarled back at her, she 
had mended her ways for a full quarter.  It had reluctantly dawned on 
Ackerman that she must like him, and he had since used this knowledge 
to advantage.  He was also becoming proud of the fact that he was one 
of the longest serving members of the Callisto personnel.
     Each of the twenty-three Station staff members had gone through a 
similar shuffling until the Rowan accepted them.  It took a very 
delicate balance of mental talent, personality, and technical skill to 
achieve the proper gestalt required to move giant liners and tonnes of 
freight.
     Federal Tel and Tel had only five Primes - five T-1's each 
strategically placed to effect the best possible transmission of 
commerce and communications throughout the sprawling Nine-Star League.
     It was FT&T's dream someday to provide instantaneous transmission 
of anything, anywhere, anytime.  Until that day, FT&T exercised patient 
diplomacy with its five T-1s, putting up with their vagaries like the 
doting owners of so many golden geese.  If keeping the Rowan happy had 
meant changing the lesser personnel twice daily, it would probably have 
been done.  The present staff had been intact for over two years in 
spite of the Rowan's eccentricities.
     The Rowan had been peevish for a week this time and everyone was 
beginning to smart under the backlash.  So far no-one knew why the 
Rowan was upset.  . . if she did herself.  To be fair, Ackerman 
thought, she usually does have reasons.
     Ready for the liner!  Her thought lashed out so piercingly that 
Ackerman was sure everyone in the ship waiting outside had heard her.
     But he switched the intercom in to the ship's captain.
     `I heard,' the captain said wryly.  `Give me a five-count and then 
set us off.' Ackerman didn't bother to relay the message to the Rowan.
     In her mood, she'd be hearing straight to Capella and back.  The 
generator board was ablaze with varied colored printouts and messages 
as the team brought the booster field up to peak, while the Rowan 
impatiently rewed up the launch units to push-off strength.  She was 
well ahead of the standard timing, and the pent-up power seemed to keen 
through the station.  The countdown came fast as the energy level sang 
past endurable limits.
     ROWAN, NO TRICKS, Ackerman said.
     He caught her mental laugh and barked a warning to the captain.
     He hoped the man had heard it, because the Rowan was on zero 
before he could finish and the ship was out of the system, beyond com 
distance in seconds.
     The keening dynamos lost only a minute edge of sharpness before 
they sang at peak again.  The lots on the launchers snapped out into 
space as fast as they could be set up.  Then loads rocketed into the 
receiving area from other Prime Stations, and the ground crews hustled 
rerouting and hold orders.  The power note settled to a bearable pitch, 
as the Rowan worked out her mood without losing the efficient and 
accurate thrust that made her FT&T's best Prime.
     Callisto Moonbase was not a large installation, but its position 
was critical.  Most of the heart system's freight and passenger ships 
required the gestalt lift beyond the system where the hyper or drone 
drives could safely be activated.  As such bases went, it was luxurious 
- once you got accustomed to the overhead lower of Jupiter, or its mass 
jutting up from the horizon.  Terraforming the moon gave its workers 
psychological reassurance during the working `day' with trees and grass 
lawns and flowering bushes and plants under the main dome.
     There were pleasant gardened accommodations for those staff that 
were on 24-hour duty, though most of the personnel - the Rowan willing 
- returned to their Earth surface or orbital homes.  As befit her 
status as an FT&T Prime, the Rowan had a special double-domed 
enclosure, with gardens and a pool and rimmed with small trees and 
bushes to complete her privacy.  Rumor had it that her quarters were 
rich with priceless furnishings, gathered from many planets, but no-one 
knew for certain as the Rowan guarded her privacy even more than FT&T 
guarded her.  The Callisto installation had been the engineering and 
scientific feat of the century, now commonplace since technological 
improvements outstripped that accomplishment as humans reached newer 
and more exotic planets in ever more remote star systems.
     One of the ground crew toggled the yellow alert across the board, 
then red as ten tonnes of cargo from Earth settled on the Priority 
Receiving cradle.  The waybill said Deneb VIII, one of the newest 
colonies, which was at the Rowan's limit.  But the shipment was marked 
TOP EMERGENCY PRIORITY/ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL with lavish MED seals and 
stencils shouting `caution'.  The waybill described the shipment as 
antibodies for a virulent plague and specified direct transmission.
     Well, where're my coordinates and my placement photo?
     snapped the Rowan.  I can't thrust blind, you know, and we've 
always rerouted for Deneb VIII Bill Powers was scrolling through the 
Stardex which the Rowan suddenly tripped into a fast forward, the 
appropriate fax appearing on all screens at once.
     Glor-ree!  Do I have to land all that mass there myself?
     No, Lamebrain, I'll pick it up at 24.578.82, the lazy rich 
baritone voice drawled in every mind, that nice little convenient black 
dwarf midway.  You won't need to strain a single neuron in your pretty 
little skull.
     The silence was deafening.
     Well, I'll be .  . . came from the Rowan.
     Of course, you are, sweetheart - just push that nice little 
package out my way.  Or is it too much for you?  The drawl was 
solicitous rather than insulting.
     You'll get your package!  replied the Rowan, and the dynamos 
keened piercingly just once as the ten tonnes disappeared out of the 
cradle.
     Why, you little minx .  . . slow it down or I'll burn your ears 
back!
     Come out and catch it!  The Rowan's laugh broke off in a gasp of 
surprise, and Ackerman could feel her slamming up her mental shields.
     I want that stuff in one piece, not smeared a millimeter thin on 
the surface, my dear, the voice said sternly.  OK.  I've got it.
     Thanks!  We need this.
     Hey, who the blazes are you?  What's your placement?
     Deneb VIII, my dear, and a busy boy right now.  To-to.
     The silence was broken only by the whine of the dynamos dying to 
an idle burr.
     Not a hint of what the Rowan was thinking came through now, but 
Ackerman could pick up the aura of incredulity, shock, speculation, and 
satisfaction that pervaded the thoughts of everyone else in the 
Station.
     What a stunner for the Rowan!  No-one except a T- 1 could have 
projected that far.  There'd been no mention of a new T-1 being 
contracted to FT&T, and, as far as Ackerman knew, FT&T had the 
irreversible first choice on T-1
     kinetics.  However, Deneb planet was now it its third generation 
and colonial peculiarities had produced the Rowan in two.
     `Hey, people,' Ackerman said, `sock up your shields.
     She's not going to like your drift.
     Dutifully the aura was dampened, but the grins did not fade and 
Powers started to whistle cheerfully.
     Another yellow flag came up for the Altair hurdle and the waybill 
designated LIVE SHIPMENT TO BETELGEUSE.
     The dynamos whined noisily and then the launcher was empty.
     Whatever might be going through her mind at the moment, the Rowan 
was doing her work.
     All told, it was an odd day, and Ackerman didn't know whether to 
be thankful or not that the Rowan wasn't leaking any aggravation.  She 
spun the day's lot in and out with careless ease.  By the time 
Jupiter's bulk had moved around to blanket the out-system traffic, 
Callisto's day was nearly over and the Rowan wasn't off power as much 
as decibel one.  Once the in-Sun traffic had filled all available 
cradles, Ackerman wound down the system.  The computer banks darkened 
and dynamos fell silent.  . . but the Rowan did not come down out of 
her Tower.
     Ray Loftus and Afra, the Capellan T-4, came over to sit on the 
edge of Ackerman's desk.  They brought out the bottle of some home brew 
and passed it around.  As usual, Afra demured and took from his belt 
pouch a half-folded origami, his special form of relaxation.
     `I was going to ask her Highness to give me a lift home,' Loftus 
said, `but I dunno now.  Got a date with-' He disappeared.  A moment 
later, Ackerman could see him near a personnel carrier.  Not only had 
he been set down gently, but various small necessities, including a 
flight bag, floated out of nowhere on to a neat pile in the carrier.
     Ray was given time to settle himself before the hatch sealed and 
he was whisked off.
     Powers joined Afra and Ackerman.
     `She's sure in a funny mood,' he said.
     When the Rowan got peevish, few of the men at the station asked 
her to transport them to Earth.  She was psychologically planet bound, 
and resented the fact that lesser talents could be moved about through 
space without suffering a twinge of shock.
     Anyone else?
     Adler and Toglia spoke up and promptly disappeared.
     Ackerman and Powers exchanged looks which they hastily suppressed 
as the Rowan appeared before them, smiling.
     It was the first time that that welcome and charming expression 
had crossed her face for two weeks.
     The grin made you realize, Ackerman thought, very very softly in 
the deepest part of his brain, what a lovely woman she could be.  She 
was slight, thin rather than slender and sometimes moved like an 
animated stick figure.  She was not his notion of `feminine' - all 
angles and slight breasts - and yet, sometimes when she looked up at 
you out of the corner of her eyes, that slight smile tugging at the 
corner of a rather sensual mouth, she fair took a guy's breath away .
     . . wondering.  And thinking about things no married man - or T-9
     - had any business reviewing, even in his head.  Maybe it was her 
white hair some said she'd had that since she was hauled out of the 
mudslide on Altair - others said it marked her as part alien.  The 
Rowan looked different because - and Ackerman knew this for a fact she 
WAS different!
     She smiled now, not sly exactly, but watchful, and said nothing.
     She took a pull from the bottle, made a grimace, and handed it 
back with a thank-you.  For all her eccentricities, the Rowan acted 
with propriety face-to face.  She had grown up with her skill, 
carefully taught by old Siglen on Altair.  She'd had certain courtesies 
drilled into her: the less gifted could be alienated by inappropriate 
use of Talent.  While the Rowan could be justified in `reaching' things 
during business hours, she was careful to display normal behavior at 
other times.
     `Heard any `scut about our Denebian friend?' she asked with just 
the right degree of `casual' in her voice.
     Ackerman shook his head.  `Those planets are three generations 
colonized, and you came out of Altair in two.' `That could explain it, 
but FT&T hasn't even projected a station for Deneb.  They're still 
trying to find Talents for closer systems.' `And not for want of 
trying,' Afra said.
     `Wild Talent?' Powers helpfully suggested.
     `At a Prime level?  Unlikely.' She shook her head.  `All I can get 
from Center is that they received an urgent message from an inbound 
merchantman to help combat a planet-wide virus, including a rundown on 
the syndrome and symptoms.  Lab came up with a serum, batched, and 
packed it.  They were assured that there was someone capable of picking 
it up and taking it the rest of the way past 24.578.82 if a Prime would 
get it that far.  Prior to this morning, what little goes to Deneb has 
been sent by cargo drone or rerouted.  And that's all anybody knows.' 
Then she added thoughtfully, `Deneb VIII isn't a very big colony.' Oh, 
we're big enough, sweetheart, interrupted the drawling voice.  Sorry to 
get you after hours, my dear, but I don't really know anyone else to 
tag on Earth and I heard you coloring your atmosphere.
     What's wrong?  the Rowan asked.  Did you smear your serum after 
all that proud talk?
     Smear it, hell!  I've been drinking it.  No, lovey.  We've just 
discovered that we got some ET visitors who think they're 
exterminators.  We got a reading on three UFOs, perched four thousand 
miles above us.  That batch of serum you wafted out to me this morning 
was for the sixth virus we've been socked with in the last two weeks, 
so there're no bets on coincidence.
     Someone's trying to kill us off You can practically time the onset 
of a new nasty by the digital.  We've lost twenty five percent of our 
population already and this last virus is a beaut.  I want two top 
germdogs out here on the double and, say, two naval squadrons.  I doubt 
our friends will hover about viral dusting much longer.  They've 
softened us up plenty.  They're moving in now and once they get in 
position they'll start blowing holes in us real soon.  So send the word 
along to Fleet Headquarters, will you, sweetheart, to mobilize us a 
heavyduty retaliation fleet?
     I'll relay, naturally.  But why didn't you contact direct?
     Contact whom?  What?  I don't know your Terran organization.
     You're the only one I can hear.
     Not for much longer if I know my bosses.
     You may know your bosses, but you don't know me.
     That can always be arranged.
     This is no time for flirting.  Get that message through for me 
like a good girl.
     Which message?
     The one I just gave you.
     That old one?  They say you can have two germdogs in the morning 
as soon as we clear Jupiter.  But Earth says no squadrons.  No armed 
attack.
     You can double-talk, too, huh?  You're talented.  But the morning 
does us no good.  NOW is when we need them.  We've got to have as many 
healthy bodies as possible.  Can't you sling the medics.  . . no, you 
can't, can you, not with Jupiter's mass in the way.  Sorry, I just 
found the data on your station.  Filed under Miscellaneous Space 
Installations.  But, look, if six viruses don't constitute armed 
attack, what does?
     Missiles constitute armed attack, the Rowan said primly.
     Frankly, missiles would be preferable.  Them I can see.  I need 
those germdogs NOW.  Can't you turn your sweet little mind to a 
solution?
     as you mentioned, it's after hours.
     By the Horse head, woman!  the drawl was replaced by a cutting 
mental roar.  My family, my friends, my planet are dying.
     Look, after hours here means we're behind Jupiter.
     But.  . . wait!  How deep is your range?
     I don't honestly know.  And the firm mental tone lost some of its 
assurance.
     `Ackerman!' The Rowan turned to her stationmaster.
     `I've been listening.' Hang on, Deneb, I've got an idea.  I can 
deliver your germdogs.  Open to me in half an hour The Rowan whirled on 
Ackerman.  `I want my shell.
     Her brilliant eyes were flashing and her face was alight.
     `Afra!' The station's second in command, the handsome yellow eyed 
Capellan T-4, raised himself from the chair in which he'd been quietly 
watching her.
     `Yes, Rowan?' She glanced to the men in the room, bathing each in 
the miraculous smile that so disconcerted Ackerman with its sensuality.
     `I'll need all of you to help me.  I'll have to be launched, 
slowly, over Jupiter's curve,' she said to afra.  Ackerman was already 
switching on the dynamos, and Bill Powers punched for her special shell 
to be deposited on the launch rack.  `Real slow, Afra.  Then I'll want 
to draw heavy.' She took a deep breath.
     Like all Primes, she was unable to launch herself through space.
     Her trip from Altair to Callisto had deeply traumatized her.
     Primes were the victims of particularly pernicious agoraphobia.
     Most could not tolerate heights either.  There were some who said 
that the Rowan did very well indeed to climb the stairs to her `tower'.
     Paradoxically, where the looming bulk of Jupiter gave others 
`falling' psychoses, it reassured her.  With the planet in the way, she 
couldn't `fall' far into the limitless void of space.
     As another necessary security measure - in the event of a meteor 
shower on Callisto - the Rowan had a personnel capsule, opaque and 
specially fitted, padded and programmed to reduce the paralyzing 
sensation of `movement'.  By the exercise of severe discipline, the 
Rowan had accustomed herself to taking short emergency drill trips.
     As soon as she saw the capsule settle in the rack, she took 
another deep breath and disappeared from the Station, to reappear 
beside the conveyance.  She settled gracefully into the shock couch of 
the shell.  The moment the lock whistle shut off, she `knew' that afra 
was lifting her, gently, gently away from Callisto.  She wasn't aware 
of the slightest movement.  Nonetheless, she clung firmly on to afra's 
reassuring mental touch.  Only when the shell had swung into position 
over Jupiter's great curve did she reply to the priority call coming 
from Earth Central.
     Now what the billy blue blazes are you doing, Rowan?
     Reidinger's base voice crackled in her skull.  Have you lost 
what's left of your precious mind?
     She's doing me a favor, Deneb said, abruptly joining them.
     who in the hell are you?  demanded Reidinger.  Then, in shocked 
surprise, Deneb?  How do you get out there?
     Wishful thinking.  Hey, push those germdogs to my pretty !end 
here, huh?
     Now wait a minute!  You're going a little too far, Deneb.
     You can't burn out my best Prime with an unbiased send like this.
     Oh, i'll pick up midway.  Like those antibiotics this morning.
     Deneb, what's this business with antibiotics and germdogs?
     What are you cooking up out there in that heathenish hole?
     Oh, we're merely fighting a few plagues with one hand and keeping 
three bogey ETs upstairs.  Deneb gave them a look with his vision at an 
enormous hospital, a continuous stream of airborne ambulances coming 
in; at crowded wards, grim-faced nurses and doctors, and uncomfortably 
high piles of still, shrouded figures.  That melded into a proximity 
screen showing the array of blips on an orbital hold.  We haven't had 
the time or the technology to run IDs but our Security Chief says 
they're nothing he's seen before.
     Well, I didn't realize.  All right, you can have anything you want 
- within reason.  But I want a full report, said Reidinger.
     And patrol squadrons?
     Reidinger's tone changed to impatience.  You've obviously got an 
exaggerated idea of FT&T's influence.  We're mailmen, not military.
     I've no authority to mobilize patrol squadrons like that!  There 
was a mental snap of fingers.
     Would you perhaps drop a little word in the appropriate ear?
     Those ETs may gobble Deneb tonight and go after Terra tomorrow.
     I'm filing a report, of course, but you colonists agreed to the 
risks when you signed up!
     You're all heart, said Deneb.
     Reidinger was silent for a moment.  Then he said, Germdogs sealed, 
Rowan.  Pick `em up and throw `em out, and his touch left them.
     Rowan - that's a pretty name, said Deneb.
     Thanks, she said absently.  She had followed along Reidinger's 
initial push, and picked up the two personnel carriers as they 
materialized beside her shell.  She pressed into the station dynamos 
and gathered strength.  The generators whined and she pushed out.  The 
carriers disappeared.
     They're coming in, Rowan.  Thanks a lot!
     A passionate and tender kiss was blown to her across the 
intervening light years of space.  She tried to follow after the 
carriers and pick up his touch again, but he was no longer receiving.
     She sank back in her couch.  Deneb's sudden appearance had been 
immeasurably disconcerting.  The strength, the vitality of his mind was 
magnetic.  He had seemed to be inside the capsule with her, filling it 
with his droll humor and warmth.  That was it!  He was `warm' toward 
her and she had basked in that sensation like a sun-dodger.  She had 
never achieved such an instant response to anyone since Turian, whom 
she often thought of wistfully.
     Oh, she had always had rapport, contact, with others.
     In fact, with anyone the Rowan chose to, but, with everyone below 
her own capability, there had always been an awkwardness, a reluctance 
that had inhibited her overtures.  Siglen certainly had thrown shields 
across her most private thoughts, explaining them patronizingly as `no 
need to put old worries on young shoulders'.  Siglen, to this day, 
still considered the Rowan `a mere child' despite the fact that she'd 
been Callisto Prime for nearly ten years.
     There were still times when the Rowan wished that Lusena had not 
died in that crash, days before Reidinger had appointed her to the new 
base on Jupiter's moon.
     Lusena had been such a comfort, such a support, believing so 
firmly in her future, in the future promised by Yegrani: an ephemeral 
promise.  So the Rowan had struggled to understand herself as she had 
earlier struggled to perfect control of her Talent.
     `We who have been blessed with extraordinary powers, Siglen had 
been fond of declaring in a doleful tone, `cannot expect ordinary joys.
     We have an obligation to use our Talent to benefit all Humankind!
     It is our Fate to be singled out and single, the more to 
concentrate on our duties.' There had been only Turian to prove an 
exception.
     However, that had been ten long years ago now.  And male Primes 
didn't have a problem fending suitable mates.
     Reidinger had a score of children of varying degrees of 
competence.  David on Betelgeuse was madly in love with his T-2 wife 
and concentrated on a duty to populate his system with as many 
high-potential Talent offspring as his wife would tolerate.  The Rowan 
did not have any personal liking for David, though she could work with 
him satisfactorily.  Capella was as eccentric as Siglen was 
conservative and her personality rubbed the Rowan the wrong way.  For 
all the mental rapport the Rowan achieved with the other Primes, none 
of them were ever really `open' to her.  Reidinger was usually at least 
sympathetic to some of her problems, but he had to be available every 
single moment to the myriad problems of the FT&T system.  And the Rowan 
knew fully the loneliness that Yegrani had foretold with no diminution 
anywhere.
     When the Rowan had been first assigned to Callisto Base, she had 
thought it was what the words of the Sight meant, for she was a focus.
     After some months of the routine, the Rowan was severely 
disillusioned.
     She was useful, yes: even essential for the smooth flow of 
material and messages between the Nine Star capitals, but any Prime 
would have done as well.
     Once her enthusiasm died, she fell back on Siglen's dogmatic 
training and tried hard to find satisfaction, if not sublimation, in 
doing a difficult and taxing job well, suppressing her increasing sense 
of unrelieved isolation.  Quite aware of her devastating loneliness, 
Reidinger had combed the Nine-Star League to find strong male talents, 
T-3s and T-4s like Afra, but she had never taken to any of them.
     She liked Afra well enough, and not just because of her promise to 
his sister, Goswina, but not that well.  The only male T-2 ever 
discovered in the Nine-Star League had been a confirmed homosexual.
     And now, on Deneb, a T-1 had emerged, out of nowhere - and so 
very, very far away.
     Afra, take me home now, she said, suddenly aware of physical and 
mental exhaustion.
     afra brought the shell down with infinite care.
     after the others had left the Station, the Rowan lay for a long 
while in the personnel carrier.  In her unsleeping consciousness she 
knew that Ackerman and the others had retired to their quarters until 
Callisto once more came out from behind Jupiter's bulk.  Everyone had 
some place to go, someone waiting for them, except the Rowan, who made 
it all possible.  The bitter, screaming loneliness that overcame her 
during her off-hours welled up - the frustration of being unable to go 
off-planet past Afra's sharply limited range - alone, alone with her 
two-edged Talent.  Murky green and black swamped her mind until she 
remembered the blown kiss.  Suddenly, completely, she fell into her 
first restful sleep in two weeks.
     Rowan.  It was Deneb's touch that roused her.  Rowan, please wake 
up.
     Hmmmm?  Her response was reluctant for sleep had been deep and 
desirable.
     help, he said and faded Our guests are getting rougher.  . . since 
the germdogs whipped up a broad spectrum antibiotic.  . . we thought.
     they'd give up.  No such.  luck.  They're.  . . pounding us.  with 
the missiles.  . . give my regards.  . . to your spacelawyer friend...
     Reidinger.
     You're playing pitch with missiles?  The Rowan came totally awake 
and alert.  She could feel Deneb's contact cutting in and out: he must 
be deflecting the bombardment.
     I need backup help, sweetheart, like you and.  . . any twin 
sisters.  . you ....... to have..  handy.  Jump over..  here, will you?
     Jump over?  What?  I can't!
     Why not?
     I can't!  I am unable to!  The Rowan moaned, twisting against the 
web of the couch.
     But I've got.  . . to have -- away.
     Reidinger!  The Rowan's call was a scream.
     Rowan, I don't care if you are a T-1.  There are certain limits to 
my patience and you've stretched every blasted one of them, you little 
white-haired ape!
     His answer scorched her.  She blocked automatically but clung to 
his touch.  Someone has got to help Deneb!  she cried, transmitting the 
Mayday.
     What?  He's joking!
     How could he, about a thing like that?
     Did you see the missiles?  Did he show you what he was actually 
doing?
     No, but I felt him thrusting.  And since when does one of US 
distrust another when he asks for help?
     Since Eve handed Adam a rosy, round fruit and said `eat' 
Reidinger's cynical retort crackled across space.  And exactly since 
Deneb's not been integrated into the Prime network.  We can't be sure 
who or what he is - or exactly where he is.  I certainly can't take him 
at his word.  Oh, all right.
     Try a linkage so I can hear him myself I can't reach him.  He's 
too busy lobbing missiles spaceward.
     I'll believe that when I see `em.  For one thing, if he's as good 
as he hollers, all he needs to do is tap any other potentials on his 
own planet.  Thats all the help he needs.
     But - But me no buts and leave me alone.  I'll play Cupid only so 
far.  Meanwhile I've got a company - and seven systems - to hold 
together.  Reidinger signed off with a backlash that stung.
     The Rowan lay in her couch, bewildered by Reidinger's response.
     He was always busy, always gruff.  But he had never been stupidly 
unreasonable.  While out there, Deneb was growing weaker.  She left the 
capsule and made for the Tower.  She should be able to do something 
once Callisto was clear of Jupiter and the station was operational.
     But when incoming cargoes started piling up on the launchers, 
there were no naval imits waiting for a Deneb push.
     `There must be something we can do for him, afra.
     Something!' the Rowan said, choked with an unreasonable fear.  `I 
don't care what Reidinger said: Deneb's genuine and Talents help each 
other!' Afra looked down at her sadly and compassionately, venturing to 
pat her frail shoulder.
     `What help can we offer, Rowan?  Not even you can reach all the 
way out to him.  And Reidinger has no authority to order patrol 
squadrons.  What about focusing whatever other Talents there are on his 
planet?  Surely he can't be the only one!' `He needs Prime help and.  .
     .` She dropped her head, self-defeated.
     `And you can barely go past Callisto's horizon,' Afra finished for 
her, `which is more than any other Prime can manage.' Keerist!
     Incoming missile!  Ackerman's mental shout startled both of them.
     Instantly the Rowan linked with the stationmaster and saw, through 
his eyes, the little-used perimeter warning screen, now beeping 
frantically.  Rowan located and then probed out into space.  The 
intruder, a sophisticated projectile, leaking lethal radiations, was 
arrowing in from behind Uranus.  Guiltily she flushed, for she ought to 
have detected it before the screen had.  There was no time to run up 
the idling dynamos.  The missile was coming in too fast.
     Deneb was certainly going to prove his peril to Reidinger!
     She marveled at his audacity in spinning the ET missile into the 
heart system.
     I want a wide open mind from everyone on this moon!  The Rowan's 
broadcast was inescapable.  Mauli!  Mick!  Go into action.  She felt 
the surge of power as forty-eight Talents on Callisto, including 
Ackerman's ten-year-old son, enhanced by the twins, answered her 
demand.  She picked up their energy - from the least 12 to Afra's 
sturdy 4 - and sent it racing out to the alien bomb.  She had to 
wrestle for a moment with its totally unfamiliar construction and 
components.  With the augmented capability of the merge, it was easy 
enough for her to deactivate the mechanism and scatter the fissionables 
from the warhead into Jupiter's seething mass.
     She released those who had merged with her and fell back into the 
couch.
     `How in hell did Deneb do that?' afra asked from the chair in 
which he had slumped.  `Reidinger won't like it!' She shook her head 
wearily.
     `No, but it proves Deneb's problem!' Without the dynamos there had 
been no gestalt to act as the initial carrier wave for her effort.
     Even with the help of the others - and all of them put together 
didn't add up to one-third the strength of another Prime - it had been 
a wearying exercise.  She thought of Deneb - alone, without an FT&T 
station or trained personnel to assist him - doing this again, and 
again, and again - and her heart twisted.
     Warm up the dynamos, Brian.  There will probably be more of those 
missiles.
     afra looked up, startled.
     `To illustrate the point Deneb's trying to make, Afra.
     Prime Rowan of Callisto Station alerting Earth Prime Reidinger and 
all other Primes!  Prepare for possible attack by fissionable 
projectiles of alien origin.  Alert all space stations and patrol 
forces.  She lost her official calm and added angrily, We've got to 
help Deneb now - we've got to!  It's no longer an isolated aggression 
against an outlying colony.  It's a concerted attack on our heart 
world!
     Rowan!  Before Reidinger got more than her name into her mind, she 
opened to him and showed the five new projectiles driving toward 
Callisto.  For the love of little apples!  Reidinger's mind radiated 
incredulity.  What has our little man been stirring up?
     Shall we find out?  Rowan asked with deadly sweetness.
     Reidinger transmitted impatience, fury, misery, and then shock as 
he gathered her intention.  Your plan won't work.  It's impossible.  We 
can't merge minds to fight.  All of us are too egocentric.  Too 
unstable.  We'd burn out, fighting each other.
     You, me, Altair, Betelgeuse, Procyon, and Capella.  We can do it.
     If I can deactivate one of those hell missiles with only 
forty-eight minor Talents and no power for help, five Primes plus full 
power ought to be able to knock any sort of missile off Then we can 
merge with Deneb to help him, that'll make six of us.  Show me the ET 
who could stand up to such an assault!
     Look, girl, Reidinger replied, almost pleading, we don't have his 
measure.  We can't just MERGE - he could split us apart, or we could 
burn him up.  We don't know him.  We can't gauge a telepath of unknown 
ability.
     You'd better catch that missile coming at you, she said calmly.  I 
can't handle more than ten at a time and keep up a sensible 
conversation.  She felt Reidinger's resistance to her plan weakening.
     She pushed the advantage.  If Deneb's been handling a planet-wide 
barrage, that's a very good indication of his strength.  I'll handle 
the merge because I damned well want to.  Besides, there isn't any 
other course open to us now, is there?
     We could launch patrol squadrons.
     THAT should have been done the first time he asked.  It's too late 
now.
     Their conversation was taking but brief seconds, and yet more 
missiles were coming in.  Earth itself was under attack!
     All right, Reidinger said in angry resignation, and contacted the 
other Primes.
     No, no, no!  You'll burn her out - burn her out, poor thing!
     Old Siglen from Altair was babbling.  Let us stick to our last we 
dare not expose ourselves, no, no, no!  The ETs would attack us then.
     Shut up, Iron pants, David said.
     It's our responsibility, Siglen, you know that!  We simply must!
     Capella chimed in waspishly.  Hit hard first, that's safest!
     Siglen's right, Rowan, .  . . Reidinger said.  He could burn you 
out.
     I'll take the chance.
     Damn Deneb for starting all this!  Reidinger didn't quite shield 
his aggravation.
     We've got to do it.  And now!
     Tentatively at the outset, and then with stunningly increased 
force, the leashed power of the other FT&T Primes, augmented by the 
mechanical surge of five great station generators, siphoned into the 
Rowan.  She grew, grew, and only dimly saw the puny ET bombardment 
swept aside like so many mayflies.  She grew, grew until she felt 
herself a colossus, larger than ominous Jupiter.
     Slowly, carefully, tentatively, because the massive power was 
braked only by her conscious control, she reached out to Deneb.
     She spun on in grandeur, astounded by the limitless force she had 
become.  She passed the small black dwarf that was the midway point.
     Then she felt the mind she searched for: a tired mind, its 
periphery wincing with weariness but doggedly persevering in nearly 
automatic reactions.
     Oh, Deneb, Deneb!  She was so relieved, so grateful to find him 
fighting his desperate battle, that tears merged before her ego could 
offer even a token resistance.  She abandoned her most guarded self to 
him and, with the surrender, the massed power she held flowed into him.
     The tired mind of the man grew, healed, strengthened, and 
blossomed until she was a mere fraction of the total, lost in the great 
pain of this immense mental whole.
     Suddenly she saw with his eyes, heard with his ears, and felt with 
his touch, was immersed in the titanic struggle.
     The greenish sky above was pitted with mushroom puffs, and the raw 
young hills around him were scarred with missile craters that had been 
deflected from targets.
     Easily now, he was turning aside the barrage of warheads from 
three immense vessels.
     Let's go up there and find out what they are, the Reidinger 
segment said.  Now!
     Deneb approached the three enormous marauding ships.  The 
mass-mind took indelible note of the intruders, spidery forms that 
scrabbled about interiors resembling intricate webs.  Then, off 
handedly, Deneb broke the hulls of two, spilling the contents into 
space.  To the occupants of the survivor, he gave a searing impression 
of the Primes and the indestructability of the worlds in this section 
of space.  With one great heave, he threw the lone ship away from his 
exhausted planet, sent it hurtling farther than it had come, into 
uncharted black immensity He thanked the Primes for the incomplete 
complement of an ego-merge and extended in a millisecond the tremendous 
gratitude of an entire planet which had been so nearly obliterated.
     This incredible battle could never be forgotten, and future 
generations would celebrate the incomparable victory.
     The Rowan felt the links dissolving as the other Primes, murmuring 
withdrawal courtesies, left him.  Deneb caught her mind fast to his and 
held on.  When they were alone, he opened all his thoughts to her, so 
that now she knew him as intimately as he knew her.
     Sweet Rowan.  Look around you.  It'll take a while for Deneb to be 
beautiful again, but we'll make it lovelier than ever.  Come live with 
me, my love.
     The Rowan's wracked cry of protest reverberated cruelly in both 
naked minds.
     I can't.  I'm not able!  She cringed against her own outburst and 
closed off her inner heart so that he couldn't see the pitiful why.
     Mind and heart were more than willing: frail flesh bound her.  In 
the moment of his confusion, she retreated back to that treacherous 
body, arched in the anguish of rejection.  Then she curled into a tight 
knot, her body quivering with the backlash of effort and denial.
     Rowan!  came his cry.  Rowan!  I love you!
     She deadened the outer fringe of her perceptions to everything, 
curled forward in her chair.  Afra, who had watched patiently over her 
while her mind was far away, touched her shoulder.
     Oh, Afra!  To be so close and so far away.  Our minds were one.
     Our bodies are forever separate.  Deneb!  Deneb!
     The Rowan forced on her bruised self the oblivion of sleep.  Afra 
picked her up gently and carried her to the couch in the Tower room.
     He shut the door and went silently down the stairs.  He positioned 
a chair so that he could prop his feet on the bottom step and settled 
down to wait, his handsome face dark with sorrow, his yellow eyes 
blinking away moisture.
     afra and Ackerman reached the only possible conclusion: the Rowan 
had burned herself out.  They'd have to tell Reidinger.  Forty-eight 
hours had elapsed since they'd had a single contact with her mind.  She 
had not heard, or had ignored, their tentative requests for her 
assistance.  Afra and Ackerman could handle some of the routine freight 
with generator support but two liners were due in and that required 
her.  She was alive but that was all: her mind was blank to any touch.
     At first Ackerman had assumed that she was recuperating.  Afra had 
known better and, for that forty-eight hours, he'd hoped fervently that 
she would accept the irreconcilable situation.
     `I'm gonna have to tell Reidinger,' Ackerman said to Afra, wincing 
with reluctance.
     Well, where's Rowan?  Reidinger asked.  A moment's touch with Afra 
told him.  He, too, sighed.  We'll just have to rouse her some way.
     She isn't burned out; that's one miracle.
     Is it?  replied Afra bitterly.  If you'd paid attention to her in 
the first place Yes, I'm sure, Reidinger cut him off brusquely.  If I'd 
gotten her light of love his patrol squadrons when she wanted me to, 
she wouldn't have thought of a merge with him.  I put as much pressure 
on her as I dared.  But when that cocky young rooster on Deneb started 
lobbing deflected ET missiles at us.  . . Well, I hadn't counted on 
that development.  At least we managed to spur her to act.  And 
off-planet at that.  He sighed.  I was hoping that love might make at 
least one Prime fly.
     Whaaat?  Afra roared.  You mean that boule was staged?
     Hardly.  As I said, we hadn't anticipated the ETs.  Deneb 
presumably had only a mutating virus plague to cope with.  Not ETs.
     Then you didn't know about them?
     Of course not!  Reidinger sounded disgusted.  Oh, the original 
contact with Deneb for biological assistance was sheer chance.  I took 
it as providential, an opportunity to see if I couldn't break the 
agoraphobia psychosis we all have.
     Rowan's the youngest of us.  If I could get her to go to him 
physically - but I failed.  Reidinger's resignation saddened Afra, too.
     One didn't consider the Central Prime as fallibly human.  Love 
isn't as strong as it's supposed to be.  And where I'll get new Primes 
if I can't breed `em, I don't know.  I'd hoped that Rowan and Deneb.
     As a matchmaker I should resign Afra broke the contact abruptly as 
the Tower door opened and the Rowan, a wan, pale, very quiet Rowan, 
came down.
     She smiled apologetically.  `I've been asleep a long time.
     `You had a tiring day,' Afra said gently, `day before yesterday.' 
She winced and then smiled to ease Afra's instant concern.  `I still am 
a little frazzled.' Then she frowned.
     `Did I hear you two talking to Reidinger just now?' `We got 
worried,' Ackerman replied.  `There're two liners coming in, and Afra 
and I just plain don't care to handle human cargo, you know.' The Rowan 
gave a rueful smile.  `I know.  I'm all set.' She walked slowly back up 
to her Tower.
     Ackerman shook his head sadly.  `She sure has taken it hard.' Her 
chastened attitude wasn't the relief that her staff had once considered 
it might be.  The work that day went on with monotonous efficiency, 
with none of the byplay and freakish temperament that had previously 
kept them on their toes.  The men moved around automatically, depressed 
by this gently tragic Rowan.  That might have been one reason why 
no-one particularly noticed a visitor.
     Only when Ackerman rose from his desk for more coffee did he 
notice the young man in plain travel gear, sitting there quietly.
     `You come up in that last shuttle?' `Well, sort of.' He spoke with 
a modest diffidence, rising to his feet.  `I was told to see the Rowan.
     Reidinger signed me on in his office late this morning.' Then he 
smiled.
     Fleetingly Ackerman was reminded of the miracle of the Rowan's 
sudden smiles that could heat the very soul of you.  This man's smile 
was full of uninhibited magnetic vigor, while his brilliant blue eyes 
danced with good humor and friendliness.  Ackerman found himself 
grinning back like a fool and stepping forward to shake the man's hand 
stoutly.
     `Mighty glad to know you.  What's your name?' `Jeff Raven.  I just 
got in from `Hey, Afra, want you to meet Jeff Raven.  Here, have a 
coffee.  A little raw on the walk up from the launch yard, isn't it?
     Been on any other Prime Stations?' `As a matter of fact .  Toglia 
and Loftus had looked around from their computers to inspect the 
recipient of such unusual cordiality.  They found themselves as eager 
to welcome this charismatic stranger.  Raven graciously accepted the 
coffee from Ackerman, who then proffered his special coveted ginger 
cakes which his wife excelled at making.  The stationmaster had the 
feeling that he must give this wonderful guy something else, it had 
been such a pleasure to provide him with coffee.
     afra looked quietly at the stranger, his calm yellow eyes a little 
clouded.  `Hello,' he said in a rueful manner, his tone oddly accented.
     Jeff Raven's grin altered imperceptibly.  `Hello,' he replied, and 
more was exchanged between the two men than a simple greeting.
     Before anyone in the Station quite realized what was happening, 
everyone had left his post and gathered around the newcomer, chattering 
and grinning, using the simplest excuse to touch his hand or shoulder.
     He was genuinely interested in everything said to him, and 
although there were twenty-three people anxiously vying to monopolize 
his attention, no-one felt slighted.  His reception seemed to envelop 
them all.
     What the hell is happening down there?  asked the Rowan, with a 
tinge of her familiar irritation.  Why Contrary to all her previously 
sacred rules, she appeared suddenly in the middle of the room, looking 
wildly about her.  Raven stepped to her side and touched her hand 
gently.
     `Reidinger said you needed me,' he said.
     `Deneb?' Her body arched over to project the astounded whisper.
     `Deneb?  But you're .  you're here?  You're here!' He smiled 
tenderly and slid his hand down her shining hair to grip her shoulder.
     The Rowan's jaw dropped and she burst out laughing, the laughter 
of a supremely happy, carefree girl.  Then her laughter broke off in a 
gasp of pure terror.
     HOW did you get here?
     Just came.  You can, too, you know.
     No!  No.  I can't!  No T-1 is able to.  The Rowan tried to free 
herself from his grasp, as if he were suddenly repulsive.
     I did though.  His gentle insistence was unequivocable.
     You just jumped from the Tower to this level.  If you can do that, 
why should it matter how far you go?
     Oh, no!  No!
     `Did you know, Raven said conversationally, grinning about him, 
`that Siglen of Altair gets sick just going up and down stairs?' He 
looked straight at the Rowan.  `You lived with her, you should know.
     All on the one level, not so much as a step anywhere?  That long 
padded ramp to her tower which is so hemmed by thick-leaved trees any 
glimpse of the outside is obscured?  I know she told you all about that 
hideous, grim, ghastly, nearly fatal trip she took from Earth to Altair 
on - of all torture mechanisms a spaceship?  Especially when she had 
planned to stay on Earth as its Prime?  Disappointment can have a weird 
effect on some personalities, you know.' The girl shook her head, her 
eyes wonderingly wide.
     `No-one ever asked why she had really rather unusual reactions to 
a deep space flight, did they?  I did.  Seemed damned silly to me when 
Reidinger "explained" the problem.' He held his audience's attention as 
he paused, his grin turning malicious.  `Siglen has a massive neural 
deterioration of the middle ear, a genuine enough disability which does 
make for travel difficulties.  She was so miserably sick in her first 
space voyage, she went into a trauma about any sort of travel without 
discovering the real cause.  The worst of it was that she then imposed 
that trauma on everyone else she trained.  Of course, it never occurred 
to her, or anyone else, that this wasn't part of "the price the 
Talented must pay!"' He dramatically placed his hand against his 
throat, mimicking Siglen so aptly that Afra had to choke back a laugh.
     Then he shot a wicked grin at the appalled Rowan.
     `Siglen .  . . Oh, Deneb, no!' Raven laughed.  `Oh, Callisto, yes.
     She passed on the trauma to every one of you.  The T-2 doesn't 
have it.
     Siglen wouldn't be bothered with training an inferior Talent.  The 
proof of the matter is that she didn't train me.' He opened his arms 
wide.  `And I, bigod, got here under my own steam.  The Curse of 
Talent!' He mimicked Siglen's deep contralto voice again.  `The Great 
Fear!  The great bushwah!  You've no middle ear imbalance: you only 
"think" you've got agoraphobia.  Bad enough a thought to hold for long, 
I agree, but it's a rotten handicap for you to have, my love.' Warmth 
and reassurance passed between them, and the Rowan's eyes began to 
shine.  Her eyes shone.
     Now, come live with me and be my love, Rowan.  Reidinger says you 
can commute from here to Deneb every day.
     `Commute?' She said it aloud in hollow astonishment.
     And stared at him in wonder.
     `Certainly,' Jeff said encouragingly.  `You're still a working T-1
     under contract to FT&T.  And so, my love, I guess I do know my 
bosses, don't I?' she said with a little smile.
     `Well, the terms were fair.  Reidinger didn't haggle a second 
after I walked into his private office at eleven this morning.' `But to 
commute from Deneb to Callisto?' the Rowan repeated dazedly.
     `All finished here for the day?' Raven asked Ackerman, who shook 
his head after a glance at the launching racks.
     `C'mon, gal.  Take me to your ivory Tower and we'll finish up in a 
jiffy.  Then we'll talk about it.  I'm not pushing you, or anything, 
but I've got a planet to put to rights .  . .` And a few million things 
to discuss with you .
     Jeff Raven smiled wickedly at the Rowan and pressed her hand to 
his lips in the age-old gestures of courtliness.
     The Rowan's smile answered his with blinding joy.
     The others were respectfully silent as the two Talents made their 
way up the stairs to the once lonely Tower.
     Afra broke the tableau by taking a cake from the box in Ackerman's 
motionless hand.  There was nothing in the cake to cause his eyes to 
water so profusely.
     `Not that that pair needs much of our help, people, he said, `but 
we can add a certain flourish and speed things up.
     The whine of the generators sobbed away into silence, a silence 
which was at first pleasant as the two Primes let the tension of their 
labors drain from them.
     Jeff Raven broke the silence, giving a low grunt as he pushed his 
chin down to his chest to stretch neck and shoulder muscles.  He had 
been sitting in the swivel chair at the console, so he hadn't had the 
full body support of a couch like the Rowan's.  He swiveled about to 
face her now.
     `I know you,' the Rowan said shyly, suddenly unnerved by his 
presence and the end of known routines, `and I don't.' Gently then she 
felt the feathery touch of his mind in hers, withdrawn as gently but 
leaving behind it a sweet, spicy taste.  That had never happened to the 
Rowan before in all her mental encounters, and she took a moment to 
absorb the sensation.
     `There's a lot about each other that we're going to have to know,' 
Jeff Raven began to smile, a smile that was also tinged with a shy 
uncertainty.  He ran his fingers through his shock of black hair.  `And 
Lord above, woman, we've got a lifetime to learn.' His smile broadened, 
and he cocked his head slightly at her, looking at her with warmly 
affectionate eyes that hinted of deeper emotions kept in firm check.
     `Look,' he said in a totally different tone of voice and he leaned 
forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, `it's been a rough few weeks 
for me and now we've met, we don't have to rush anything.  In point of 
fact,' he said, with a huge yawn, `I'll be candidly unromantic and 
admit that I'm whacked.  I've been on the stretch since those ETs 
arrived.' He gave her an ingratiating smile.  `That rather romantic 
gesture of mine, to launch us to Deneb, is totally beyond me.  I'm 
starving, I need a bath, and about twenty years' sleep!' The Rowan 
began to laugh, more gurgle than chuckle, as practical considerations 
dissolved the moment of restraint and doubt.  She rose and thrust out 
her hand to him.  His was warm, calloused, and physical contact only 
reinforced mind and voice.  `Then, tonight, you come home with me!' 
Gently Jeff pulled her to him.  You're such a little thing!
     He tucked her head under his chin and held her against his body.
     She put her hands about him with an experimental lightness.  His 
body was firm.  She liked it.  That's good!  She also felt the 
weariness permeating muscle, sinew, blood, and bone.
     `Come!' she said and jumped them into the main room of her 
quarters.
     `Rather special,' Jeff said, looking about the spacious room with 
appreciative eyes.  `I think you'll find it easier to shrug off 
Siglen's silly conditioning than you believe.
     Look, steps all over.' He gestured at the various levels, for the 
dwelling had been built into Callisto's stony landscape.
     `I designed it myself.' She spoke with pride, sensing his 
flattering approval as she followed his gaze, from the small 
conversation pit around the archaic hearth with an imitation fire, to 
the dining level that had a three-sided view of the gardens and the 
little copse, to the sound and vision wall, to the corridor leading to 
the wing.
     `Well done!  Very well done!  And it proves conclusively to me 
that your agoraphobia was Siglen's imposition.  She didn't tolerate 
steps anywhere.  As you must know.' Then he yawned convulsively.  `What 
a lover you chose!' `You get the bath,' and she pushed him in the 
direction of the bathing room.  `I'll fix a meal guaranteed to raise 
all known energy levels.  Then you may sleep as long as you need to.' 
She `saw' him as he shucked off his clothing: very privately she 
compared him to Turian's heavier build and the Captain's deep tan.
     Then she decided that she liked his spare build, lean, muscled 
back and narrow hips; bulky people irritated her.
     With good reason, Jeff remarked as he eased himself into the 
steaming pool.  She had half-expected him to dive in, for it was deep 
enough, and heard his denying chuckle.
     Another time, he told her with a sigh of total relaxation as he 
floated.  Fix me that food, love, or I' ll starve to death in my sleep.
     She sent the water pillow to hold up his head and felt her lips 
tingle with an impressed kiss.  She smiled as she collected the 
necessary foodstuffs from storage.  Siglen may have adored eating for 
its own sake, but the Rowan had learned the fundamentals of good 
nutrition and the value of well-prepared and presented food.
     `What will people think of me when they see you so thin, Rowan?
     Eat more!  It's really delicious.  If you'd only force yourself to 
eat .  . .` Siglen's wheedling tone resounded in the Rowan's ears.
     It was, however, infinitely more satisfying to prepare something 
for Jeff Raven.  So involved was she in making certain that all 
nutritional elements had balanced tastefully that the Rowan was 
astonished to feel the rhythms of profound sleep emanating from her 
lover.  A moment's pique was soothed by her realization that she would 
indeed have all the time in the world to prove her worth as a cook.
     Now she'd better keep him from inadvertently drowning.
     Unexpectedly she felt some fatigue from the day's excitements.
     Gently she lifted the inert form of her lover from the water, 
swathed him in warm, soft, scented towels, and conveyed him to her wide 
bed.  Being telekinetic had, for once, practical applications she had 
not heretofore considered, she thought, tenderly gazing down at his 
sleeping face.  All the stress and fatigue lines were smoothing away 
and Jeff Raven looked younger.
     His wasn't actually a handsome face: without animation, the harsh 
planes looked uncompromising, the nose prominent, jutting out from a 
wide and high brow His eyes were far more deepset than she had 
realized.  He had a very strong jaw - no getting around this man with 
specious argument.  She wondered if he'd jut his chin out when annoyed.
     His lips, too, showed firmness for all they were well-shaped, if a 
trifle on the thin side, but he had smiled so often, that detail had 
escaped her.  In all, a strong, vital face and exceedingly attractive 
to her.
     Sternly she suppressed unusual clamorings of body and blood.
     Eighteen-year-old Rowan might have planned to challenge Captain 
Turian but she wouldn't ever be silly enough to dare Jeff Raven.  She 
placed water, fruit juice, the `supper' she had made him in a heating 
cocoon, in easy reach on the bedside table.
     What would their children be like?  Despite her solitude, she 
suddenly blushed.  Once Turian had been cajoled out of his regrets, 
they had enjoyed each other thoroughly.
     But no-one since then had aroused her.  Not even the high Talents 
Reidinger kept sending to Gerolaman's courses, or to Callisto Tower on 
specious errands.
     For a long while, the Rowan had held the firm conviction that, 
once her long training had been accomplished, her `travel' would 
resolve all her problems.
     Instead, she had gone from one lonely tower to another.
     Yegrani's `long and lonely road' had been before her a long and 
lonely time.  Even the cryptic `seeing' seemed fulfilled.
     She had been the focus.  Was her reward Jeff Raven?
     Would she `travel' now with him?
     He stirred slightly, as if responding to her thought; her heart 
caught in her throat.  Then, with a smile, he sank more deeply into his 
much needed rest.  She curled beside him on the wide bed, not needing 
to touch, content to be in his presence.  And then fatigue overcame all 
her new sensations and wonderings.
     The startlement of being kissed woke the Rowan abruptly, and it 
took a moment to recall the extraordinary events of the previous day.
     `Honey, I am sorry to the death to have to wake you, but duty 
calls!' Jeff's tone and expression were regretful - and so was the 
clinging touch of his mind in hers, all spicy.
     `Why?' She resented `duty' with an intensity that blazed from 
every pore.
     `Easy, girl,' and Jeff chided her.  `When we so blithely destroyed 
those ET vessels, we left a lot of debris at spatially unsafe distances 
for the good of my poor planet.' She saw in his open mind the visual 
report from Deneb.
     `Some of it's extrapolated to come thunking down in settled areas.
     My kin are good, but not that good.' `Can I help?' She dressed 
quickly.
     `You can, indeed, and I'm counting on it.  Reidinger has got Earth 
to release our colony a lot of much-needed supplies, and I need you to 
relay them out to me without splitting the packets.  The High Command 
also wants samples of what we so indiscreetly made piecemeal.' `But 
Jeff, what about us?' The sheer terror of renewed solitude sounded in 
her cry He pulled her into his arms, once again tucking her head under 
his chin.  He rocked her slowly, wrapping her in such deep and tender 
regard that she truly realized physical separation was no barrier to 
their rapport.  Then he tilted her chin up and kissed her lips, a 
contact that was made far more poignant by his mind-touch and the 
scenes he projected of how they would make love when `duty' permitted.
     She was vibrating with a sensuality which he then completed with 
an intimate mental touch, and she clung to him in amazed relief.  He 
grinned down at her, pleased by the effect he had on her.
     `The chemistry's right between us, love, and I can't wait to prove 
it time and time and time and time again.
     However,' and his manner altered as, with deep mental and physical 
regret, he released her, `while I'm gone, work hard on overcoming 
Siglen's impositions.  I'll be back as soon as I've done garbage 
detail.  We'll be transporting some mighty queer stuff.  I'd have a 
good look at it when it comes through Callisto were I you, honey.  If 
there's one group of space traveling animosities, there may be more.
     He released his physical hold of her and guided her to the door.
     `We'll walk across this time.  Gives us a few more moments.' She 
matched strides with him and was unaware of anything on the way to the 
Tower but the touch of his hip and thigh against hers, his fingers 
laced in hers.  For once she wasn't even aware of the great generators' 
start-up whine.
     `Who was Purza?' he asked suddenly, looking down at her The 
unexpectedness of that question at this moment made her lose step.  She 
had been worried that he might have accessed her Turian memories.
     Maybe he had and didn't care to comment.  After all, that belonged 
to the past.
     `Purza was my pukha,' and her throat still closed with a vividly 
remembered grief and outrage.  One is forced to put away childish 
things.
     Ah, love, and tenderness, spicy-sweet and gentle, laved her.  I 
don't think you were allowed to be a child.  We'll assure our own of 
that privilege.  Then, with a mischievous note in his tone, he added, 
`And I'll prove that a Raven's a much more innovative companion than a 
pukha.' His eyes were intensely blue and a devilish smile curved his 
lips, and suddenly she was aware of renewed sensations, coursing 
through her, setting off unusual reactions until suddenly, from her 
loins, an incredible warmth began to expand in a sudden burst of 
exquisite pain.
     And that is only a sample, my love.  Only a sample!  Jeff's voice 
seemed to be part of that sensation, and she had to cling to him to 
remain on her feet.
     Then they were in the tunnel that led to the garage.
     With an effort she assembled her wits, aware that Jeff was very 
well pleased with his effect on her.  She was grateful for the 
diversion provided by the strange personnel carrier in the launch 
cradle, the blazon of the Central Worlds on its nose, the paint still 
gleaming with Jeff Raven's code.
     `New design, huh?' She ran tentative fingers down the shell.  It 
had not yet acquired the static of well-used carriers.
     `Only the very best for the newest, love,' Jeff replied, lightly 
teasing though there was no sparkle in his deep blue eyes.  He pulled 
her into his embrace and kissed her long and deeply.  She responded as 
intensely as she could.
     The twinkle was back in his eyes.  He quickly settled himself in 
the carrier.  The whine of the generators was keening up to launch 
power.  `See you, love!' It was astonishing for everyone in the Tower 
to launch Jeff's capsule.  He was helping, laughing when the Rowan told 
him to save his strength for his day's work, teasing Afra and Ackerman 
in a casual way and then - abruptly he had separated himself from them.
     The Rowan became far too busy to examine her feelings just then.
     A near invasion of pods and drones, of medium sized personnel 
carriers were flicked out from Earth Prime en route to Deneb: experts 
in all fields to parse through the debris of the invaders to ascertain 
what was the most important for in-depth analysis to be sent back to 
the main Moon labs.  Every sort of information must be gleaned from 
that assault, analyzed, and neatly catalogued for future reference.
     Whenever Deneb-cargo went off Callisto, Jeff and the Rowan 
exchanged kisses, and other caresses which made her glad she was alone 
in the Tower.  It gave an unexpected fillip to intensive mental effort.
     And, as he had asked, she did a quick look at some of the more 
unusual flotsam that came through: hull arcs, like the segments of 
fruit; packages of curious supplies (food?); shreds of metallic films 
clothing?; some frozen specimens of alien parts.  She did recall the 
look of them as she, with the focus meld of Prime minds, disassembled 
them and their ships.  Not at all humanoid, rather a form of beetle, 
with carapace or chitinous wings, with multiple legs, with joined 
digits.  Some of the creatures which had been standing erect at their 
control devices were approximately two-meters long.  Those in the round 
access tubes through the long space vehicles had been smaller and 
scurried about on six of their ten legs.  There had been a heavily 
guarded central feature with immature creatures, a startling number of 
egg cases and the largest specimen.  A generation ship?  Indicative of 
perhaps a cross-galaxy voyage of incredible duration?
     The contents certainly gave rise to incredible speculations and 
overwhelming relief that the Primes had been able to destroy such an 
alien menace.  And some rather silly minor hysterics from the nervous.
     Not only was there the unusual traffic to Deneb, but over the next 
few days, the Rowan was called upon to dispatch naval reconnaissance 
vessels to the perimeter of the Central Worlds' sphere of influence.
     Massive amounts of equipment and personnel were shifted around in 
the panic following the Denebian Incident.  Reidinger decided to 
increase the Talented complement of the main Prime Stations for the 
purpose of unceasing vigilance and to upgrade distant early warning 
beacons set beyond the perimeter.  That left him short of experienced 
staff, and rather short on temper as a result.
     `Reports of the Incident were toned down a lot,' Ackerman told an 
exhausted Rowan at the end of that fourth chaotic day.  `The public 
report,' he added when the Rowan blinked uncomprehendingly up at him.
     He decided her mind was only half here.  `They decreased the size 
and capacity of the ships, and the armaments and potential danger.
     `Considering some of the stuff that we handled, I'd say that was 
discreet of them,' Afra remarked caustically, his fingers busily 
constructing a paper shape remarkably like the aliens that had been 
destroyed.  Then he casually crumpled the origami into a wad.
     Afra was exceedingly different from his sister, the gentle 
Goswina.  And the day had exhausted her.
     Me, too, Jeff said softly in her head.  I've got just about enough 
energy to crawl into my lonely bed and remember how great it was to lie 
beside you.  To know all through the night that you were there.
     When the Rowan realized that she was grinning foolishly, `Jeff!' 
she said enigmatically and both men nodded understandingly.
     Loftus brought in a sheaf of hard-copy sheets.  `They plan to work 
our butts off again tomorrow, too!' He shook out the ream-long 
manifests of projected shipments.  `And a big mother of a battleship, 
complete with flag admiral.
     Where was he when he was needed?' `D'you think he will be?' 
Ackerman asked, suddenly apprehensive.
     Afra snorted.  `With all the monitors, detectors, remotes, and 
junk we've had to parcel out?  Highly unlikely.' `Nothing like locking 
the barn door when the horse is gone!' Loftus said.
     `What on earth do you mean by that?' the Rowan asked.
     It sounded like something Siglen would come out with.
     `Old saying!  Procrastination is a thief!  Here, Ackerman.
     bud better analyze how we're going to shift all that!' I can see 
you now, Jeff's loving voice came softly into her mind, talking in the 
Tower.  Why don't you go home so I can see you in your own place and 
fall asleep knowing where you are?
     In a sort of trance, the Rowan excused herself, leaving the three 
men staring at the spot she had just vacated.
     `I suppose we'll have to get used to her looking all starry-eyed 
and flicking out like that,' Brian said, slightly envious.
     `Has she gone to Deneb?' Loftus asked, his eyes bugging out.
     `She's not quite ready for that yet, I think,' Afra replied and 
tossed off the half-finished mug of stimulant.  `I hope it's not a long 
time coming.' As the tall Capellan went back to his workspace, he was 
unaccountably depressed.  In no way did he resent Jeff Raven's 
acquisition of the Rowan.  Afra had long ago buried his tentative and 
unrequited attraction for the quicksilver girl.  He had hoped that out 
of sheer need she might one day have turned to him, for he adored her 
in his own fashion.  Since the day, as a very nervous eighteen 
year-old, he had reported for duty at Callisto, they had shared a 
rapport, becoming stronger over the years, close enough so that he did 
not exactly envy Jeff Raven.  Rather he worried for them both.
     They ought somehow to have taken themselves to Deneb that first 
night.  He had been surprised that they hadn't.  And more concerned, 
though it was certainly none of his business, when he sensed that the 
union had not been consummated.  If he'd been in Jeff Raven's shoes 
Well, how the Denebian conducted his seduction of the Rowan was NOT the 
business of Afra, Capellan T-4.  The Rowan showed no resentment; why 
should he?
     While he could also understand the necessity of pumping men and 
material out to the other Primes, and the naval units, and whatever 
else was on tomorrow's dockets, why hadn't Reidinger sent out some T-2s 
or a few well integrated T-3 teams to assist Deneb.  Why couldn't FT&T 
have given the Rowan and Jeff a few days together?
     Was Reidinger still playing games with the Rowan's space afare?
     Reidinger might just find his strategy backfiring.
     Though Afra had little clairvoyant capability, he had a sickening 
uneasy-making hunch that Reidinger was wrong to proceed as he did.  The 
trouble with an undeveloped prescience was that it was so fecking 
nebulous.  He intended to push against it until something did clarify.
     Forewarned was forearmed.  Or was it?
     He was tired enough so that, when he got to his own quarters, he 
drank a formula meal and went imediately to bed.
     Rowan, love!
     Jeff's rich voice was tender and soft, gently rousing her from 
sleep.  Phantom lips laid pressure on hers, and a phantom touch 
caressed her lovingly in other places.
     She so much desired his presence, was convinced that he had 
somehow returned, that when she realized that she was still alone in 
her bed, she almost wept.
     Oh, Rowan, lovey.  I am so sorry!  I devoutly wish I was really 
there.  And she experienced a jolt of his own sexual tension and was a 
little dismayed at its intensity.
     The debris is still falling?
     She caught the grimness - and the fatigue - in his mind.
     Like rain!  He was also disgusted.  If any of us in that merge had 
had the sense God gave little green apples He gave them some?
     we'd have made sure we scattered those hulks sunward!
     Oversight!
     Overhead, too.  At least we have equipment now to man:tar falls.
     The squadron's on twenty-four-hour duty lassoing the big stuff, 
packing it into drones for shipment back.  We may think we're tired 
now, but you wait.  She felt the unruly humor.
     Our basket's entirely full of eggs.
     Eggs?
     Eggs, I said.  Our biologists say that the beetles were 
reproducing for 1) a generation-type voyage 2) shortlived workers that 
had to be periodically replaced, or 3) stocking up for a population 
explosion on our planet.  They want to do an in-depth examination and 
extrapolation of the life cycle.  So don't make an omelette.
     Not with frozen eggs.  Jeff Wouldn't it be a lot easier and more 
work- and cost effective to examine everything there?
     The Rowan felt tired just thinking about the effort involved.  Was 
Jeff warning her or complaining?
     They `say' they have to do it in the big Moon labs - to prevent 
contamination or something.  I think they don't want Deneb to get such 
a juicy contract so early in its career as a colony.  We could pay off 
our Central Worlds' Start-up debt if we'd that kind of investagatory 
work here.
     The Rowan thought about that.  The Armed Services, naval and 
military, regarded Talent with deep suspicion since generally speaking, 
those of a mind to make war were too prosaic to understand minds which 
eschewed physical violence.  Except, of course, she reminded herself, 
when they needed an entire squadron dispatched to a far corner of the 
galaxy.  THEN they remembered Talent quite well!  She didn't trust 
bureaucracy either but regulations and rules did reduce chaos to mere 
confusion.  She had come to respect regulations: she would never 
condone restrictions.  Not being of an acquisitive nature, she also did 
not understand the economics involved: she had all the possessions she 
needed: she could purchase whatever she liked - within reason - and she 
was not covetous.
     Jeff was another matter.  And all that happened to Jeff.
     How badly is your colony in debt to Central Worlds?  And how HAD 
your governors decided to pay it off?
     This planet's mineral rich: we're miners and engineers, with 
enough farmers thrown in to keep us locally supplied.
     The Rowan pondered a moment, permitting the peripheral information 
she had absorbed in that merge to surface to her public mind.  She knew 
he was an engineer in a farming family.  She knew he had six brothers 
and four sisters, since increases in Deneb's population were as 
important as any other occupation.  She knew that his oldest brother 
and his two older sisters with young families had been wiped out by the 
aliens, as well as his father and the two youngest siblings: that two 
younger brothers were medical personnel, that his mother would soon 
deliver a posthumous child.  He had uncles, aunts, and cousins unto the 
third degree, and half of them had minor Talents.  But Deneb, which was 
not scheduled to achieve full status in Central Worlds nor slated to 
receive a Prime in the next hundred years, had not organized its 
Talents until the imminent invasion had forced them into maturity.
     Yes, you picked up a lot about us, didn't you, sweeting?  Jeff 
sounded pleased and she felt him stretching... the stretch of someone 
relieving aching, strained muscles.  She sent soothing impulses, 
phantom hands to knead and smooth.  She would much rather have had the 
genuine warm flesh beneath equally fleshy fingers.  I, too, and the 
longing in Jeff's tone ran as deep as her own.
     This can't continue!
     That's for sure, but I also cannot leave Deneb.  Jeff's tone took 
on an irritated resignation.  There's just no way I can permit myself 
personal time if my absence results in more destruction.  Like right 
now.  Be back!
     His presence in her mind was gone: not so much as an echo 
remained.  She felt more bereft than ever, deeply dissatisfied.  If she 
applauded his principles, she fumed at the circumstances.  Which 
brought her to the nub of the problem: Siglen's imposed space fear.  If 
Jeff could not, in honor, leave Deneb at this critical moment, it was 
up to her to break down her own resistance to space travel.
     Afra!
     The Capellan's mind-touch was instantly available.  He always was, 
she realized.  Afra was like a shadow - a loving shadow she also 
perceived with her newly expanded perceptions of loving and caring.
     She squashed that observation to save Afra's sensitivity.
     I'll need to practice in my shell.
     Not in the middle of the night, Rowan, he came back, not bothering 
to mask his exasperation.  Believe me, I'm all for helping the course 
of true love, but trying to crack a trauma of such long standing is 
irrational when you - and I - are exhausted.  Tomorrow morning.  We'll 
have a few hours before Callisto clears Jupiter and Earth shipments 
arrive.  This humble T4 needs all the rest he can get to cope with you 
on the best of days and I don't count today one of them!  Go to sleep, 
Rowan.  I need mine!
     It was so seldom that Afra was adamant that the Rowan meekly broke 
the contact.  He was right.  It would be crazy to try anything in her 
state of mind.
     How did Siglen manage to condition her thoroughly?  Why hadn't 
anyone noticed it?  Lusena had been so common sensible: why hadn't she 
spotted the neurosis?
     BECAUSE Siglen harped on it so often, moaned about the Curse of 
the Primes so that no-one thought to question her.  And both David and 
Capella had been woefully stressed on their flights.  Who would have 
dared question Altair's biggest asset?
     Ass was right, the Rowan thought, spotting anomalies that refuted 
Siglen's contention.  She'd always been able to teleport herself about 
Port City and the Tower.  She'd never experienced agoraphobia.  The 
mechanics of teleporting oneself on a planet were no different than 
teleporting oneself from one planet to another.  The Rowan was 
disgusted.  YEARS had been wasted because of Siglen's stupid inner ear 
imbalance!
     And yet, the Rowan distinctly remembered her own terror when, as a 
very little girl, Lusena was taking her into the shuttle that would 
have transported her to Earth.
     She had been so terrified at the sight of that portal she had even 
dropped Purza to teleport to the only place of safety she knew.  Siglen 
had been raving then about the horrors of space travel, and sparing the 
poor child any further anguish.  Just as she had in the act of 
teleporting the Rowan to Callisto!  The Rowan shuddered remembering 
that nightmare: why did Talents have to have such perfect recall?
     David of Betelgeuse could clearly remember being nursed at his 
mother's breast.  Capella swore she remembered her birth trauma.
     Which, David had acidly remarked, was why Iron pants refused to 
mate, unwilling to inflict such horror on a child from her womb.  Well, 
that was her excuse.
     Once again, the Rowan tried to force her memory back, before that 
aborted departure.  All she knew about her early childhood was what she 
had been told: that her parents had died in an avalanche, that she had 
been the sole survivor of the Rowan disaster.  She had never questioned 
those facts.  She had devoutly wished that she had known something of 
her background: her real name, what her family had been like, if she'd 
had any brothers and sisters.  It hadn't been until she'd been in 
Turian's company that she realized what she might have been lacking.
     She did remember being taken from the hopper, and immediately 
sedated.  She most certainly remembered telling Siglen that she was the 
Rowan, because `they' all called her `The Rowan Child' Now that she 
knew that this whole fufurrah about Primes traveling in space was an 
imposed neurosis, she was more than halfway to restoration.  Or that 
was the often repeated theory.  She stilled her restlessness, found a 
comfortable position in her half-empty bed, and initiated her sleep 
pattern.
     The next morning she was awakened by the rumble of generators 
warming up.
     We've two hours before we clear Jupiter, Afra said in his 
customary dry tone.
     I know.  Odd how she always did.  Callisto's orbit in its relation 
to its primary was a permanent fixture in her consciousness.  She 
dressed quickly, remembered to drink a sustaining meal, and jogged down 
the passageway to the bunker where the personnel carriers were stored, 
saw hers missing from its rack and went on to the launch cradle in 
which it now rested.
     She didn't feel the least bit altered from the last time she had 
lain on the padded couch.  Shouldn't she?
     Feel different?  Afra echoed and gave her a chuckle.
     [Why had she never realized that Afra was warm brown, velvety 
smooth, and faintly citrony of scent?] YOU yourself haven't altered, 
afra went on through her private observation of him.  Just your 
perception of the process.
     Did you ever suspect that it was a psychosis engendered by 
Siglen's lack of equilibrium?
     [Mental shrug.] A T4 does not delve into the exalted mechanics of 
the Primes, my dear.  Afra snorted at the mere thought of such 
blasphemy.
     But what do you think about, or Brian Ackerman, or any of those I 
whip back to Earth, when they're being transported?
     I don't listen in, and Afra added an admonitory chiding.
     You're being obstructive.  Well, be objective.  What do YOU think 
about?
     During a kinetic displacement?  Generally, I concentrate on 
getting where I'm supposed to go.  Where did you plan to go today, 
Rowan?
     I would prefer to go to Deneb, she answered in a very meek and 
subdued voice.
     Not unless Jeff Raven is there to catch you, and he isn't.
     And even with the gestalt, I can't send you very far.  You're said 
in that respect, he added quickly when he felt the first tinge of 
terror in her mind.  It will take time, you know, to condition you to 
space travel.
     I can't just sit here in the cradle - You're not, you know, Afra 
said very gently.  You're hovering in Demos's orbit above Mars.
     WHAT?  In her fright, the Rowan projected such an almighty scream 
that Afra slapped his hands, instinctively but ineffectually, to his 
ears.
     WHAT are you doing, Rowan?  came a roar from Earth Prime.  Afra, 
I'll flay your yellow skin and hang the meat from your bones out to 
dry!  What ARE you doing with her?
     Leave him alone, Reidinger, was the Rowan's prompt and equally 
agitated response.  Afra's obeying my orders and your stated wishes 
that THIS Prime will learn to travel in space.  Stop blustering.  Here 
I am orbiting Demos and that's further than I've ever been able to come 
before.  But, and while she forced herself to admire the view, she 
found herself `looking' straight ahead, unable/unwilling to turn her 
eyes from the sight of Demos's pitted surface with Mar's red/orange 
bulk beyond.  As long as she had only that view to contend with, she 
could manage it.  Demos looked exactly like its hologram.
     I think that's enough for now, she added, spacing her words 
carefully, as if one of them might alter her head a fraction, forcing 
her to see more of the open space all around her shell which could be a 
prelude to the godawful spinning she'd felt on her first space voyage.
     Shut up, Rowan, that was a Siglenish imposition.  Nevertheless, 
she felt sweat trickling down her face.
     You did very well, Afra said calmly and the next thing she knew 
she was back in the cradle.
     Did you really send me all the way to Demos, Afra?  She felt 
totally spineless and couldn't move a hand to blot the perspiration on 
her face.
     I certainly did, and you suffered no significant trauma according 
to the monitors in the shell.  Just stop thinking about Siglen.
     afra did not have to sound quite so smug, she thought deep inside 
her head.  He had royally fooled her, that treacherous T-4.
     `What's the Rowan's capsule doing out here?' Ray Loftus yelled and 
he had flipped up the canopy before he noticed her lying inside.  `Hey 
- whaaaaat?' He stared down at her, his face gone white.  `Are you all 
RIGHT, Rowan?' He didn't appear to know what to do, waving one hand 
impotently.
     `Stop dithering and give me your hand,' the Rowan said.  `I've 
been to Demos and back - for my sins!' Ray willingly assisted her out 
of the capsule and, then almost too solicitously for she was drained by 
the experience, supported her up to the Tower building.  His 
incredulity and several odd, unsortable fleeting emotions were 
inescapably projected to her through the physical contact.  But she 
also caught pride and relief.
     afra palmed open the door, took her hand and, with a brief kinetic 
surge, renewed her energy.  Before she could read him, he had his 
shield up again.
     You don't need to treat this as so commonplace an occurrence, you 
know, she added, piqued.
     Why not?  It should be!  Yaw!  He sidled away from the pinch she 
gave him.
     Now, if fun and games are over for this morning, can I please 
review the day's schedule?  came the acid tone of Reidinger.  There are 
a few alterations.
     That night as the Rowan lay in her double lonely bed, she reviewed 
that lift.  She had felt nothing: not even that spinning - once she'd 
shut her mind away from the notion - that had consumed her on the 
`portation from altair to Callisto.  But, in the light of present 
knowledge, was it any wonder she responded as she had during her first 
space voyage?  Hadn't Siglen wept and moaned and wrung her hands and 
carried on as if she was sending the Rowan to her death?  And all those 
preventive shots and medicines which, since her middle ear was not 
impaired at all, had probably produced the nausea, the spinning and 
disorientation because she hadn't needed them.  Siglen had done one 
fine job of preconditioning her to react exactly as she had.
     She'd get Afra to take her back to Demos tomorrow and this time 
she'd look at it - and around her.  There was absolutely no 
physiological or psychological reason why she should be affected by 
space travel.
     No, there's not.  Keep telling yourself that, honey.  Keep saying 
it until you believe it with all your heart and mind, Jeff's voice 
said, gently inserted into her mind.
     Oh, your touch is so fragile.  . . She worried that the tasks set 
him were too much for his so recently acquired abilities.
     No, not at all, he replied, deepening his tone.  I didn't want to 
startle you.
     Don't try to deceive me, Jeff Raven.  I know you're exhausted.
     You shouldn't even be trying to contact me in that state Aren't 
you glad I have?  [His mental smirk was accompanied by a very delicate 
caress.] Wherever you are, no matter how tired I am, I shall always 
reach out to you.
     Though and now his tone altered suggestively, it doesn't help when 
I am trying to get some rest.  Sleep well, love.
     She sent a light kiss for his cheek, laughing as she did so and 
tried to calm his mind to the sleep pattern.
     Granny!  I can do that for myself!
     Tired as she was, she was not quite ready for sleep yet herself.
     So often she used sleep as a method of interrupting negative 
mental patterns, of unproductive and circular thinking.  Sometimes she 
could gain an insight into a problem by going over and over it again 
then wake the next morning with the solution.
     Tonight Purza appeared, not the remains that Moria had vandalized, 
but the comfort creature that had been her mainstay.  The Rowan paused, 
thinking back to those last days of her childhood, of all the 
conversations she carried on with Purza, of the silly things they'd 
discuss.  . . They?
     The Rowan caught herself up.  She had believed, for many years, 
that Purza was sentient, despite the unalterable fact that the Rowan 
knew the pukha was NOT.  She had imbued many qualities and 
characteristics into the comfort .  . . toy, say it, Rowan, toy!  .  .
     . No, not a toy.
     Device!  Monitor!  Surrogate!  The pukha had certainly been the 
receptacle of more confidences than any human being, even of matters 
she never could have discussed with Lusena.  Yet the Rowan distinctly 
remembered Purza advising her against things which she, the Rowan, had 
particularly wanted to do.  How could the pukha have such discretion?
     The loss still rankled in the Rowan's mind and heart.
     She had succumbed to a deep melancholia which Lusena had been 
unable to lift despite metamorphic treatment.
     Siglen had been irritated, having realized lust how much she was 
beginning to rely on her apprentice, but she was far more fearful of 
contracting even the merest sniffle.
     Then Gerolaman had acquired the barquecat.  And that ungrateful 
scamp whom the Rowan had counted on as a companion in her Callisto 
quarters had refused to leave the tibooti passenger vessel, to the 
intense delight of the crew.
     She'd had to let him stay, more angered than dismayed by his 
defection.
     `When I was a child, I played with childish things!' That phrase, 
which had been well dinned into her head during that painful 
readjustment time, now came to mind.
     The Rowan tossed restlessly in her bed, hating the phrase, and all 
the memories it evoked.
     Why would Purza come to mind now, tonight?  Except that Jeff had 
queried the memory.  Jeff was more than a substitute for a surrogate .
     . . except that he couldn't even do his courting of her in person!
     Why Purza?  Why not Rascal?  She had truly outgrown the need for 
the comfort surrogate!  Or had she?
     Puzzling through that, the Rowan fell asleep.  In the morning, 
searching her waking thoughts for an answer, she found none.  Instead 
she had an overpowering urge to seek Jeff.  And resisted.  She had set 
an additional clock to Denebian time and he would be hard at work.  She 
had overslept her usual waking hour but Jupiter did not clear Callisto 
for three hours.
     Listlessly she rose to face the day's routine.  She and Jeff might 
have their lifetimes to get to know each other, but she'd rather start 
in earnest.  Damn Reidinger!  How could he!  She'd like to tell him a 
thIng or two!
     In person.
     Watch out!  she heard Afra warn the Station staff.  She wasn't 
sure if she was annoyed or amused that caution was given.  She palmed 
open the door into the Tower and let it whoosh shut behind her as she 
observed the wary expressions.
     I don't think you're ready for a jaunt to Earth yet, Afra said.
     `Good morning, Rowan.  We've got some pretty heavy stuff to 
shift.' She glared at the Capellan, knowing he was right.  And yet, if 
she didn't take the plunge, when would she?  Why shouldn't she - if she 
was only reacting to a conditioning?
     But his caution, and his obvious concern, deflated her impetus.
     She was not all that sure of her reconditioning not just after one 
swing to Demos.  Her glare was the signal for everyone to become 
intensely interested in lists or keyboards or any task that took them 
out of her immediate vicinity.
     `Now listen up, you lot.  There's two hours and fifty minutes 
before Callisto clears Jupiter.  You all know how to set up the day's 
shifts without Afra and me.  Afra,' and she intensified her glare, `I 
want to go back to Demos again.  Now!' `As you wish, he said in an 
unexpected capitulation.
     She caught a very suspicious glint in his yellow eyes before he 
turned his head away.  And his shields were up tight as air-lock seals.
     She decided to ignore him and marched back out of the Tower and 
down to the launch.
     This time, though she strained her eyes wide to catch any motion, 
Afra's lift was so smooth that she had the bulk of Demos before her 
eyes again.  This time she did look about her, and if her breathing 
quickened, she initiated control and steadied herself.  The view was 
rather spectacular.
     Is Earth visible from his position?  she asked Afra.  She caught 
her breath again as her capsule altered direction.
     Cut in the visual magnification.  Second position on your right 
fingerboard, Afra told her.
     Four taps and the cloud-swirled marble of Mankind's world became 
clearly visible.  Its moon hung like a milky pebble, fully lit by the 
distant sun.  Awesome to think that the insignificant speck in the vast 
space-black panorama had spawned those now inhabiting the planets of 
far distant suns.
     Suddenly she became very conscious of the blackness around her: 
too much dark and she was confined in a very small space .  . . And she 
didn't even have Purza for comfort!
     Easy, Rowan!  And abruptly she was back in the launch site on 
Callisto, Afra unsealing the lid of her personnel carrier, his yellow 
skin sallow with anxiety.
     Shaking, she held her arms out to him.  He lifted her out of the 
capsule and ran with her back into the Tower, yelling vocally and 
mentally for a stimulant.
     Blackness!  Why blackness, Afra?  I was all right, truly all 
right, until I thought of the blackness -- And claustrophobia, Afra 
added.  He took the glass Ray offered and held it to her lips.  She was 
shaking too much to hold it herself.
     ROWAN!  Jeff's anxious shout made her wince.
     I'm all right, Jeff I'm all right.
     Blackness.  Why are you reacting to blackness, Rowan?
     Why do I see the pukha in your mind?
     I don't know, Jeff I don't know.  I'm all right.  Afra's 
determined to get me drunk early today!  She tried to lighten up her 
mind tone: she didn't want to upset him because she'd experienced a 
moment's silly panic.
     Scared me half to death, you did!  Jeff went on and she was as 
aware of the pounding of his heart as her own.
     Jeff, she's all right, Afra said, initiating metamorphic massage 
to reduce her tension.
     `It wasn't space.  It was the blackness.  The awful blackness.' 
Damn it!  I've had just about enough of this!  Jeff Raven said, his 
tone incandescent with fury.
     DENEB!  and Reidinger's roar made even the Rowan's skull vibrate.
     afra rolled his eyes in intense mental pain, clutching at his 
head.
     Primes don't have privileges!  She's only shaken.  And there'll be 
no more of these experiments, Rowan.  YOU HEAR ME?
     Even I can hear you, said David of Betelgeuse sourly.
     I think you're being extremely selfish, Reidinger, came from 
Capella.
     I told you this could be fatal, was Siglen's moan.
     Leave me alone!  the Rowan said, furious at being the center of so 
much unnecessary attention.  Go away and get back to business.
     Reidinger's made his point!
     Jeff's parting phantom caress did not make it any easier for the 
Rowan to ascend to the Tower, and her couch, and try to focus her 
thoughts on the day's business.  A steaming cup of java appeared and 
she reached for it gratefully Deep inside her something was frozen, 
some black.
     something odorous?  A whiff that she couldn't identity - a reek 
that was connected with the frightening blackness.
     Not today's darkness, a smelly, clanging, revolving darkness.
     That was what had set off her panic - revolving around to see 
Earth .
     . . Just as the bucking Miraki had panicked her with Turian 
sailing up the Straits that time.
     But it had been a `spinning' motion that had triggered her on the 
Jibooti on her first space voyage.
     Cargo coming in, Afra said, bringing her back to her 
responsibilities.
     Once again Callisto Tower staff moved with dull efficiency through 
the day's tasks, with none of the livening humor or even bad temper 
that signalized an off day for the Rowan.
     Callisto was space-side of Jupiter and receiving the last of the 
in-bound receipts, which would be downshipped once the Moon was again 
Earth-side, when an emergency signal for live cargo lit up the board.
     Live one coming in, Rowan, Brian Ackerman warned her in his 
capacity of Stationmaster.  She'd lost her deft touch in the late 
afternoon, unusual enough for her, but as the packets were not marked 
fragile, he hadn't remonstrated.
     Now what?  she demanded but she retrieved the capsule with more 
care.
     Some Fleet nerd to judge by the ID - then broke off.
     At first the Rowan did not notice the silence from her staff.  It 
was day's end and, with that tardy capsule, the generators were 
growling down to rest.  She was making a neater pile of deliveries and 
transshipment copies when she heard someone taking the Tower steps two 
at a time.
     `Tut tut, I didn't think I could really put this over on you so 
easily!' And it was Jeff Raven who swung the door wide, his blue eyes 
brilliant with teasing - and his love.  `I don't think you've missed me 
at all!' The Rowan didn't bother to answer his jibe.  She grabbed his 
hand and launched them into her quarters, into her bedroom, out of 
their clothing, proving in every way possible just how much she had 
missed him and exactly what she had missed the most of him.
     Brian began and * At several points during that magical night, 
they had time to exchange words rather than emotional extravagances.
     `I've a new nephew, you see,' he said, cuddling her against him, 
her head on his shoulder, her body edged as closely to his as was 
possible, her legs entwined about one of his.  With one ear on his 
chest, she could hear his voice rumbling up from his diaphragm.  `And I 
was congratulating Mother when she reminded me that a day of rest from 
hard labor has long been ordained.  So, with the impetuosity for which 
I am known on Deneb, I tagged an assortment of reliable people to hold 
the planet secure for at least one day, and came back for what I've 
been aching for!' `I shall bless your mother forever!' `She's mighty 
curious about you, I will say.  I have informed her that holograms do 
not do you justice.' `Does she have any Talent?' `Oh, masses, but she's 
never trained much, so sometimes her use of what she has can be quite 
devastating,' and Jeff's chuckle began where her left hand rested on 
his flat belly.  There wasn't, the Rowan realized, a spare ounce of 
flesh on him anywhere.  He was much too thin.  Eating's the last thing 
on my mind, love!  `I don't think she has enough range for Callisto 
but, if she put her mind to it, she could blast a message to us 
anywhere in the City and down on the farm.' His chuckle turned rueful.
     `Could never put anything over on our Mom.' `I never knew my 
mother!' Jeff's arms pressed her lovingly.  `I know, pet.  I know.
     He shifted suddenly, raising up on one elbow, breaking the 
physical closeness that the Rowan was reveling in.
     `Why is that Purza on your mind again?  I know the function of a 
pukha, but it's no surrogate mother!' `You're digging deep.' `No,' and 
Jeff frowned slightly, soothing her hair back from her face and 
gathering up a handful from the pillow, fascinated by its paleness in 
the dim tight of the room.  `I'm not.  Not half as deep as I intend to 
dig.  And speaking of digging, or delving .  . And that ended that 
conversation though the Rowan was fleetingly aware as Jeff stroked her 
body with deft erotic caresses that the interruption was deliberate.
     She was soon too involved on too many levels of exquisite 
lovemaking to complain.  Jeff was incredible and kept urging her on to 
new delights.
     When at last they moved apart an inch or so, Jeff's stomach 
emitted a rolling growl which the Rowan's answered.
     `By God, we've even got compatible digestions.
     `And you need feeding up.  Does no-one take care of you on Deneb?' 
she demanded, half her attention on manipulating food items from 
freezer to heating chamber.
     `Got any Terran beef steak up here?' he asked, following her 
efforts.  `We lost most of our food animals in the bombardments and we 
can't really plant until we clear the fields of metal objects.  I don't 
care how nutritious the processed stuff is supposed to be, it tastes 
bloody awful.
     Oh,' and he inhaled the aroma of grilling meat that wafted into 
the bedroom, `and never smells right.  What a talented woman I've 
found!' And he expressed his appreciation in the most delightful way.
     `Jeff!  The meat'll burn!' `Oh, a little charcoal does you no 
harm!  Got to eat a peck of dirt, you know .  `JEFF!  That's the only 
decent steak I have right now!' `Oh, in that case .  . .` and he 
desisted.
     After they had ravenously consumed a huge meal - with the Rowan 
going back again and again to her larder to supply them with the 
high-protein substances they both needed to fuel their ardor - they 
made love again.  They slept so soundly that neither heard Afra's 
discreet knocking, nor the ringing of the comsystem.
     I do beg your pardons!  afra inserted the phrase politely in each 
mind, repeating it with more mental force until the Rowan roused.
     She felt deliciously rested, totally sated Rowan!  You're 
broadcasting.  . . Afra said with a discreet mental cough.
     Startled into full consciousness, the Rowan felt the unexpected 
heat of a blush.  Afra would never `look' but nonetheless she covered 
herself with a fold of the thermal sheet.  Jeff Raven grumbled 
sleepily, one hand searching for a touch of her.
     `Jeff!  Wake up!  We've overslept!' `Nonsense.  Today's my day 
off!' He opened one eye.
     `I think that was yesterday, Jeff.' She's right!  Reidinger 
doesn't know you're here Why not?  Jeff pulled himself to a sitting 
position and then hauled the Rowan back into his arms, his hands 
lightly caressing her.
     He's not .  . . Afra faltered.  He's in a very touchy mood.
     That's not unusual!  Jeff refused to be cowed.  He threw us 
together on purpose and now I'm here on purpose so he can like it or 
lump it.
     Tell him the truth, Afra, the Rowan added.  I overslept and I'll 
be back at work as soon as I've had a decent breakfast.
     Aware that she had, indeed, been delinquent in her own 
responsibilities, the Rowan tried to wriggle free.  But Jeff merely 
tightened his arms, keeping her close.
     Trouble with Reidinger is, he says jump, and every single one of 
you asks how high!  Well, this Denebian lad doesn't!
     `IS there anything left to eat in the house, darling?' And, as if 
he hadn't a care in the world, Jeff grinned fondly down at the woman 
held firmly against him.
     The Rowan swallowed, both appalled by and admiring of Jeff's 
nonchalance.
     `I think, lovely, it isn't only Siglen's conditioning you must 
slough off.' His voice was soft, very gentle but with an edge in it 
that gave her another, totally new perspective on Jeff Raven of Deneb.
     `That FT&T of yours has exploited you for such a long time that 
you've never stopped to realize that you, as a Prime AND a citizen of 
Central Worlds, have certain inalienable rights that you haven't even 
bothered to exercise!' He dropped an affectionate kiss on the end of 
her nose.
     `And it's time to exercise!  Last one in the pool has to take the 
day off.' He began to unwind himself from her and the covers.
     With all respect, Rowan, Raven, Afra said, still standing outside 
the dwelling, we managed well enough yesterday but there's a passenger 
carrier coming in that needs the Rowan's gentle touch.
     So it has to stay cradled for half an hour, Jeff replied, 
employing his mouth to plant kisses on places of the Rowan that he had 
somehow missed earlier.  Tell the Captain it's generator trouble.  I 
have it all the time on Deneb.
     None minds!
     `But, Jeff, not a passenger ship.  That's a contractual violation 
. . .` the Rowan began.
     `And violating the contract we've been forming is a far more 
heinous crime in my eyes,' and he leered at her, his black hair hanging 
over his eyes to give him a very piratical appearance.  We shan't be 
that long, Afra!  Tell them they have to give way to a priority 
shipment.  Me.  And it's not ready to launch yet.
     Their swim was less than brisk but more than languid, interspersed 
as it was with loving kisses and caresses.  Just the touch of his hand 
roused the Rowan, so totally unused to any physical contact.  She kept 
in tactile contact as if loosing touch would somehow lessen their 
incredible rapport.
     Between them - for Jeff was becoming familiar with the storage and 
cooking facilities in her kitchen - they had breakfast ready by the 
time they had dressed.
     On their way to the launch pad, the Rowan's hand tucked and held 
against Jeff's arm, Reidinger's angry shout made her wince.
     No need to shout, Jeff Raven replied mildly.
     WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?
     Spending my day of rest - HA!
     Now, now, Reidinger, there is a long-standing precedent for rest 
days, and I haven't had one, and my lovely Rowan certainly hasn't had 
one.  . . Jeff looked down at her, his blue eyes glinting with pure 
mischief and a broad grin spreading across his mobile features.  He 
restrained the Rowan from quickening her pace in her obedient effort to 
placate the angry Earth Prime and held her to his lazy saunter.
     You have a contract with FT&T So I do, so do you, and does the 
Rowan, but nowhere in that contract does it stipulate we are obliged to 
work a seven day week, twenty-four or twenty-six-hour day.  His tone 
abruptly changed.  Now butt out, Reidinger.  You're invading our 
privacy.  And that IS a contract violation!
     Some kind of a sound, initiated and abruptly severed, similar to a 
gargle of pure rage, echoed in their heads.  Jeff grinned and the Rowan 
looked anxious.
     `Honey, don't let him exploit you any more.  We can do without 
him, but he and the mighty FT&T can't do without us!  Remember that.
     Stiff upper lip and all that guff.' They had reached the battered 
personnel carrier, in which he had made his surreptitious arrival.  Now 
he took her into his arms again, tucking her head under his chin, their 
bodies as close physically as their minds were.  He said nothing, 
savoring the contact.  Abruptly he released her, kissed her cheek, and 
stretched himself out in the carrier.  `Same time six days from now, 
darling.' The hatch covered his reassuring grin.
     Scurrying to the Tower, the Rowan pressed her lips tightly against 
the pain of this farewell, somehow more intense than when she hadn't 
known what she would be missing.
     Now, then, honey, neither distance nor nine can really separate 
us!
     And he gave a quick demonstration that made her gasp.  See what I 
mean?
     Her cheeks were burning in the cooler air of the passageway.
     Ducking her head so that none of the Station personnel could see 
her face as she entered the Tower, she took the steps two at a time.
     By the time she had taken her place, the generators had hit their 
peak whine.
     Safe trip!  she said, as she spun his shell back to Deneb.
     A kiss that lasted beyond the moons of Neptune brought a smile to 
her face.  Then she flipped up the com to the waiting passenger liner.
     `I do apologize for the slight delay, Captain, but if you are 
prepared, we can launch at your convenience.' Either he was an 
unusually tolerant master or someone in the Station had dropped a 
discreet word, but he made no more comment than to request the lift at 
the mark of five minutes.
     Mi that day the Rowan half expected a blast from Reidinger, so she 
took particular care to keep incoming and outgoing shipments moving in 
a steady flow.  Nor did she receive any word from Jeff over the next 
five days.  She was, however, in very constant and reassuring touch 
with her lover: his presence palpable in her mind, like a silken touch 
in the corner of her mind, a feather-gentle caress.
     That was probably why it was such a shock when abruptly she became 
aware of the absence of that touch.
     Jeff?  She felt more alone than she had when Purza had been 
destroyed, than when she had .... . in the tumbling blackness.  Jeff' 
She strengthened her mental shaft, swiveling in her chair in Deneb's 
relative detection.  JEFF!
     Anxiety took the place of surprise.  JEFF RAVEN!
     What's the matter, Rowan?  Afra asked, now aware of her concern.
     He's gone.  His touch is gone!
     She heard several people rushing up the steps to her Tower.
     We'll link!  Afra suggested as he, Brian Ackerman, and Ray Loftus 
entered the room.
     She opened to them and, tapping the generator power, called again.
     Panicking, she turned to afra.
     `He isn't there!  He's surely heard us!' She tried to keep her 
voice steady, but Afra was far too sensitive not to feel her growing 
terror.
     The tall Capellan took hold of her hands.  `Breathe more slowly, 
Rowan.  There can be many reasons `No!  No, it's as if he'd been 
blotted out suddenly.  You can't understand Rowan?  The mental call was 
faint, heard only because the Rowan was linked with the others.  Rowan.
     `You see, I told you .  . .` Afra began and she yanked her hands 
out of his.
     `That's not Jeff!' Yes?
     Come at once!  Jeff needs you!
     `Now, wait a moment, Rowan, and Afra caught her arm as she started 
out of her chair.
     `You heard!  He needs me!  I'm going!' I want a wide open mind 
from everyone on Station, she added, jumping herself out of Afra's 
physical grasp and to the launch.  She flipped open the canopy and 
settled herself within.  Where's my linkage, Afra?  There was a long 
pause, although the Rowan could feel each new mind of the Station's 
personnel adding strength to hers, Mauli wishing her luck as Mick 
echoed it.  Afra, do it now!  If Jeff needs me, I must go!  Do it 
before I realize what I'm doing!
     Rowan, you can't attempt.  Afra began, desperately worried for 
her.
     Don't argue, Afra.  Help me!  If I've been called, I must go!
     She already was consumed with anguish by Jeff's absence in her 
mind: she would go mad with the uncertainty of why his touch had been 
so abruptly withdrawn.
     I will be watching for her at the usual point .  . came that faint 
firm mind-tone.
     With her own abilities augmented by all those on the Station, the 
Rowan overrode afra's hesitation, bringing him so firmly into the merge 
that he could not resist or alter it.  Then, with the coordinates of 
the dwarf star firmly in her mind, she pressed against the generators, 
too, and launched her carrier.
     PART THREE DENEB It was black, yes, but the capsule made the jump 
with no rotation to remind her of an old terror.  She felt the 
unfamiliar multiple-mind touch hers, felt both urgent need and 
gratitude.  Inclining to it, she followed the path it showed her.
     Her carrier rocked as it landed roughly in the cradle.
     Simultaneous to the apology for the landing, she heard the 
gasping, clanking off-torque rattles of a malfunctioning generator.  If 
the multiple-minds had gestalted with that, she was bloody lucky to 
have reached her destination at all.
     Opening the canopy, she lifted herself out of the carrier, 
fighting to hide additional dismay at what she saw.  The generator, 
apparently hastefully installed at the side of what had once been an 
airfield control tower, gave one last wheeze as a stanchion collapsed.
     A cloud of black, oily smoke rose to obscure the mechanical 
corpse.
     From the temporary tower a group of people emerged, one of them 
carrying a child across her shoulder.
     The Rowan reached out and recognized the dominant mind of the 
merge: Isthia Raven, Jeff s mother.  Of the ten minds which had 
participated, only hers remained relatively unstressed by what the 
Rowan knew would have been a tremendous effort for a novice team.
     My profound gratitude, she sent gently to them all.  How badly is 
Jeff hurt?  she asked directly of his mother.
     Isthia Raven looked to her right, to an older man with such a 
strong resemblance to Jeff that she wasn't surprised to discover that 
he was an uncle.
     `A freak accident,' Rhodri said, guilt/grief/concern vivid in his 
mind as he spoke.  `We'd found an unexploded beetle bomb.  We're 
supposed to let them (and a thumb jerked skyward indicated the Fleet in 
orbit above Deneb) `. . . neutralize `em but the fardling idiots set 
their great flaming pod down so hard it jarred the detonating mechanism 
and it exploded.  Jeff tried to shield us and forgot to duck!  Damn 
fool altruist.  I told him and I told him that you gotta think of 
number one first.' As he spoke, she caught a replay of the scene from 
his mind, which was an orderly one for all the present turmoil of 
self-recriminations.  She saw the cylinder uncovered in the trench it 
had plowed on the edge of the City; saw the disposal group's tentative 
investigation; saw the large armored Fleet pod come down, displacing 
dust and dirt in the ungainly landing, heard the shouts, saw the bomb's 
disintegration, and the searing rain of fragments and even their 
deflection.  Then she saw Jeff's body start to rotate, stagger, and 
fall.
     `The worst is the chest injury,' his mother said.  And from her 
clear mind, she showed an all too graphic image of Jeff's lacerated 
body and the long deep wound across the left pectoral.  `The medics say 
it's only shock but I couldn't reach him.  I thought you might be able 
to.  Time is critical.' `Where is he?' the Rowan replied with a 
calmness and assurance she did not feel.  Especially as she sensed that 
Isthia Raven was withholding some information.  Something else had gone 
horribly wrong with Jeff.  She must deny despair as long as she could.
     She paid strict attention when Isthia projected an image of an 
underground facility, the only still functioning medical installation 
in the battered City.  A large `7' was painted on the pillars outside a 
lighted entrance.  `We'll follow,' Isthia added, nodding toward the 
assortment of groundcars.
     The Rowan nodded understandingly, for the kinetic effort had 
drained energy from everyone in that makeshift team.
     She concentrated on her destination's coordinates and teleported 
herself as close to the 7 pillar as possible, making it less likely 
that she would collide with a person or an emergency vehicle.  Her nose 
was only an inch from the pillar.  She turned herself toward the 
entrance.  Immediately she felt the presence of more Talents, Talents 
of varying strengths and most of them trying to cope with grief and 
anguish.  Well, this was a hospital!  What else did she expect as its 
aura?  Jeff Raven might be the most important one to her personally, 
but she had caught sight of peripheral victims in Rhodri's vision.
     The doors into the Level 7 facility whisked apart for her.  She 
was surprised to find people alert to her arrival, pointing directions 
to the intensive-care facility where Jeff Raven lay.
     She paused long enough in the anteroom to let the sanitizing 
panels purify her.  As soon as that procedure was finished, the inner 
door slid aside.  The recovery room was circular, split into ten 
wedge-shaped cubicles, several of which were curtained with patients 
already installed.
     Against the wall above each section, easily visible to the nursing 
staff seated at the central hub of the facility, were banks of screens, 
monitoring the vital signs of the injured.
     Jeff was in the fifth cubicle, four medics and a nurse watching 
his screens, murmuring occasional comments.
     Their mental comments over the erratic behavior of his life signs 
told the Rowan that two despaired of his recovery: Two more were 
Talents, and one was desperately trying to think of something more to 
do for Jeff.  Her approach was noted and room was made for her at the 
bedside.
     Despite what she had gleaned of Jeff's injuries from his uncle, 
she was shocked to see him, his tanned face bleached by the powerful 
surgical lights, his left side showing nearly a dozen wounds in an 
almost stylized pattern along his upper arm, chest, hip, thigh, and 
calf where fragments had been removed.  But the chest wound was the 
deepest.  She could follow it, through the layers of skin, muscle, and 
bone, right to his heart and see where the damage had been repaired.
     `Asaph, Chief Medic,' said the older man.  His mind still sorted 
out alternative treatments but he looked to her for some `miracle'.
     `They got you here in record time.  We've only just come down from 
the theater.' He paused and the Rowan had no need of her Talent to 
recognize his reluctance to proceed.
     `Your prognosis?' He sighed, choosing his words, but the Rowan 
followed those he discarded and those he used.  `He has suffered 
massive shock and insult.  It was touch and go despite the fact they 
`ported him directly here.  The Admiral sent down two of his best 
surgeons,' and Asaph indicated two of the other medics.
     The Rowan's swift probe told her that the naval medics were amazed 
the man had lived through surgery and didn't give him a chance of 
survival.  Their doubt stiffened the Rowan's purpose.
     `Shock can be reduced, and major bodily insult, she said with such 
confidence and assurance that she surprised herself.  But this was 
Jeff.  Jeff Raven, her lover.
     `Get him through the next few hours and he could stabilize,' Asaph 
said, somehow taking heart from her positive attitude.
     `It'd be a miracle,' one of the naval men said, shaking his head.
     `There should have been a response by now The Rowan ignored him 
and looked at the two Talents the nurse, whose mind identified herself 
as Rakella Chadevsky, Jeri's aunt, and the medic, identified as his 
surgeon brother, Dean.
     `Have either of you tried for a response?' `Tried, yes, when he 
was first brought in -- Dean admitted.
     There was not so much as a flicker, Rakella said, and a great deal 
to be done physically before it was too late.  At that, I only just 
managed to restart the heart!
     No delay?  the Rowan asked, refusing to panic for that was what 
Isthia Raven had withheld from her.  Hearts can be repaired, replaced 
if necessary, even in this temporary facility.  As long as the brain 
had not been deprived of oxygen, a heart wound was not as serious as a 
major head wound would have been for a Talent.
     None, Rakella reassured her.  I was monitoring his heart closely 
because of the wound she gave a tremulous smile, I caught it before the 
EEc could register it!
     Then no-one's tried to reach him on the metamorphic level...
     Neither of us know that technique, Dean added.
     `Then you're about to learn,' the Rowan said, wondering just what 
Talent medical staff were taught on Deneb, -apart from reviving a 
faltering heartbeat.
     Suppressing the fears which his moribund appearance had raised, 
the Rowan moved to the bed and placed her hands on Jeff's ankles.  The 
slight chill of the skin was only normal, she told herself, and pressed 
deeper, feeling the faint shallow pulse at the meridian point.  With 
fingers and mind she could feel the congestion there, as Jeff S system 
began to close down prior to cessation.  She dug her thumbs deep into 
the soles of his feet, in the solar plexus correlation point, rubbing 
with a hard, circular motion.
     Then she pressed hard on the top of each big toe, again, and 
again.  Then back to the solar plexus reflex.  As she pressed again, 
she heard Rakella's quick inhalation.
     There's a response.  Whatever it is you're doing got a response!
     You've repaired him on the physical level.  I will deal with the 
metamorphic May I assist you?  Rakella asked.
     By all means.  Copy my manipulations.  I admit that I've had few 
occasions to use such treatment, but it can be quite effective.  Any 
stimulus could make a difference.  Right flow, time would have no 
meaning for him so we use that timelessness to develop a support level 
strong enough to sustain his life force and restore balance.
     She was startled by the muted wail of an angry baby.
     Balance yourself, Isthia Raven said in a dry tone, entering the 
room.  Grateful for the tonic of Isthia Raven's presence, the Rowan 
did.  I think, Asaph, that there are far too many unnecessary bodies 
crowding around my son.  Do thank the Fleet men and send them on their 
way.  Their thoughts are too negative, and that's a bad aura to have in 
here.
     With Rakella now following her every move, the Rowan repeated the 
hard pressure on the sole, began to massage the whole foot, warming the 
flesh, then gently and lightly rubbing the main bones from toe to heel 
bone.  She worked longer at the groove between the internal cuneiform 
and navicular bones, which should quicken his flagging energies.  She 
moved on to the calcaneum, massaging the side of the heel back to the 
Achilles tendon.  Lightly her fingers crossed the top of the foot, 
down, and under the outer ankle bone.  Then she repeated the sequence, 
using hard strokes only on the sole and the big toe, before lightening 
her pressure up the bony ridge of the arch.
     Rakella had acquired the rhythm of the massage now, and they 
worked in unison.  Occasionally Rowan tested the meridian above the 
left ankle, willing the tempo of her own measured heartbeat to echo in 
Jeff's arteries, willing him to rally, to respond, however faintly, to 
show them that he clung to life.
     The superiluous bodies out of the way, Isthia moved to Jeff's 
head, smoothing back his sweaty hair.  Then she placed her fingers 
lightly on each temple and looked up at the Rowan.  Jeff's mother had 
the same startlingly blue eyes, the same direct, honest gaze.  But 
neither of them could `feel' his mind.
     We Ravens have hard heads, Isthia said, closing off her emotions 
to the hope still deferred.
     And callused feet, added Rakella.
     As the Rowan kneaded the sole, she suddenly felt the breakup of 
that awful congestion.  She glanced at the monitors and they confirmed 
a slight but measurable improvement.  Yet still, there was nothing of 
Jeff to touch in that special area in which all Talent dwelt.
     We will not let him go!  Isthia said softly.  Her eyes held the 
contact with Rowan.
     No, we will not!  And the Rowan renewed her ministrations, sliding 
her hands up his legs to his knees and the next major meridian.  Even 
lax in his present condition, she could feel the muscular strength of 
him - memories flooded back.
     Even those could help, his mother said drolly.
     The Rowan looked up, caught off guard.
     Jeff said you had a loud voice, the Rowan said respectfully, 
gently stroking the bony ridge down the arch.  The lightest of caresses 
now to coax his return.  He didn't mention you had a long ear.
     Isthia smiled.  I'd heard about this sort of hands-on techniques.
     Interesting!
     It might take time to show results It takes time for most 
healings, Rowan.  And I `feel' that this is working even if we don't 
see much progress.
     Suddenly Jeff's foot gave a feeble twitch.  The Rowan started in 
surprise.
     Now that's a definite reaction, Rowan!  Rakella said, looking much 
encouraged.
     So the Rowan pressed deeply in the pad of his left big toe and saw 
a wriggle in the Alpha line and a minute shudder in the Delta.  Rakella 
gripped the right toe, and again there was a brief response.
     `How long do you keep this up?' Medic Asaph asked, returning.  He 
was deeply anxious about Jeff, his broad face reflecting concern and 
fatigue.
     `Until we bring him back,' the Rowan stated flatly.
     `There is no time where he is now.' Asaph gave a snort.  `Time?
     He gave us a time, I'll tell you!  Worth it, though.  Jeff's sort 
of special to us here on Deneb.' Then he added hastily, `Unfortunately, 
I need Rakella.  Jeff wasn't the only one injured.' Isthia touched the 
Rowan lightly on the shoulder.  `I should feed the baby,' she said, and 
through her mind the Rowan could hear the now frantic cries of a very 
hungry infant.  `If it's necessary he can wait a while longer The Rowan 
could also feel the dichotomy of her needs: two sons to succor.
     `Feed the child!' she said.  She could concentrate entirely on 
Jeff, then, free of the anxieties of others; alone with Jeff, who was 
her responsibility right now as no-one else had ever been.
     Isthia slipped away through the curtains.  The patient in the next 
cubicle groaned, and the Rowan heard the quick, soft steps of the nurse 
coming to attend him.
     Then, in privacy, the Rowan forced herself to look at Jeff's face 
again, so sickly pale beneath the tan.  For a man of such mental and 
physical strength and vigor, he looked boy like when unconscious, as if 
injury had wiped clean all traces of his charismatic personality as 
well as health.  The ache within her grew to alarming proportions, an 
insistent pressure of tears behind her eyes and her throat so clogged 
that she had to force breath out and then down.
     Easy!  Isthia's touch, stemming as it must from a pain as severe 
as her own, soothed her.  Do not compromise the good you've already 
done with negative emotions.
     Such a long ear his mother had!  The Rowan was both resentful and 
grateful for that reminder.  She paused long enough to bring the stool, 
the one other piece of furniture in the cubicle, to the foot of the 
bed.  And then renewed the metamorphic treatment.  Lightly, lightly, 
stroking endlessly.  Occasionally she placed her fingers on the 
meridian point, feeling the beat of the arterial blood flow, and trying 
to bring the tempo up to her own circulatory level.
     `Are you there, Jeff?  Are you still there?' she whispered, 
willing him to hear her voice, if not her mind.  And as she continued 
to stroke his feet, she talked to him in that whisper, so low that it 
would not reach past the privacy screen.  Oddly, the sound of her own 
voice soothed her.
     The Rowan had never sat in vigil.  Nor had she ever no, once 
before, a long, long time ago - felt so helpless.  In a tumbling 
stinking darkness?  But never had helplessness been so bitter a state.
     What good did Talent do her now?
     And yet it had!  His mind might not know that she was there, but 
his body did, borrowing her physical strength to holster his faltering 
grasp on life.  She placed her hand on his wrist, her fingers 
monitoring the slow but not so faint beat.  Yes, his body knew that she 
was there, even If that could not be recorded in the green lines 
wavering along the screens.
     Through her hands she continued to let her energy flow to him.
     When Jeff.  . . yes, when Jeff was well .  . . she promised 
herself she would take additional training in the metamorphic from 
those Earth Talents whose healing abilities produced effects close to 
the miraculous.  A miracle was certainly needed here.  How long did 
miracles take on this alternate level?
     Had she truly reached it?  Be positive!  Jeff would live, would 
revive, be wholly himself again.  She flowed life from herself into 
Jeff Raven in a calm and even stream, laden with love and dedication.
     Despite herself, despite her uncomfortable position on the low 
stool, despite her continued gentle massage, the Rowan must have dozed.
     For her head was resting against one foot.  She shook herself 
awake, ashamed at such weakness, which was negative, when positivity 
was so essential.  Apprehensively she glanced at the monitors: all 
registered stronger functions.
     The shout that then burst from her, bringing both nurses to the 
cubicle, was sheer exultation.
     Rowan!  cried Isthia, hope bursting like a meteor tail through her 
voice.
     Back where she had missed it was the light but tender touch of 
Jeff Raven's sleeping mind.
     He's there!  He'll live!  He's there!  He'll live!  she chanted, 
sobbing with almost unbearable joy and relief.
     She intensely resented the nurses who shoved back the curtain and 
briskly motioned her to one side.
     Let them do their job, Rowan, said Isthia in a tone of mild 
rebuke.  It's not as :if he could help raise his endorphin levels and 
reduce pain.  Which I guarantee you he'll feel soon.  He was brought in 
unconscious, bleeding to death, so there was no time to use less 
stringent methods of anesthesia.  It'll take him a while to revive from 
the chemicals.  But at least now we know he will!  You have my eternal 
gratitude.
     The Rowan did not like being pushed to one side so arbitrarily, 
having to watch while necessary things were done to the body of her 
lover.  Then the nurses, with no more than a curt nod to her, left the 
cubicle, twitching the curtains back in place.
     `Don't jump before you can walk, girl,' Isthia remarked dryly as 
she entered.  `In case you're thinking of singlehandedly nursing him 
from now on.  Frankly, you may know how to deal excellently with the 
metamorphic levels but not the medical, even as deeply as you can 
experience.
     And don't glare at me like that, child!  I willingly accept that 
my son has chosen you as his life mate but,' and Isthia raised a 
warning hand, `you don't try to own a man like Jeff.' The Rowan found 
herself resenting Isthia's presence because it impinged on her privacy 
with him.  She resented her cautions all the more because she 
recognized their validity.  She did not wish to share Jeff, injured or 
sound.
     She hadn't realized just how much their necessary separations had 
rankled in her mind and emotions.
     `Sort it out in your head now, Rowan,' Isthia continued, ignoring 
thoughts which the Rowan didn't bother to shield.  `Don't let petty 
jealousy and other unworthy notions tarnish what you and Jeff share.
     Nourish your bond, don't stifle it.' When Isthia placed a 
reassuring hand on her shoulder, she almost jerked away from it, unused 
to casual physical contact.  Isthia's hand tightened.
     Well, we Denebians use a lot of tactile contact, so that's another 
thing to get used to.  It helps us lamebrains to function on the mental 
level.
     `You're no lamebrain,' the Rowan flared, her basic sense of 
justice denying Isthia's self-deprecation.  But in rejecting that, she 
made eye contact with Isthia and the older woman caught and held hers, 
using the anger to project a searching shaft past the Rowan's guards.
     You have never had it easy, have you, child?  Isthia's mind 
brimmed with compassion and a generosity of spirit that the Rowan had 
not encountered since Lusena's death and which dissolved her immediate 
resentments.  You love Jeff but so do most of the people left on Deneb.
     You can't deny them their share of his attention.  I wouldn't try.
     You're smart enough to know what I mean.  Be wise enough to accept 
it.
     You hold most securely what you are willing to let go.  Then 
Isthia frowned slightly.  `Who is Purza?' `Jeff said you had a 
devastating Talent,' the Rowan said, stunned that Isthia had `seen' 
Purza.  `And I cannot imagine how you managed to access that bit of 
ancient history.
     `It's right there at the top of your mind, my dear,' Isthia said 
gently and pressed for an answer `Purza's not a who, it's a what.  A 
monitoring device in any one of a number of comfort forms for a 
troubled child.' `Which you certainly were - also very much on the top 
of your mind.  You've too strong a mind for someone untrained like me 
to pry into very deeply.
     The Rowan gave a short ironic laugh.
     `That's better,' Isthia said, smiling back.  `You'd got locked 
into a very bad mind loop there, doing you no good when Jeff is still 
going to need you.  I'll have a meal brought in to you, and a more 
comfortable chair.' With that she left.
     Both the meal, which the Rowan forced herself to eat, and the 
chair, which was an improvement on the stool, were welcome.  The 
monitors above Jeff's bed all indicated much stronger body rhythms, 
good Alpha and Delta responses.  His light contact remained in her mind 
but it was still a passive one.
     It was another hour before he revived enough to recognize his 
surroundings.  At the sight of the Rowan beside his bed, he gave a weak 
grin which turned into a grimace of pain.
     `Rowan?' and he reached for her hand, `I thought it was you, but I 
didn't know how you could be here.' His voice was a dry whisper.
     Sensing his thirst, she brushed his lips with water as she had 
seen the nurse do, then dribbled a teaspoonful into his mouth.  In 
fact, I argued with myself that I had imagined you from a deep 
subliminal level.
     `Hush, love.  You needed me.  I'm here.
     You made it on your own?  His mental tone was far stronger than 
his physical voice, and his fingers clutched hers with more force than 
she had expected.
     Your mother.
     Trust her to call in the cavalry.  But you came?  His astonishment 
and gratitude washed her mind.
     Isthia had assembled a team.  And then the generator fell apart!
     Relief made her silly.
     Reidinger let you come?
     Hush, love.  I hear the nurse coming.
     `Well, back with us again, huh, Raven,' said the sandy haired 
older nurse who flicked back the curtain.  She nodded approvingly at 
the Rowan.  `Medic Asaph will be very pleased.' Then she turned 
squarely to the Rowan.
     `Now will you leave his bedside and get some rest before I have to 
clout you on the head with that hardwood bat I keep for obstreperous 
bedside leeches?' `I'm fine,' the Rowan said and her voice cracked with 
fatigue.
     The nurse cocked one eyebrow skeptically.  `Ha!  You've done two 
and a half shifts already.  Raven, you manage her.' Go and rest, 
darling!  Jeff urged.  I'll keep you in mind, you know.  And he gave 
her the tender smile that was hers alone.
     Over the next two days, now that Jeff was on the mend and she had 
time to observe her surroundings, the Rowan was increasingly amazed by 
the resilience of the Denebians.
     The planet had lost over three-fifths of its population, its two 
population centers had been demolished by bombardment, farming 
communities burned out, and the mines, on which Deneb depended for 
outworld supplies, were all but useless.
     All known survivors of both plague and attack had long since been 
centralized, along with available supplies and skills.  That had 
happened even before Jeff Raven had contacted the Rowan for assistance.
     Between their first momentous meeting and now, the City's ruins 
had been leveled, and temporary living quarters erected: rudimentary, 
to be sure, but supplying shelter for all.  The hydroelectric plant, 
deep in the cliffs through which the broad Kenesaw River surged down to 
the distant sea, had escaped damage but it was the planet's only 
operating power source.  An immense communal kitchen fed everyone and 
four facilities scheduled time for personal bathing and laundry.
     Except for toddlers and infants, even the children spent half 
their day on work teams, and schools for the older ones were devoted to 
on the-job training.
     While the Fleet had generously given urgent medical supplies and 
freeze dried emergency rations to the battered colony, the Rowan began 
to notice critical shortages .  . . such as work boots and warm 
clothing now that the Denebian winter was closing in.  Though the City 
was located in the temperate zone, winds with bitter chill factors were 
known to buffet the plain and the hunters could not bring in sufficient 
pelts from the meat animals they killed to clothe everyone.
     The Rowan knew she would receive private assistance from Capella 
and Betelgeuse as soon as she asked, but until she had a functioning 
generator, she couldn't bring any of it in to Deneb.  She `ported 
herself out to the dilapidated facility to see just what was needed to 
make it functional.  The cracked housing, still on the ground, was not 
a priority repair.  The generator itself was jerry-rigged.
     Two slip rings had cracked, there were only the holders of the 
carbon brushes left, and the drive shaft looked doubtful.  She lifted 
the housing back into place, wondering if anyone in the City had 
pyrotic Talent to mend the crack and if there were any spare generator 
parts left on Deneb.
     When she entered the shaft (she couldn't give it the title of 
Tower), she realized that sheer blind luck must have been the guiding 
factor: the instrumentation was minimal, contrapted together out of 
spare parts not all of which seemed to perform any function when she 
tried to trace it.  She thanked Gerolaman from the bottom of her heart 
for teaching her so much about the mechanical and electronic workings 
of a Tower.  She might have passed the first essential lesson in 
`porting herself in her frantic dash to Jeff's bedside, but she 
couldn't - wouldn't attempt a return without more sophisticated 
safeguards than these.
     Isthia had helped her convince the pro teen Council that the Tower 
facility was a priority.
     `We're sort of used to doing for ourselves, you know,' Makil 
Resnik, the provisional Governor and Labor Manager, had told her.
     `Anything we can't make ourselves, we do without.' Hold it, Rowan, 
Isthia advised when she felt the surge of the Rowan's protest.  `We can 
make a great deal ourselves mostly, Makil.  We may even get through the 
winter without suitable clothes.  But we must import seed and medical 
supplies.  We've got too few survivors to risk any on the horns of 
false pride.' `You got a point there, Isthia.  Even so, can't spare a 
big team to help.  Got to open the Benevolent Mine right soon.
     They'd just hit a big seam of platinum.' `I can do a good deal of 
the contracting myself but I need someone with electronic skills,' the 
Rowan said, managing a calm tone.
     Resnik consulted his compack, tapping keys with a blunt thick 
fore-finger.
     `Zathran Abita's the one she needs, Isthia said calmly.
     `She knows more about Towers than Jeff did.  Give her a team of 
kids to scrounge.  With any luck, she'll find most of what she needs in 
the salvage sheds.  Oh, and Jeff has those I-beam specifications for 
you.
     You've all this down to a fine art, haven't you, Isthia?  the 
Rowan said, appreciating such deft manipulation.  Was it you who taught 
him how to charm?
     No, I learned in self-defense against his father.  Bear that in 
mind!  Isthia turned her smile from the Rowan to Resnik, her manner 
acquiescent and grateful.
     `Little thing like you can refit a Tower herself?' Makil asked, 
peering at her appraisingly.  `Hmm.  When d'you want to start?' She who 
hesitates loses her advantage, Isthia drawled.
     zerrs occupied at a suitably sedentary task that'll keep him out 
of mischief A little fresh air and exercise will do you good.
     `No time like the present,' the Rowan replied, deciding to ignore 
the fact that Isthia was manipulating her as easily as she did everyone 
else around her.  Why weren't you made Governor?
     The rich sound of Isthia's chuckle echoed in the Rowan's skull.  A 
nursing mother would make an awkward Governor.  Otherwise `I can detach 
Zathran only two days.  Then he'll be needed at the mine, when we've 
got the adit cleared.
     Sooner we get a mine running, sooner we'll have something to cheer 
about.' `You've already done marvels,' the Rowan assured him, slightly 
distracted by Isthia's asides.  Then she wondered if she would manage.
     She'd never done anything like this before.
     You'll do fine!  Jeff told her.  His mental tone was considerably 
more vibrant today than his physical condition.  The Rowan knew that he 
struggled to overcome his injuries.  And when you're stuck, you can 
always call on me to bail you out!
     Ha!
     By the end of the first day the Rowan found herself exceedingly 
encouraged by the result.  With a half dozen mid-teens, she had gone 
through the open sheds where the salvaged items were stored.  She had 
reviewed her requirements with Jeff, to see what he thought she might 
be able to find among the salvage.  Having quick-witted kids who knew 
where to look among the bewildering aisles and sheds was one advantage: 
being kinetic and able to shift what was found immediately out to the 
Tower shack was another.  The list of needed parts was reduced 
drastically by the end of that day.  But before she could make the best 
use of Zathran Abita, she needed items like carbon brushes, two more 
large magnetic coils and slip rings, as well as small transducers and 
some circuit boards, which she could only get with Reidinger's 
assistance.
     The unexpected fillip in the day was discovering three burgeoning 
Talents in her young team.  The oldest girl, Sarjie, had a definite 
metal affinity and could assay metallic content, discern metallic 
fatigue or flaw in any piece she handled.  She tossed more into the 
meltdown bins than on the pallet for transfer to the Tower.
     Fourteen-year-old Rences could snatch the shape of what the Rowan 
wanted from her mind and unerringly locate it among hundreds of rods, 
pipes, fittings, coils, and other `junk'.  Morfanu was struggling to 
understand a kinetic ability and the Rowan deftly guided her efforts 
into more positive channels.
     Sarjie had no telempathy: Rences' was limited to shape finding (he 
preferred to see drawings or pictures of what was required), and 
Morfanu could not project.  They needed years of training to refine 
their innate abilities.
     For someone who had always worked with mature, trained Talent, and 
those mainly kinetic or telepathic, the Rowan found the association 
with new abilities a fascinating experience.
     You've got a lot of patience with them, Jeff said approvingly.
     You've tired yourself out, the Rowan accused, furious that she 
hadn't been keeping a watch on him along with her salvage operations.
     It wasn't my head that was opened.  Jeff sounded irascible and, 
remembering Isthia's cautionary words, the Rowan aborted a scathing 
retort.  Sandy's read me the riot act.  But the drafts for the mine 
reopening are finished.  She felt his sense of satisfied achievement.
     He was a difficult patient, hating to be incapacitated when he was 
most needed, railing at medical restrictions and supervisions.
     The day after major surgery, he had insisted on taking on 
paperwork: freeing up uninjured personnel.  Sandy slipped enough of a 
sedative into a `restorative' drink to send him to sleep for several 
hours.  That night, fretting because he hadn't finished the task he'd 
set himself that day, he refused to stop work.  So, the Rowan simply 
shut him down into sleep.
     In the small hours of that night the Rowan, tapping as lightly as 
possible into the generators that supplied the hospital's power, 
contacted Afra with the order for the most urgent items.  He was 
reassured by her touch and reassured her that all was still functioning 
smoothly there, but he wasn't certain how long that would last.
     Relieved, the Rowan then curled up on the cot beside Jeff's bed 
and told herself to go back to sleep.
     Don't try that on me again, Rowan, Jeff told her when she finally 
let him wake up late the next morning.  He was livid at her 
high-handedness.
     At least you've the strength today to get mad, she replied, 
unrepentant.  There was more color in his face and more vigor visible 
in the monitoring graphs.  And quite likely strength enough in that 
fist of yours to handle a spoon.  Your breakfast's ready.
     He glared at her, his eyes glinting as he imaged what he would 
like to do to her.
     Tsk, tsk!  How bizarre!  she responded very sweetly.  With careful 
kinesis, she lifted his upper-torso, inserting several pillows behind 
his back before she spread a napkin over his chest.  Any day now you're 
strong enough to try that, my own true love, I shall give in gracefully 
to the inevitable.  Will you return the compliment now?  Here's your 
breakfast!
     `Now,' she went on pleasantly, `I have to figure out when is the 
best time to use the tower, so as not to brown out.
     Reidinger caught up with her on her fourth morning on Deneb.
     ROWAN!  HOW IN HELL DID RAVEN GET YOU THERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?
     It was as well, the Rowan thought with grim humor, that she was on 
Deneb instead of Callisto.  He'd have singed her shields out with that 
roar.
     Perhaps I was wrong to assume that you would prefer Jeff Raven 
alive?  she asked acidly and grinned at such a suave throttling of 
Reidinger's officious outrage.  She wished she could have seen his face 
at that moment.  She followed up that shock by a clear image of Jeff as 
she had first seen him, adding a macabre view of the gaping chest 
wound.
     She followed this with Jeff's current appearance, palely sleeping 
after his chest wound had been dressed.  Even with her assisting 
Rakella's kinetic manipulations, it hadn't been an easy ten minutes for 
Jeff.  The medical facilities here were reduced to the medieval by the 
bombardment.  Which reminds me .  . . I sent in a Top Priority 
Emergency order for replacement parts and unless you want me lodged 
permanently here on Deneb, they'd better be `ported out this way NOW!
     At that it will take me another six days to organize a Tower I'd 
risk myself with.  It is also, she added, suppressing a desire to 
smirk, too far for you to lift me.
     She knew that Reidinger was listening, and hard, for she could 
feel the throb of continued contact between their minds.  Since she had 
his attention, she continued.
     What you cannot have appreciated, as you haven't been on this 
planet and none of that irrelevant armada on retrieval patrol would 
think to mention it, is that Jeff Raven had only a very elderly 
jury-rigged generator for his gestalt when he was lobbing back missiles 
and repelling three alien vessels.  Just think what he could do with 
the kind of equipment most Primes consider absolutely essential before 
they tax their lobes.
     Deneb's broke, Reidinger roused sufficiently to growl at her.
     I'm not, the Rowan replied in her sweetest tone.  That order's 
paid for and should be ready for shipment today.  Any time you have a 
spare moment.  Oh, and if you'd send Afra a couple of T-2s, he'll see 
that Callisto Station operates as efficiently as if I were there.
     And how long, came the slow acid tone of Earth Prime, do you fiel 
this new Denebian emergency is going to last?
     Well, until I have a Tower facility of an operational standard.
     If Raven was that badly wounded, who brought you in?
     Reidinger's tone was suspicious.
     Pure luck, I think, she replied soberly now that she had had 
plenty of time to poke about in the tower.  When she realized what 
little formal kinetic training Isthia Raven had had, and all the things 
that could have gone wrong, she'd been horrified.  Desperation can 
produce amazing stimulae.  I'm not about to risk a return without 
properly drilled personnel.  She felt curiously reticent with Reidinger 
and unwilling to disclose just how many strong Talents existed on 
Deneb.  If Jeff Raven had not informed Earth Prime, she wouldn't.
     There are some Talents with enough range for short-range stuff But 
nothing is really short-range to Deneb, is it?  Not until Jeff is 
recovered.  Desperation got me here but calm, cool reflection is 
unlikely to get me back to Callisto!
     That was little more than the truth.  In the first place, she was 
not leaving Jeff until she was certain of his complete recovery.  In 
the morning he would be transferred to a private room.  He had already 
taken a very short walk, gritting his teeth until his endorphin level 
compensated for the pain of sore tissue and muscle.  The Rowan had had 
to exercise a stern control over the almost overpowering desire to 
support him kinetically.  But Isthia flicked her a warning glance so 
the Rowan had endured the mental echoes of Jeff's discomfort without 
interceding.
     In the second place, she wasn't at all sure that she was 
sufficiently confident enough to push herself, coldmindedly, out on 
such a long kinetic haul.  She wondered if she could try Reidinger's 
patience enough to wait until Jeff could handle gestalt again.
     If you don't have a generator, Reidinger said with dangerous 
logic, how can you expect to catch a shipment?
     My immediate need is light stuff I've access to a small generator.
     Toss it out to reach here at 0300 Deneb time, and I'll catch.
     If you're trying an unpowered catch, you little -- Burning my mind 
out is the last thing I want, I assure you, Reidinger, but I must have 
those parts or we don't get the tower functioning.  If there isn't a 
proper tower here, you don't get me back at Callisto!  Understand?
     I'll deal with you later, you may be damned sure of that, Rowan 
child!
     Despite her valiant words, the Rowan shivered delicately at the 
malice in those last two words.  A Reidinger threat was never idle.
     But no threat could be severe enough to remove her from Deneb 
right now.  Besides Jeff Raven, the planet was eminently worth any 
effort on her part.  Like her devoted team of scroungers, Isthia, and 
other intangible things, like sunsets.
     For ten years, she had seen none.  Here, Deneb's primary went down 
with blazing red and orange clouds, the hectic colors fading slowly to 
a bleached-blue sky until the sharp peaks of the mountains that ringed 
the plain stood out with incredible clarity.  Though starscapes were 
nothing new to her, the night sky was equally brilliant.
     Deneb VIII had three small moons whipping about it and an asteroid 
belt beyond their orbits that was the remains of a fourth.  But it was 
the crispness of the night air, scented with pungent and unfamiliar 
fragrances when the wind blew down from the mountains, which the Rowan 
found truly remarkable.  She liked the feel of it riffling her hair, 
caressing her face, pressing gently against her raised hands.  Callisto 
had no breezes.  She hadn't realized how much she had missed them until 
now.
     So she didn't mind standing out in the dark, waiting for the 
shipment, ready to gestalt with the hospital's generator, taking an 
atavistic pleasure in the night.
     Reidinger sent exactly what she ordered: not a brush, bar, or 
board more.  It took the Rowan and her team a long day to get the 
generator cleaned and repaired, to reconfigure the control panel, and 
strengthen an adequate link to the Kenesaw hydroplant.  Scarcely an 
aesthetic installation when finished, but it worked.  Zathran Abita 
worried about the drain on the City's power.  As the electronics expert 
had no notion of how Talent worked, she had to explain that the tight 
focus of gestalt required a short burst of power: Flow rate and 
pressure altered slightly with the distance and/or the weight of the 
object `ported, but the actual `use' of power was split-second.
     Finishing the Tower gave Deneb one more short step toward 
independence.  The Rowan's team had broadcast her efforts so that she 
was greeted wherever she went on the streets or in the hospital.  She 
was both slightly embarrassed - since Talents preferred nonentity - and 
delighted.  Morfanu followed her about, which could have been a 
nuisance, except that it allowed the Rowan more opportunities to train 
the girl's innate Talent.
     Had every single Talent instructor been killed?  Or was it a 
result of Deneb's rather off hand colonial mind-set?  On Central 
Worlds, parents had their children tested at birth for any sign of 
viable Talent.  (Birth trauma often produced a measurable spark even if 
the ability did not mature until adolescence.) Talented children were 
assiduously guided and trained, even as she had been.
     So far only Jeff Raven was formally contracted to the FT&T, and 
the Rowan knew that he was determined to keep it that way.  It was also 
obvious to her that Deneb needed to keep every useful citizen on the 
planet, to ensure its revitalization.  But they ought to be trained.
     Was it fear of the exploitation by FT&T that Jeff had mentioned to 
her which inhibited training?  But if you liked what you were doing, 
did it well, was that really exploitation?  She had everything she 
wanted, anything she asked for, including tonnes of generator parts and 
comm equipment.  Apart from her intense loneliness and isolation which 
had always been with her - as Callisto Prime, she enjoyed enviable 
privileges along with her responsibilities.
     Once Jeff was in a private room, he had almost nonstop visitors: 
additional workspace had to be sent for to accommodate files and 
monitors.  He seemed always to be conferring with some group or other 
`I thought Makil was Governor,' the Rowan remarked acidly to Isthia, 
seething with worry that Jeff would work himself sick again.  `Can't 
you do anything to curb him?' `He's one of the best engineers we have,' 
Isthia said, though her thoughts echoed the Rowan's worry about Jeff's 
stamina.  `So much needs to be organized for us to get through this 
winter.  You know how short his time is.' Short?  The Rowan demanded of 
Isthia with sudden panic, probing to comprehend her qualification.
     Easy, girl, and Isthia bounced the probe back.  You know he's 
under contract to FT&T.  When the Fleet is satisfied they've swept sky 
and surface clear of alien artifacts, they'll go and Jeff will be 
transferred elsewhere.  Deneb's not due for a Prime.
     Reidinger made that clear to Jeff in their initial interview.
     The Rowan had forgotten about that.  If he's trying to work 
himself into a relapse to stay here longer, Reidinger can invoke 
punitive measures.  He wouldn't like that.  I wouldn't like that for 
him.
     Then make him stop working, my dear.  I'm only his mother!
     And, grinning at the Rowan's astonishment, Isthia left the room.
     And you have measures that I can't use!  Then her laugh echoed 
merrily in the Rowan's ears as the girl suddenly realized what she 
meant.
     The Rowan waited until the current delegation left, then she 
closed and locked the door.
     `Now don't start on me again, Rowan,' Jeff said, looking up from 
the files he was scanning preparatory for his next appointment.
     `You have ten minutes free-time right now,' she began, affecting a 
provocative posture, `and it's mine!' She snuggled up to him in the 
bed.  `Everyone on this planet gets a piece of the action but me,' she 
went on, `and I `Rowan,' he began, not quite masking irritation at her 
form of interruption.  Then, he took a deep breath and smiled.  `I do 
have a lot to do.' `You'd do more if you give yourself a chance to rest 
Was rest what you had in mind?  His startlingly blue eyes began to 
sparkle.
     Well, it's plain you've got your mind on many things far more 
important.  . He laughed then, and dropped the films on to the bedside 
table, putting his good right arm about her.
     And while cerebral activity is all you' re able for .
     `We've got ten minutes alone and I'll just prove what I'm able 
for, my darling,' and that is just what he did, with considerable 
invention to overcome the handicap of his injuries.
     When he was totally relaxed, she subtly nudged his mind into a 
sleep pattern and postponed his next appointment.  His nap was brief 
but he ruefully admitted that it had done him so much good, he wouldn't 
fight her on that point again.
     By the end of that week, healing had progressed so well that Jeff 
was allowed to move to the Ravens' accommodation.  The Rowan was amazed 
to see so many people living so congenially in such cramped quarters.
     The room she shared with Jeff was smaller even than the one she 
had occupied in Lusena's neat apartment.  There was space for the bed, 
a workspace and monitors, and one had to step around the foot of the 
bed to get in and out of the room.
     `Of course, we don't need much space,' Isthia remarked as she 
easily read the Rowan's dismay despite a quick shield to hide it.  `We 
don't have much in the way of possessions at the moment,' and she gave 
a wry laugh.
     `Except for Ian, none of us have more than one change of clothes 
right now.' At the best of times the Rowan rarely paid much attention 
to what she wore, but footwear, appropriate for walking between Tower 
and her quarters on Callisto, was coming apart at the seams.
     `I think I can help you there,' Isthia said and passed Ian over to 
the Rowan who had never held a baby in her life.
     The child regarded her with solemn wide eyes and his fist crept up 
to his mouth.
     You can trust me, the Rowan said carefully, wondering how you 
reassured a nonverbal infant.  She was rewarded by an astonishingly 
jubilant smile so infectious that she grinned back in an idiotic 
fashion.
     `Yes, he has that effect on one,' Isthia remarked, rummaging in a 
small chest that also served as seating.
     `Ah.  You've small enough feet.  Maybe these will fit.' The Rowan 
had grown accustomed to Isthia's openness so that when it shut down 
completely, as Isthia handed her a pair of country boots, she looked at 
her questioningly.
     `A granddaughter's,' was Isthia's terse response.  Then she 
repossessed Ian, who squirmed about to watch the Rowan try on the 
boots.  `She'd be thrilled to think her beloved uncle's wife could use 
them.  Put them on.' The moment of closure passed, but the grief behind 
it had not.
     The Rowan carefully put them on, folding over the flap and 
standing up to test the fit.  A little loose but a thicker pair of 
socks would solve that problem.
     `I should have some socks around here, too,' Isthia said and 
those, too, were passed on to the Rowan.
     `This is becoming a most salutary visit for me,' the Rowan said.
     `One gets accustomed to taking ordinary things for granted, like 
socks and shoes and a change of clothes.' Isthia smiled warmly at her, 
taking Ian's fist out of his mouth.  `A new baby helps, too,' she added 
in the same thoughtful tone.  `A new life means continuity.  In one way 
I'm sorry he's the last of them.  However, an even dozen was all I 
promised their father.
     The Rowan felt an unexpected shaft of pure envy for Jeff.  To be 
one of a large and, from what she'd now seen, extremely congenial, 
loving family was truly enviable.
     Lusena's two children, Bardy and Finnan, had been much older, so 
she'd missed a true sense of family.  Turian had also had a similar 
deep familial attachment.
     `You had no family at all?' Isthia asked, surprised.
     Shaking her head, the Rowan dropped the eye contact.
     `I was the sole survivor of a mining camp that was buried in a 
freak mud avalanche,' the Rowan said quietly.
     `The Company office narrowed it down to three possible sets of 
parents --`But surely, you'd remember?' `I was three.  When I cried 
for my mother, an entire planet heard me.' The Rowan managed a weak 
chuckle.
     `They had to shut me up so all memory of the tragedy was blocked 
out.' `And no-one's removed the block?' `Yes, they tried once,' the 
Rowan said, frowning as she remembered the occasion.  `The block was 
well constructed.  I resisted and they couldn't go deep enough.  So,' 
and she firmly changed mood, `that's it.' `Is it?' Isthia remarked 
cryptically as she left the room.
     Startled, the Rowan probed but she came smack up against Isthia's 
formidable shield.
     It took the concerted effort of his entire remaining family to get 
Jeff, complaining that he had a lot of catching up to do, to retire at 
a reasonable hour.  But he surrendered gracefully.  `Not that I had any 
choice,' he muttered to the Rowan as she preceded him into their room.
     `At that, we're lucky,' he added.
     `We are?' and the Rowan heard the faint sibilant shushes and loud 
whispers for `silence' `We've got a room with a lock.' He yawned 
mightily, wincing.  The wounds across chest and ribs remained tender.
     Cautiously he lay down on the bed, then negligently reached out to 
draw her close to him.  `I made them all promise to knock, too.  `Will 
they?' the Rowan asked, experiencing a sudden inhibition.  She'd been 
looking forward to some privacy after the comings and goings of the 
hospital.  `Will they, Jeff?' A gentle snore informed her that the 
convalescent was already asleep.
     Living in the boisterous Raven household was at first a novelty 
for the Rowan, totally foreign to anything in her experience.  His 
various brothers and sisters, their mates, children, occasionally 
in-laws, orphaned nieces, nephews, and some elderly relations of both 
Isthia and Josh Raven lived happily in each other's pockets.  The 
accommodation wasn't even quiet late at night since some of the 
residents worked late shifts.  While there may have been an 
understanding about knocking on the door, in practice a knock was 
usually immediately followed by the door being opened to admit anyone 
who wished to speak to Jeff The first day, the Rowan took it in good 
part: she remembered what Isthia had said about `sharing'.  But she was 
unused to continual babble and certainly all the touching that went on, 
friendly though it was and meant in the nicest possible way, made her 
edgy.  She firmly suppressed the irritation and sublimated it into hard 
work.
     Along with manning the Tower for `porting men and supplies out to 
the platinum mine, the Rowan did some judicious investigation into what 
could not be found in the salvage sheds.  No-one had fully inventoried 
what had been saved from the ruins so, when she learned from Rences 
that he had spent fruitless hours trying to find certain unusual bolts 
and fasteners, when she heard Rakella complaining about the lack of 
some surgical instruments, or from Isthia which size of work boot was 
no longer available, she discreetly contacted other Primes and, 
pledging her credit, made up the shortages.  She respected the fierce 
independence of the Denebians but they could carry it too far, even if 
the planet was poor.  A few bits and pieces could be added without 
offending anyone's pride.
     Then Jeff paid her a surprise visit at the Tower while she was 
shifting some internal freight, including two crates of tools which she 
had discreetly brought in from Capella.
     The kinetics she was training for in-planet freight never 
questioned what she asked them to `port.  Jeff was another matter 
entirely.  Unfortunately, not only was the origin of the crates clearly 
stenciled on the side, but also they were far too fresh-looking to have 
been miraculously `unearthed'.  There were also two inbound shipments 
still in their cradles, waiting to be dispersed.
     Where did all that come from?  Jeff wanted to know, striding into 
the Tower room.  He halted, staring about a facility which bore little 
resemblance to its previous appearance.  He whistled in apparent 
appreciation which made the three youngsters grin, but the Rowan had no 
trouble sensing a growing concern and anger.
     `All right, Tony, you and Seb link and send Cradle 4 to the mine,' 
she said, continuing the procedure.  `Good,' she added as Seb punched 
the appropriate coordinates up on the screen.  `Touch the gestalt .  .
     .` The generator's whine peaked.  `No, don't look at me for the 
go.
     You have to know yourself when it's go .  . . that's right.  On 
the button!  Good transfer!' Jeff found himself a seat and, if he 
seemed to be interested in how the three trainees were teleporting, the 
Rowan was all too aware of the tension building in him.
     His eyes were brilliant with what she identified as suppressed 
outrage.
     `That's all for today, crew,' she said.  `Now, why don't you take 
all you've learned `porting inanimate objects, and take yourselves back 
to the City while the generator's still running sweetly.' She added 
that impudently.
     `You'll never know until you try,' Jeff added with a hearty 
enthusiasm for them to be well gone from the tower.  `Out you go.
     You've thrown heavier stuff than yourselves.  And you ought to 
know where home is by now.  Off with you.
     One by one they managed the feat, echoes of astonished delight 
from each of the three minds before their touches dissolved.
     `And why are you annoyed, anxious, outraged?' the Rowan demanded 
because she couldn't bear his displeasure `Deneb's bankrupt!' The words 
exploded from him and his eyes seemed to shoot sparks at her.  `How're 
we going to pay for all this?  Hire more kids out to FT&T when we need 
every survivor we've got to rebuild?' `It's all paid for,' she said, 
clamping down but not quickly enough for someone as swift to see an 
opening as Jeff Raven.  Why not?  I never use half my contractual 
monies anyway.  I called in a few favors .  . Deneb isn't your planet, 
isn't your problem Don't be so damned proprietarial!  It's my problem 
if I make it mine.  I've great respect for this planet's people.  I 
admire your family tremendously .
     Family's the keyword, isn't it?  Jeff's tone had abruptly altered 
and his eyes narrowed.  He caught her by the shoulders then and before 
she guessed his intention, he had pierced through every layer of 
privacy in her mind.
     She cried out at the force of his mental penetration as he also 
broke through the block that had remained intact against every other 
invasion.
     Trembling violently, she clung to him as his intrusion restored 
the memory of that horrendous time.  Then slowly, with infinite 
tenderness, he withdrew, soothing away forever the terrors of a 
three-year-old girl, battered about in the dark of a rolling, plunging 
vehicle.
     They stood a long while locked in each other's arms, until the 
glorious sunset colored the sky and they realized just how long this 
passage of restoration had taken.
     Rowan's tears were dry on her cheeks and she was no longer racked 
by shudders.
     `I was named Angharad Gwyn.  My father was a shaft supervisor and 
my mother was a teacher.  I had a brother named Ian `She looked up in 
amazement.
     `We have something else in common then.  He tucked her head under 
his chin again, holding her more firmly now.  `It was a rough trip all 
right, enough for one small, lonely girl.' He pressed her tightly when 
he felt her begin to shudder again.  `You know, I don't think that it 
was all Siglen's fault that you were afraid of big, black holes in 
space.  Not after that trip!' `You know, you might be right,' the Rowan 
said slowly, for she remembered all too clearly her terror at being 
propelled toward the shuttle that was to have taken her to Earth for 
training.  She'd been so frightened that she'd even dropped Purza as 
she `ported herself back to the one safe place she knew.  `I couldn't 
think of anything but you on my way here.' She gave a convulsive shake 
at the memory of her first glimpse of Jeff.
     `I was really messed up, wasn't I?' he said in a thoughtful tone 
as he caught the image in her mind.  `It's probably a very good thing 
that patients don't see how they look to observers.' She hugged him as 
hard as she could.  `So, if you don't object, may I please contrive in 
my own small way to be of assistance to the beloved planet of your 
birth?' Jeff cocked an eyebrow as he looked down at her.  `You do mean 
well.  And Makil and the Council are about to give you honorary 
citizenship for getting this facility working again, so I'll trust your 
discretion.  Now, since the Tower is functional, how much longer do you 
think Reidinger is going to allow you a leave of absence?' The Rowan 
smiled beatifically at him.  `Oh, as long as I can make him believe 
you're still recuperating.' `Oh?' and Jeff was highly skeptical.
     `It's nice and quiet out here,' she said, pulling him toward the 
long bench under the windows, `and no-one will knock on the door and 
then just .  . .` she halted, hearing the edge in her voice.
     Jeff chuckled understandingly.  `I thought it was getting a bit 
much for you - all the Raven togetherness.  You have to grow up in such 
bedlam to be able to ignore it, and you never really had much 
childhood, did you?' `Don't patronize me!' `Temper, temper!' And he 
kissed the corners of her mouth in a way that put all trace of temper 
out of mind.
     AND JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU WHITE-HAIRED, 
BUG-EYED ALTAIRIAN LOON..
     An empath with half your range should instantly perceive that I am 
feeding my nephew his breakfast, she replied equably, as she managed to 
get another spoonful of thin cereal into Ian's mouth.
     Jeff, hands cupped under his chin, was closely observing this 
totally unexpected facet of his lover.  Ah!  Our master's voice.  Glad 
it's directed at you!
     NOW, LISTEN YOU, YOU UNREGENERATE - You know I'm immune to 
flattery, the Rowan replied.
     You're not immune to contract penalties.  And that goes for that 
culchie whom I sense is in your immediate vicinity.  If you and that 
bondmate of yours are not back at your respect:ve stations by the end 
of this day - this Earth Day - you will both suffer the maximum 
deductions for dereliction - of duty.  And that should put a crimp in 
this altruistic spending spree of yours, Rowan of Callisto!
     `I think he means it,' Rowan told Jeff, giggling.
     `I am sufficiently recovered to shove you back,' he said ruefully, 
for the past week had been one of joyful discoveries about each other.
     Despite busyness requiring long days, they had managed to work in 
tandem now whenever possible.  And they had managed to get sufficient 
sleep at night to work equally hard the next day.
     `I'm secure enough now to do my own `ports,' she replied, deftly 
scraping up the residue of cereal around Ian's mouth and popping it in 
again.  `This doesn't seem to be too arduous a task.' The first time, 
no, Isthia Raven said from another room.
     By the twelfth, you, too, will be delighted to have volunteers.
     My, what a long ear you have, Granny Raven, Jeff said.
     I can hear with it, too, she added drily.  Or are you two so 
totally engrossed in each other that you can't tell when you're 
speaking or minding it?
     `I'll mind leaving here,' the Rowan said with a deep sigh, mopping 
young Ian's mouth clean.  Her brother's namesake was twice as precious 
to her for having had the brief care of him.  The baby waved his arms 
vigorously, a deep scowl on his little old man's face which utterly 
entranced the Rowan.  She lifted him over her shoulder, patting his 
back.
     `Anyone would think you'd been handling babies all your life,' 
Jeff remarked with a snort though he regarded his littlest brother with 
great affection.
     `A natural talent,' was her quick retort.  Simultaneously each 
realized that their inane remarks covered the dismay both felt at the 
imminent end of this idyll.
     It's not an end at all, Rowan, Jeff said, his tone infinitely 
tender and his blue eyes ravishing her with love.
     It's a separation!  she said rebelliously.
     For six days?  He raised both arms, to dismiss such a minor 
parting.  Your place or mine?  His eyes glinted mischievously.
     I'd prefer to come here, but it might be more politic to remain at 
Callisto after being away over three weeks.
     The first vacation, may I point out to you, my love, which you've 
had in the ten years you've been Callisto Prime!
     Ah, but I never had vacation plans before now!  And I suspect from 
the depths of our Master's anger, that it had little to do with my 
absence.
     Oh??
     I may, of course, be doing Reidinger an injustice .
     That's hardly likely, love, considering the terms of the contract 
he made me sign -in heart's blood.
     Just keep everyone at their exercises while I'm gone, Jeff I know 
Sariie's young but she should be at the mines, learning all she can 
about metals and mining.  She should go to Earth for training.
     Especially since mining's Deneb's main source of income.
     We can't afford to send her away.  She'd hate Terra, Jeff added.
     We Denebians are real home bodies and don't like leaving our 
birthplace.
     You did!
     I, my love, had devious ulterior mot:yes .  . . and besides, I 
lost the toss.  He grimaced in mock horror.  However, lest he chastise 
me by sending me somewhere too remote from Deneb Nothing habitable is 
remoter than Deneb Checking appropriate times, the Rowan and Jeff 
decided it was best for her to arrive at the beginning of Callisto's 
working day, when shipments would be forwarded from Earth.  For the 
first time, the Rowan could enter her personal capsule without a single 
vestige of the old inhibiting terror.  In fact she was eager for the 
challenge.
     That's the girl.  And aren't you going to surprise Reidinger!
     Through him she felt the generator whining up to full power.  Jeff 
had done some fine tuning, though he had been full of pride in how she 
had effected the initial repairs.  Closing off the fierce regret at 
having to leave him for even six days, the Rowan settled her mind 
against his and readied herself to exert their mutual gestalt.
     The voyage was accomplished in a mood of high elation, for Jeff 
followed her all the way back.  As she felt the slight jar of her 
carrier settling back into the cradle it had left twenty standard days 
before, she felt another of his special phantom caresses.
     ROWAN?  Afra's incredulous shout was accompanied by cheers from 
every other empathic Talent in the Station.
     Those who could teleported to the landing area.
     Protocol and privacy was forgotten as she was grabbed, hugged, 
slapped, and made to feel royally welcomed.  She found herself 
unexpectedly warmed by such a reception and felt color flooding her 
cheeks.
     `We'll lay on a real celebration later, folks,' Brian Ackerman 
said, `but we got a heavy morning's work.  Boy, am I glad to see you, 
Rowan!  You'll just never know!' `You know,' she said with a surprised 
laugh, `I'm glad to be back, too!' When she reached her Tower, with all 
the sophisticated technology which the makeshift one on Deneb lacked, 
she was surprised to see two couches in place.  And then turned to meet 
the T-2s who had replaced her.  The rising whine of the generators 
reminded them all of duty.
     We'll talk later but you have my deepest gratitude and 
appreciation, she told Torshan and Saggoner.  She realized from a quick 
`look' that their deep, personal attachment raised their efficiency to 
a level close to Prime.
     The entire Station knew the difference when the Rowan began to 
spin outbound materiel in or launched waiting inbound shipments.
     Deneb's facilities would need to be quadrupled to match 
Callisto's, she thought with the part of her mind that was not needed 
in these routine shunts.
     There was so much still to be done there: so little more that 
would be wise to do without giving offense.
     Finally back at work, are you?  demanded Reidinger as she deftly 
caught a `fragile' shipment directly from him.
     I thought you'd never notice!
     I'll have a few private words with you later, girl!  he said in a 
tone that once might have distressed her.
     Deep down inside herself, she chuckled.  He'd have those words.
     In private and in person.
     Then, one by one, the other Primes contacted her with welcoming 
thoughts.  David remarked rather caustically that she had finally found 
out what it was all about, and did she like it?  The Rowan had 
forgotten how clever he could be.  Fortunately Capella had so many 
complaints about `inefficiency' from Callisto that she didn't bother 
with personal remarks.  The others were courteously glad to have her 
back in her Tower and relieved that Jeff Raven was able to resume his 
own duties.  Siglen alone sent no greeting, but the Rowan wasn't 
particularly surprised by silence from that quarter.  Siglen would not 
have understood why she'd jeopardize everything to go to a sick man!
     Once outward bound freight had been received, and inward stuff 
dispatched, there would be a four-hour period in which Jupiter's bulk 
still shielded Callisto Station from deep space.  As the Rowan figured 
she could complete her `talk' with Reidinger well within that time 
frame, she spoke in a tight shaft to Afra.
     I've a few things to discuss with Reidinger, old friend, she 
began.  And felt his astonishment.  Yes, of course, I'm going to Earth!
     I can make my points a lot stronger in person.  And, it's about 
time we met face-to-face.
     Is that wise?  Afra asked noncommittally.  He had met Reidinger on 
a number of occasions and was always relieved to escape unscathed.
     He can't be that bad!  He's got no call to discipline me for 
responding to an emergency.  The Station was covered.  I' ve just had a 
look through the records, and you've managed quite nicely without me: 
Nothing got cracked or spilled and no freight got misdirected.  What's 
his problem?
     The risk to Callisto Prime, Afra replied, his tone dry and his 
yellow eyes sardonic.
     He gained a lot more than I risked, she said tartly.
     I know, Afra answered with gentle emphasis.
     The Rowan grinned.  I'd like to surprise the old geezer.
     Geezer?  Afra sputtered at her impudence.
     You've contacts at Earth Prime Headquarters.  Can one of them 
sneak me in without having to announce my arrival?
     Hmmm, that's not the easiest thing to arrange, you know.
     Callisto keeps you secure but there're still a lot of crazies on 
Earth.  Reidinger's pretty heavily guarded.
     Guarded?
     Guarded!
     But surely a Prime is able to defend himself A waste of energy 
that could be expended elsewhere on FT&T's behalf, Afra remarked dryly.
     The Rowan snorted.  Well, can you help at all?
     There's a T4 I trained with: one of Reidinger's trouble shooters, 
a Terran named Gollee Gren.  I'll see if he can oblige Don't tell him 
who I am!
     At that Afra laughed.  I doubt there's a single Talent who doesn't 
know who you are, my dear Rowan.
     Oh!  And when she had absorbed the implications of that, What if I
shield tight?  And if he's not expecting the Rowan, why would he know 
my identity if he can't read it?
     A point there but you still have to pass Security to get into the 
FT&T cube.  A routine check will reveal your identity.
     If a Prime can't manage a minor formality like that The Rowan was 
dismissive.
     If you want to get in quietly, to surprise Reidinger, it'll take 
managing.  Let me check with Gren.  There was a fairly lengthy pause 
before Afra came back to her.  Well, he's agreed on my especial request 
to escort my anonymous young friend as far as he's able but Security 
has to be placated.  He'll meet you at the landing entrance.
     The journey was so effortless that the Rowan wondered that 
self-portation had once seemed so arduous and terrifying.  She wondered 
if there was anything to be done to release Capella or David from that 
imposed travel fear.
     She indulged in a projected scene, where she just waltzed into 
Altair Tower and told Siglen that she had just come in from Callisto 
Station.  The old dear would probably faint.
     She settled her carrier at 14.30 Earth time in one of the single 
cradles just outside the reception building.  She had always known what 
the main FT&T facility looked like, having shifted carriers, pods, and 
vessels of all sizes in and out of the great landing field.  But 
standing in the center of it, dwarfed by the immense cube to her right 
that was the Headquarters building on a field of twenty-square 
kilometers, gave her the proper perspective.
     Cradles, scarred by long use and rough handling, surrounded her, 
from the singles and doubles nearest the building to those looming on 
the edges of the field that could receive the largest freighters, 
passenger and naval craft.  To the east she caught the glint of water.
     Surrounding the field on its land sides were rank upon rank of 
buildings, starting with low industrial complexes.  Behind them, in 
seried ranks of varying height and bulk, the business and residential
towers of the largest single metropolis of the Central Worlds receded 
into the distance.
     The Rowan knew from childhood lessons that The City was unbroken 
along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean and each decade penetrated 
farther inland.  By the turn of the next century, The City would 
inexorably engulf the entire continent as the western habitations 
expanded eastward to meet it.  What a contrast to Deneb!
     Beneath her feet she could feel the rumble of immense generators, 
and the wind carried the high pitched whine of hard working turbines.
     A light sea breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the taint of 
brine.  That was almost a welcome change from the metallic stink of air 
that caught at the back of her throat.  Even Callisto's recycled 
atmosphere was better than this.  She began to cough as the acrid air 
irritated her throat.
     `Hey, where did you sneak in from?' asked a man in the bright 
orange of a cargo handler, appearing from behind a rack of single 
carriers.
     `I didn't sneak in,' the Rowan replied.  `I've come from Callisto 
with orders to report to Reidinger.' `Prime Reidinger to the likes of 
you,' he replied with a sneer.  He peered at the number of her shell 
and consulted a wrist-unit.  `Hey, your carrier 5 not listed.' `T-4
     Gollee Gren has been delegated to escort me, she replied.  So much 
for Afra's contention that Callisto Prime was well known.
     `Talent Gren?  Well, now, we'll just Suddenly his expression 
altered to nervous surprise and he straightened, giving her a strange 
glance.  His right hand went to his ear and it was then that the Rowan 
noticed he was wearing a com device.  `Yes, sir, Talent Gren.  A 
carrier of that ID has arrived.  Yes, I'll direct her.' With a much 
altered manner, he pointed toward the FT&T building.  `You go there.
     Talent Gren's waiting for you.  And you don't keep Talents 
waiting.  Not around here you don't.' He jerked his head toward the 
airy shell of concrete and plasglas that extruded from this facade of 
the vast opaque cube of the Federal Telepathic and Teleportation 
Agency.
     From the sides of the great cube she could see transport cables 
stringing out to the edges of the great portfield and the dewdrop 
vehicles speeding along them.
     Housed within Earth Prime Station were the administrative and 
training facilities of Federal Telepath and Teleport, and somewhere 
inside was Reidinger.  The size of the place was daunting.  Her 
whimsical notion to surprise Reidinger would tax her ingenuity.  She 
ought not to have dismissed Afra's mental reservations so airily.
     How had Jeff got in to see Rowan?  She pressed her lips together: 
that man could charm his way anywhere in the galaxy.  But if he could, 
so could she.
     The Rowan straightened her spine, rejecting the grandeur and sheer 
size of Earth Prime Station.  Would Reidinger be as grand face-to-face?
     How truly realistic had that hologram cube been?  She squashed 
notions of inadequacy, and impudence, and walked as briskly as she 
could, considering the difference in gravity between Callisto and 
Terra, toward the shell entrance.
     As she neared the entrance, she saw a lone figure waiting by the 
door, highly visible in the deep crimson suit he wore.  Suddenly she 
wished she had taken time to plan this expedition, for she was in 
rather drab work clothing.
     So much for impulsive decisions.  Perhaps.  But she was here on 
Earth and that was a positive action and long overdue.
     The central door panel of the plasglas facade whooshed open and 
the man stepped forward smiling, hand extended.  She battened down her 
shields.
     `Good afternoon, Angharad Gwyn.' The Rowan took a second to 
recognize her birth name.  That was clever of Afra.  Had she actually 
told him or had he accessed that discovery from her mind?  Sometimes 
she wondered if Afra had not improved beyond a T-4.  `I'm Gollee Gren.
     Afra of Callisto requested that I escort you to the Prime's 
offices.' Smiling, she shook the offered hand and deflected the 
tentative peek which the physical contact allowed.  She permitted him 
to glimpse an inexperienced mind awed by its present surroundings.  In 
return she extracted a good deal more from the T-4's mind.
     `I appreciate your escort, Gollee Gren,' she said in a breathless 
manner.  `I had not realized how massive the installation is.' He 
hesitated, holding her hand longer than the courtesy required, and he 
frowned slightly.  `Have we met before?' `I doubt it.  This is my first 
trip to Earth.' `I see.  Well, let's get inside, shall we?  That air's 
bad for the lungs,' Gren said with an ingratiating smile as he gestured 
for them to proceed.  `I've always been in Afra's debt,' he went on, 
`but I'm not at all sure that I can assist you very much, no matter 
what Afra may have hinted.
     Especially today with all that's happened.' He led her to a bank 
of shafts, set in the rear wall, on one side of the main exits.  `Once 
we've got your Security Clearance,' and from his mind she neatly picked 
all she needed to know about that procedure, `I can, of course, escort 
you to the Prime's office.' `I'm properly cleared,' she said and showed 
him the Top Security Clearance badge which she had just procured for 
herself.  `Afra took care of everything.' She stepped into the first 
vacant lift.
     `Oh?' Gollee was amazed.  `I didn't realize well, never mind.  But 
even with that, it's still not going to be easy to see Prime Reidinger 
today.  You'll have to be content with an appointment for another day.' 
Then he placed his hand on the palm plate marked `Restricted' and the 
door closed and the lift rose.
     `I heard,' and she stressed the verb, `that the new Deneb Prime 
didn't have to wait.' To her surprise, Gollee Gren gave a hearty 
chuckle.
     `How that lad knew where Reidinger's real office was located has 
given the Security Talents bad nightmares.' So, because that location 
was very much in Gren's mind, Prime Rowan had no difficulty extracting 
it.  Jeff Raven, with that charismatic charm of his, had probably used 
the same trick.
     They stepped out of the lift into a handsomely furnished lobby, 
with wall hangings of exquisite design and vivid colors.  Elegant 
hardwoods in an intricate pattern covered the floor although corridors 
branching from the big room were carpeted.  There were finely wrought 
seats, couches, and some odd resting pods to accommodate nonhuman 
forms.  Two women, elegantly dressed in wildly striped, tight-fitting 
body-suits with their hair in intricate braids, seemed intent on the 
monitors of their consoles.  Both had instantly identified and made 
mental notes of the new arrivals, slightly uncomplimentary about the 
Rowan.  A man appeared at the side of the main desk complex, smiling at 
Gren and attempting to read her.  A T-3 had no chance of doing that.
     `I'd like to freshen up before --` the Rowan said in a meek tone 
after looking about her with suitable awe.
     Gren pointed to the green carpeted hall directly to their right.
     `I'll wait for you,' he said and walked jauntily to the front desk 
to speak to the man The Rowan heard him greet them by name as she moved 
out of sight.  In the toilet she did give her silver hair a brush and 
washed her hands.  The T-3 had kept a loose touch on her as she made 
these ablutions.  He broke that light contact with propriety as she 
entered one of the stalls.
     Then, grinning at such a splendid opportunity, the Rowan 
teleported herself down three stories and into the southwest corner of 
the great cube, right into the center of the spacious suite that was 
the operational `tower' of Peter Reidinger IV.  She blanked herself out 
totally as she emerged so that not even Earth's Prime would know she 
was there, since he didn't waste his energies on personal safety.
     His contour chair was similar to her own, but larger, to 
accommodate his heavier, taller body.  In front of him was a console, 
far more extensive than hers on Callisto.  Like a shadow she glided to 
a point where she could see his face in profile.  His hair was black, 
with just a touch of white at the temple.  She had thought he'd be 
younger for his mental tone was so forceful, reeking of authority and 
vitality.  His beard must be a recent affectation, for he had been 
clean shaven in the halos she had of him.  But the beard was cut close 
to his jaw and, oddly enough, was dark red as was the carefully trimmed 
mustache on his upper lip.  Standing he would not be as tall as Jeff 
Raven, but he was more powerfully built.  He wore an ordinary worksuit 
just as she did.  He was frowning in concentration and the dials 
reflecting generator power were jumping toward the right-hand sides as 
he exercised considerable gestalt.  Since he was obviously in mental 
contact, she would not commit the worst solecism of her kind.
     Suddenly a long, red panel flashed wildly across the top of his 
console and a weird hooter broke the silence.
     `Heat readings detect an intruder, Prime,' said an agitated male 
voice.
     `Well, I am glad that people can't just sneak up on you,' the 
Rowan said with a laugh, opening her mind enough for him to recognize 
her, as he swung his chair about, glaring savagely.
     His eyes quite literally bulged as he recognized her.  She 
continued to laugh at the conflicting expressions mirrored on his face 
and did not intend to establish a mental contact until he had calmed 
down.
     `Prime?  Answer!  Are you all right?' `Abort measures.' Reidinger 
continued to stare at her.
     `But there are two heat sources `Identify the second as Prime 
Rowan of Callisto and leave us alone.' There was an audible click as 
the comunit went silent.
     `So true love really works,' he said.  `Which is serendipitous and 
saves that wretched Denebian for other duties.  Since you have mastered 
the inhibition, you will in fact do far better than Raven.' There was a 
smug look on Reidinger's heavy-featured face.  He steepled his fingers 
and actually smiled at her.  She did not like that smile.
     `Yes, by far the better since you're familiar with the Altairian 
Tower.
     She caught his news then, and realized she had not only 
misinterpreted Siglen's lack of greeting but Gollee Gren's remark about 
recent developments.
     `Siglen?' `She's had a massive coronary and it would be kinder if 
she didn't survive.' To do him credit, Reidinger deeply regretted her 
illness.  `I didn't fancy putting Raven m charge of a Tower .
     `He's more than capable of it,' the Rowan interrupted, with fierce 
pride.
     `Have the courtesy to be silent!' His vocal bark was quite as 
severe as his mental chastisements.  `Capable, yes, but unfamiliar with 
procedures and rather rough and ready in deliveries.  As I recall it!' 
He cocked a heavy eyebrow at her.
     `I think he's done exceedingly well considering the fact he's only 
just emerged.' `How is his convalescence progressing?' The Rowan 
suppressed the biting answer that was her reaction to his acid tone and 
shrugged noncommittally.
     How could she have been naive enough to believe she could best 
Reidinger.  Except.  . . and her swift mind caught a wisp.  So!  Prime 
Reidinger could be read.  He wasn't used to the shielding needed in the 
presence of another mind as strong as his own.  To distract him she 
brought over the most comfortable of the few chairs in the big room and 
arranged herself languidly on it.  A Prime need not stand about 
shifting from foot to foot like a lackey.
     `His injuries are healing well but he doesn't have much stamina 
yet, no matter what he thinks!  I set up a fairly decent Tower 
facility, and he did a rather nice job of fine tuning the components.
     Deneb's effectively back in full contact.' Reidinger waggled a 
finger at her.  `Deneb's also broke and Central Worlds has no intention 
of planting a Prime Station there no matter how many Talents you 
discovered out there in the boonies.' `They concur completely, Peter,' 
and she smiled when her use of his first name caught him off guard.
     Is everyone and his brother awed by Earth Prime Reidinger?  Surely 
your wife.  -.
     If you don't get personal, neither will I, you white-haired scut .
     . . He scowled, his eyes glittering.
     She laughed.  `In fact, it was all I could do to muster the Talent 
I needed,' she added which was true enough, `to repair the Tower for my 
uses.
     `Speaking of use, you've exhausted all your private funds.  `And 
borrowed as much as I could, she added, airily.
     `In an excellent cause.  You may not have bothered to find out,' 
and then she realized that Reidinger had been well briefed, `that that 
aborted invasion cost Deneb three-fifths of its population and every 
single installation.' Reidinger shrugged.  `Colonists know the risks.
     They get what they can pay for.  And you .  . . he shook his 
finger in her face again.
     Don't tell me what I can or cannot do, Reidinger, she darted at 
him before he continued.  `Nor would I humiliate such valiant people 
with spurious assistance.  They'll do fine on their own `Great!
     Because you'll be too busy at Altair Station from now on, and that 
man of yours is going to learn about contractual obligations.' `He'll 
honor them,' the Rowan began, incensed by the slur implied.
     Now Reidinger laughed.  `And he'll learn how to function as a 
Prime.' `He already does!' `No Station discipline.  You,' and Reidinger 
picked up a jade statuette and began toying with it, `will go to Altair 
and he will work Callisto, right where I can keep track of him.' The 
Rowan deflected the quick lance of Reidinger's querying shaft so that 
he wouldn't see her delight.  She couldn't have wished for a better 
situation.  Reidinger would soon learn more about Jeff Raven than he 
wished.
     `Callisto?' She kept her voice neutral, with just a tinge of 
surprise and consternation in her mind.  `How are you going to get 
those naval units back from Deneb then?  He's good but even I can't 
reach that far from Callisto.  Nor you!' `Torshan and Saggoner managed 
quite well at Callisto in your unavoidable absence.' Reidinger made no 
attempt to disguise how much that absence had rankled.  `You say you 
made a working facility there?  That'll be sufficient for the naval 
displacement.  Then Deneb will just have to rely on its natural 
resources.' And he dismissed that battered planet from further FT&T 
considerations.
     Very privately the Rowan thought that Torshan and Saggoner would 
do very nicely to carry on the training she had started.  Or was 
Reidinger better briefed about Denebian Talent potential than she could 
discern?
     `You'll have to `port out to Altair .  . . you are able for 
distance now, I believe,' Reidinger continued to poke subtly at her 
mind.
     `Home the Conquering Hero comes!' she replied flippantly.  Then 
abruptly altered her tone.  `There isn't any chance that she'll 
recover?' She owed Siglen some compassion.
     `None!' Reidinger interrupted her harshly.  `We owe her surcease 
now, Rowan,' he added in a kinder but still gruff tone.  Then, for the 
first time, he really looked at her, his eyes falling to the security 
badge.  `Angharad Gwyn?' The Rowan chuckled for his surprise was 
genuine.  `My true name.' For the first time, Reidinger's expression 
was respectful.  `You let him read that deeply?' `Of course.' She did 
not bother to mention the circumstances.  `Dai Gwyn, a mining 
supervisor, was my father, and my mother was Marie Evans Gwyn, one of 
the camp's teachers.  I had an older brother, Ian.  You may wish to 
correct the records.' `Why?' And Reidinger was his truculent self 
again.
     `Everyone knows you as the Rowan.  You won't ever turn into an 
Angharad Gwyn at this late date.  Now, finish the inbound stuff at 
Callisto.  I've already called that impudent manipulative Denebian in.
     But, if you hang about to have a snuggle on Prime time, I'll blast 
the pair of you so hard where it'll hurt, you'll neither of you want to 
sleep together for a month.  I've allowed you two far more leeway than 
you deserve.
     `I wonder I don't see it that way, g, she said with a laugh, 
`considering all that our association has achieved.' Reidinger probed 
swiftly and she countered, laughing.  `Don't bother to see me out.' She 
could afford to be gracious.  `I know the way.' She put herself back 
into the reception area to find Gollee Gren in a heated argument with 
five angry men m Security garb.
     `I completed my errand, Talent Gren,' she said, interrupting the 
dressing down he was getting.  She lifted enough shielding for every 
one of them to realize who she was.  `I didn't mean to get you in 
trouble but I considered it necessary to speak with Earth Prime as 
quickly as possible.' `Couldn't you have done it the normal way?' asked 
Gren, understandably aggrieved.
     `No,' she replied without remorse.  `But don't fault Afra.
     He could only comply with my wishes.  You were most helpful and 
courteous.' Gren gave an audible groan of resignation.  Then she smiled 
winningly at the Security team who were considerably less forgiving.
     `There really is no way to keep one Prime from seeing another, you 
know, though the heat sensors relayed my presence.  I promise that the 
next time I call in, I'll do so strictly by protocol.
     Come, Gollee, escort me back to my carrier.' PART FOUR ALTAIR AND 
CALLISTO For the Rowan to return to Altair Prime Station under her own 
power was cause for considerable surprise, elation, and pride.  The 
hastily assembled reception committee included many people known to 
her; among them her foster brother and sister whom she was very pleased 
to see again.  She suppressed a surge of pain that Lusena was not alive 
to see this day.  Nor Siglen, for between her interview with Reidinger 
and her departure from Callisto at the end of the working day, the old 
Prime had, mercifully, died.
     Foremost of the welcoming committee was the Secretary of Interior, 
who abandoned protocol to embrace the Rowan, crying happy tears.
     `Oh my dear child, it is such a blessing to have you back with 
us!' Holding the Rowan away from her, she gave her a quick, satisfied 
appraisal, and then hugged her again.
     The Rowan returned the embrace willingly, warmed by the 
Secretary's spontaneity.  The woman had perceptibly aged in face and 
form but her mind was as lucid, open, and kind as ever, her touch a 
cheerful bright green.  In that contact, the Rowan understood even 
more: that Secretary of the Interior Camella had hated turning the 
Rowan, as a child, over to Siglen's cheerless establishment; that she 
had often felt guilty that she hadn't been able to keep a closer 
personal contact with the orphaned child.  The Rowan was also aware of 
the Secretary's enormous pride and relief that the Row an had returned 
to Altair as their Prime.
     `And I wish I could have returned in less urgent circumstances,' 
the Rowan said, replying to the spoken welcome.
     Dismay colored the Secretary's face briefly.  `Oh, poor Siglen.
     At least she was spared undue pain and never knew the ignominy of 
her condition.  It's such a relief to have you: so fitting that 
Altair's native Prime should take over.' The Mayor and Governor were 
introduced, both new to their offices, though the Rowan recognized 
their faces from earlier service in less exalted roles.  They observed 
scrupulous protocol with respectful bows.  Gerolaman came forward then, 
beaming with pride.  For such a splendid occasion, he had dressed in 
the formal deepgreen FT&T uniform.  He then introduced to her the four 
Talents new since her time there.  The rest of the station staff she 
greeted by name, feeling this odd sensation that she hadn't been ten 
years gone from Altair.
     Bralla?  she asked Gerolaman privately when she noticed another 
missing face.
     She had to retire from active service last year, Gerolaman replied 
testily, which suggested to the Rowan that he felt Siglen might still 
be alive if Bralla had been on duty.  And she deeply mourns Siglen's 
death.
     `We've arranged a proper reception for you later, Rowan,' the 
Secretary of the Interior said, and then added hesitantly, `that is, if 
you wouldn't mind attending.' Siglen had rarely responded to 
invitations.  Nor allowed the Rowan to.
     The Rowan laughed.  `I'd love to come.  I've been mewed up in the 
Callisto Dome quite long enough.  It'll be a real treat to have a 
planet to range.' `When work's over,' Gerolaman said with a discreet 
cough.
     `Oh, dear, yes,' and the Secretary was briefly dismayed.
     `It seems so uncharitable to shove you into the Tower as soon as 
you've arrived.  Stationmaster and the others have done a magnificent 
job coping `I can see the loaded cradles, Secretary,' the Rowan said, 
grinning.  `It won't take me long to shift it all.' The Secretary's 
dismay melted into a relieved smile.
     `Then just send word when you're free, Rowan .  . . or should I 
call you Prime now?' `My name is Angharad Gwyn,' the Rowan said, 
grinning impudently and enjoying the shock on the Secretary's face.  `I 
prefer being the Rowan.  I'll send word,' she added and walked briskly 
into the Tower.
     Towers followed the same basic design throughout the Central 
Worlds' sphere of influence but the Rowan quickly noticed both subtle 
and obvious differences in the Altair Tower since she had last occupied 
it.  The new generating system was three times as powerful now.  The 
console had been updated, quite likely to compensate for Siglen's 
depleting energies.  She noticed the overrides in every system and 
realized that Gerolaman and the T-2s, Bastian and Maharanjani, had 
discreetly monitored the old Prime.
     Briefly glancing through the stack of manifests to check for 
priorities, the Rowan settled in the chair and ordered the generators 
powered up.
     This is a grand new system you've got, Gerolaman, she said 
appreciatively for the warm-up was accomplished in seconds.  That 
blasted Reidinger gave me substandard junk to use on Callisto.
     Gerolaman's chuckle echoed in her head.  You didn't recognize 
them?  The old Altairian system was sent to run Callisto!
     I don't know why I work for this Cheap outfit.
     Only one in the Galaxy.
     The Rowan smiled to herself and, deep in her mind, heard Jeff 
Raven's chuckle.  Then, picking up the power of the generators, she 
sent cargo spinning out of their cradles in a steady stream.
     I taught you well, Gerolaman remarked smugly and settled in to 
work.
     Later the Rowan teamed up with Bastian and Maharanjani to get 
accustomed to their minds and methods.  Both She was touched to learn 
that Gerolaman had saved were capable, if at first very formal with 
her, but they relaxed as the day progressed.  It was an advantage that 
they'd all been taught by the same Prime.
     That first six days were occasionally upset by minor adjustments 
which the Rowan would have solved much differently at Callisto, and in 
the days before she had met Jeff Raven.
     You've had a soothing effect on me, love, she told him in one of 
their conferences.  Late night Altair was often early morning on 
Callisto and she easily pictured him in her bed, hands clasped behind 
his head, blankets pulled up to his chin.
     One day, he began, his mind tone deep and sensual, I might be able 
to enumerate the colossal alterations you've effected on this poor ll'l 
boonie boy.  What mischief have you been up to today?
     Mischief?  When was I ever allowed to get into mischief?
     But I did clear all of Siglen's junk and got the bedroom 
repainted.  So tonight I'll have no more nightmares about those ghastly 
vines and flowers trying to eat me alive.
     The Rowan had not wanted to take the Prime's accommodations.  Not 
after her first horrified look at the main lounge.  Siglen's bazaar 
tastes had never improved and the Rowan wondered how the crippled, 
obese old woman had managed to move about without knocking things off 
tables.  Shuddering at the clashing colors and hoarded junk, the Rowan 
had closed the door, whooshing some of the heavy musky scent Siglen had 
been fond of into the hall.  She would have preferred to move back into 
her old accommodation, now occupied by Bastian, Maharanjani, and their 
two children.  But Siglen's quarters had to be redone for the Rowan to 
feel comfortable in them.  At that, about all she could afford was to 
strip off the ghastly wallpaper and paint the rooms.  She had spent 
well into next year's salary on Deneb's needs.
     those furnishings she had not had sent on to Callisto.
     Despite fresh paint and sparsely furnished rooms, the Rowan spent 
a few uneasy nights before she settled in.
     You're sure you don't want anything from here?  Jeff asked.
     I can ship you anything you want.
     I'd rather see you enjoying them, Jeff, she said in a wistful 
tone.
     Oh, I do!  Though it's your Station equipment that I really covet!
     He imagined himself, rubbing his hands, a caricature of a greedy 
expression and an unctuous grin.
     Don't bother.  Covet Altair when you get here.  Though anything 
would be an improvement on what you made do with on Deneb.  HOW you 
managed so much with that one puny little generator, I'll never know.
     Reidinger doesn't realize just how powerful you are!
     Me?  There was such genuine surprise in Jeff's tone that the Rowan 
stifled a flash of envy.  Her lover really didn't appreciate his unique 
strength.
     The way Reidinger referred to Jeff in such uncomplimentary tones, 
the old man evidently hadn't realized Jeff's full potential.  Odd that 
Reidinger, usually so quick in matters of Talent, should have missed 
it.  He'd been in the mind merge, too.  Or had he simply assumed that 
the merge had made Jeff Raven so omnipotent?
     Yes, you, love.  You're a Prime and a half I realize it :if no one 
else does.  But don't let any one else realize it.  Not yet, at any 
rate.
     Which reminds me: it's a good thing I've got Afra and Brian 
coaching me on all that FT&T protocol nonsense .  . . The Rowan grinned 
at his disgust: Jeff found those nuances and niceties the hardest part 
of his new duties.  Deneb was too young, raw, and struggling a colony 
to waste time on conventions or unnecessary priorities of rank and 
precedence.  Otherwise I'd have made a right drone-brain of myself!
     May I live to see the day you're really droned!  The Rowan knew 
from a chance comment of Afra's that the Callisto crew found him a lot 
easier to work with than she.  He had assimilated procedures and the 
subtleties of dealing with freight and passenger captains as if he'd 
been trained as Prime since his early teens.  He was adapting more 
easily to Callisto than she was to the greater responsibilities of 
Altair.  But then that ineffable Raven charm was a considerable asset.
     Are you coming home this weekend?
     I really shouldn't.  I'm still settling in.  The Rowan remembered 
with a twinge of conscience the bruising schedule that Siglen had 
maintained.
     That got her dead, didn't it?  Jeff remarked, reading easily into 
the more private areas of her mind.  Come to think of it, it would be 
more educational for me to visit Altair.  Reidinger is so hot on 
extending my abilities and horizons, and Jeff chuckled with pure 
malice, I'm only too willing to oblige.
     Besides, this weekend, I have a whole big thirty hours to `rest' 
unless I've misread Callisto's orbit.
     he hadn't and she told Gerolaman to turn off the generators.  He 
did a repeat of his act at Callisto Station, only this time the Rowan 
listened in.  Just to see how he managed to charm so many people so 
completely in so short a time.  He imaged her as a tiny mascot tucked 
over his ear as he talked Gerolaman into a buoyant mood.
     He was nearly as fast charming both Bastian and Maharanjani, 
despite the fact that they had recognized him as heavy Talent and 
suspected his true identity.
     When she heard him meekly admit that the Altairian Prime had sent 
for him, she responded with a mocking laugh that preceded her into the 
main office.
     `And if you believe everything a Denebian tells you,' she said as 
she entered, `I'm thankful there's only one in FT&T.
     When she saw Maharanjani blush furiously, she knew the woman had 
caught some of the very vivid, naughty imagery which was Jeff's 
response to that insult.
     `So you're Deneb's Prime?' Gerolaman asked, too bemused by the 
Raven charisma to take offense at the little charade.
     `Callisto's,' Jeff said with a little bow.  `I take whatever 
leavings that drop from this one's fair hands.' His blue eyes were 
glinting with such mischief that the stationmaster chuckled.  `Can I 
help you clear up any last little chores, Rowan?' he asked, all 
politeness as he gathered her proprietarially under his arm.
     `I do believe,' and she announced magnanimously, `that our work 
day is finished.  Altair will resume operations in thirty-two hours.
     Enjoy your respite.' They exited, leaving the Station crew bemused 
by their vivid delight in each other.
     Halfway through the next day, the Rowan asked Jeff to accompany 
her.  He knew instantly where she meant to go and kissed her gently on 
the cheek, compassionately supporting her.
     At their destination, the smell of the minta, heavy in the air, 
made the Rowan shudder with memory.
     `Rather a remarkable odor.  Hard to forget.' Jeff's nostrils 
flared at the reek.
     In the quarter of a century that had passed since the devastating 
mudslide, minta had grown to formidable size on the mud-filled valley 
that had once been the site of the Rowan Mining camp.  She found 
nothing to recall here, yet somewhere, fifty meters below where they 
stood, Angharad Gwyn had lived for three years.  Though Jeff had 
fractured the mind block, she remembered little more than her name and 
an impression of faces peering down at her, no sharp details at all, 
though she knew some of the faces had to be her mother, father, and 
brother.  She remembered the rag rug on which she had often played in 
front of a screened fireplace.  And the permeating stench of minta.
     `Not much truly memorable happens to a child of three.' `Unless 
she gets very unlucky,' Jeff said gently.  `Where did they finally 
locate you?' Jeff asked, knowing this return had to be played out in 
its entirety.
     She took him down to the Oshoni valley, to the ledge where her 
rescuers had landed.  The little hopper had long gone to scrap.  The 
tongue of mud had dried in the ensuing years and was much eroded by 
rain, sun, and wind.  She had a more vivid, if brief, memory of her 
release from the little broached hopper.
     `There should be something more than this,' she murmured, unable 
to express her unease on any level.  `I don't even remember more of 
that awful journey than the rolling and bumping and then I was knocked 
unconscious.
     `You were lucky in that,' Jeff said, trying to fathom the nebulous 
disquiet which she could not express.  `Coming to, with mud oozing in 
on you, scared, cold, hungry, and thirsty and no-one to reassure you 
was surely the ultimate horror for a three-year-old child.  But that's 
over and done with.  Long done with,' and he put his arms around her, 
resting his chin on her silvery hair.  `I don't know what you were 
hoping to see, or find here, love,' he added in a caressing tone, his 
mind soothing against her frustration.
     `The miracle is that you emerged alive and had a future which 
no-one else in the Rowan Mining camp did.  Don't keep looking at the 
past: that can't be changed.' `I checked with Immigration, you know,' 
she said, still depressed.  `There were three families with the same 
surname, an older couple and their two sons and wives, so I still have 
a choice.  The Rowan Mining Company was only too willing to open up 
their records for the Prime,' and she muttered bleakly.  `I could be 
the daughter of Ewain and Morag Gwyn or Matt and Ann Gwyn.  Both Ewain 
and Matt were mining engineers and the occupations of their wives was 
not given.  So, although I do remember that my mother was a teacher, I 
still don't know if she was Ann or Morag.
     `Does it matter very much, love?' Jeff tipped her head up to gaze 
with the intense fondness that his blue eyes could reflect.
     `I don't know why it should since I know a lot more about my 
background now than I ever have, but it does.
     Especially when I see - and envy - your big family.' Jeff threw 
back his head and laughed aloud, the sound spun away on the wind that 
soughed down the valley.
     `Didn't a large family put you off back on Deneb?' `You Ravens 
take getting used to,' she admitted, burrowing into his shoulder.  `I 
want as many children as I can have.' `That's one way of redressing the 
balance,' he said with a chuckle.
     `I also want them to know as much about my side of the family as 
they do about yours.
     `Don't tell me you intend waiting until you do?' Jeff pretended 
dismay.
     `I can't.' And she opened her mind to reveal what she was only 
beginning to suspect.
     `Rowan!' Then he whirled her about, his mind reverberating with 
his elation.
     Easy on me!  I'm having enough trouble with vertigo without you 
spinning me about like a wheel.  But she clung to him and grinned at 
the effect of her marvelous secret.
     When he deposited her gently to the ground again, he pressed her 
as close to him as possible, and she could feel his mind trying to 
reach the new life in her womb.
     `Not yet, dear,' she said in gentle amusement.  `At a bare three 
weeks, it's no better than a tadpole.
     He held her from him with mock dismay.  `My son, the tadpole.' `We 
don't know "son" yet awhile.  Be patient!' `I don't feel like being 
patient.' `Mankind's been able to do a lot of things, but no Talent has 
ever been able to speed up gestation.' `My son,' Jeff insisted, his 
eyes shining as he looked to the future, `the new Deneb Prime!' `Give 
the child a break!' Rowan protested.
     `How else are we going to get a Prime on Deneb unless we produce 
one between us!' The Rowan `5 mood altered abruptly and she said in a 
querulous voice, `That's exactly what Reidinger's been counting on.
     Damn him.  I hate to find myself doing exactly what he wants.' 
`Aren't you happy for yourself, love?' And Jeff turned her face up to 
his.  `I am!' `Yes, I am.' But in the deepest part of her, something 
was not so certain.
     `Your own mother says that she never heard of a kinetic having 
trouble during pregnancy,' the Rowan said heatedly, trying not to let 
her anger get out of hand.  Jeff didn't deserve her temper, even if his 
attitude was infuriating her.  `She says that you're behaving exactly 
the way your father did for your oldest brother, proprietary, 
protective, paternal and a pain in the neck!' `And I shouldn't be 
worried about you?' Jeff demanded, pacing her room in Altair Tower.
     `You're rail thin, you work long, hard hours, and you don't really 
feel comfortable taking a day off to get the rest and relaxation you 
need right now.' `You saw the food I put away at dinner?  You know I've 
always done just fine on four hours' sleep.  And I do take a whole day 
off.  . . you won't let me do anything else.' Jeff halted midstride, 
fists planted against his hips: he cocked his head and that sudden 
marvelous smile of his erased the glower.  Why on earth are we fighting 
with each other?  And he held out his arms.
     `I don't know,' and she gratefully entered his embrace, laying her 
cheek against his chest.  As he usually did, he tucked her head under 
his chin, one hand gently ruffling her hair.  `Except you suddenly 
won't let me go on as usual just because I'm five months' pregnant.
     And the baby tells me he's fine.' `You're both precious to me, you 
see,' he said, his intense feelings vibrating through her mind.  `I'm 
new at this fatherhood game.' `With your mother, aunts and sisters 
shelling babies like peas?' This time it's my heart's darling who's 
gestating and that adds a totally new perspective.  D'you know they're 
taking bets on the date Reidinger finds out?
     `Who's doing a thing like that?' The Rowan was outraged.  `How did 
they find out?' Jeff threw his head back, laughing uninhibitedly.  `My 
darling, you haven't really looked at yourself in a mirror, have you?
     You positively glow.  And besides, that baby's loud.  Maharanjani 
heard him, I'm sure, which means Bastian does, too.  Gerolaman smiles 
fondly at you when you don't notice it.  Most of the other Tower staff 
have suspicions, especially the way you're eating.  And Afra asked me 
point-blank when you're due.' The Rowan made a face.  `Trust Afra to 
know.
     `Are you certain he's only a T-4?  And were you aware that he has 
always loved you?' `Yes,' she said with a deep sigh.  `I'm very fond of 
Afra: I trust him at the deepest level but .  ` She fell silent for a 
long moment.  `If you hadn't made yourself known .  .
     `My timing has always been superb,' Jeff replied in a tone of 
ineffable superiority which dissolved into one of his infectious 
chuckles.  `You could have done a lot worse than Afra.' His embrace 
assured her that Afra had never had a chance.
     `Do let me come to Callisto next week.  I haven't been back since 
you took over.
     `You don't trust me with your ratty old dome?' `You're dodging, 
Raven,' she said with some heat, trying to wriggle free of his grasp.
     `It's my body that's pregnant, not my head - if I may hand your 
own words back to you - and my head is what gets me from Altair to 
Callisto.  It took me long enough to know I could travel: don't 
restrict me.' `Our child is very precious to me, Rowan,' Jeff said 
firmly.  `How can you risk him?' `I don't see any risk involved!  Oh, 
you can be infuriating.' `I'll make one more point, dear heart.  On 
Altair, Reidinger rarely needs to contact you.  On Callisto, he will 
certainly exchange courtesies `How will he know I'm there if we don't 
tell him?' Jeff cleared his throat, amused.  `I remember once 
suggesting that I could manage Reidinger.  I take that back.  To the 
ninth power.  That man knows everything about everyone connected to 
FT&T.
     He'll know you're there and once he establishes contact, he'll 
know you're pregnant.
     When he knows that, he's not going to let you go anywhere.' 
`Nonsense!' `So be it!' And it was.  Within an hour of her arrival at 
Callisto, Reidinger was in touch with her.
     `Now, listen here, Rowan, it's one thing for that ass-eared 
Denebian to ricochet about the stars like a .  .
     Aware of the contact, Jeff had covered his face to conceal his `I 
told you so' grin.  As Reidinger's voice broke off, Jeff raised his 
hand and began ticking off seconds with his fingers.  He had just added 
the fourth when Reidinger came back.
     YOU'RE PREGNANT?  And you RISKED yourself `porting from Altair?
     Shock, horror, and fury reverberated so violently in her mind that 
the Rowan exclaimed.
     Reidinger!  Jeff s stern voice cut through even as he jumped from 
his chair to put protective arms about his shivering mate.  Ease up!
     BY ALL THE HOLIES, RAVEN, I thought you'd have more sense!  How 
COULD you permit such a risk?
     No risk was involved, Reidinger, the Rowan snapped, furious that 
Reidinger could startle her so badly.  I'm quite capable CAPABLE?
     You're no more capable -- That is quite enough of that, Reidinger, 
Jeff intervened in a tone that halted the Earth Prime mid-fume.  The 
Rowan `5
     in excellent health and the pregnancy is proceeding normally.
     Not that that is YOUR business.
     It is MY business if a Prime jeopardizes herself.  . Especially 
one who can breed for you and FT&T!  the Rowan angrily shot back at 
him.  Well, I'm NOT breeding for you and FT&T.  This is between Jeff 
Raven and me.
     There's nothing in my contract that says FT&T controls the produce 
of my womb!  Get that straight, Reidinger.  My son is not automatically 
indentured to FT&T.
     A long pause.  A son?  You know that already?  Something akin to 
awe replaced the bluster.  It wasn't just that Reidinger had abruptly 
discarded anger as a useless tool against the partners he was trying to 
dominate.  It was something more but what eluded the Rowan.
     Yes, and the Rowan, too, reduced her tone to the conversational.
     She didn't really want Reidinger angry with her.  Or with Jeff.
     You're in contact with him?  The need to know came across as a 
painful urgency.
     Jeff raised his eyebrows in surprise at the near plea.
     Five months into the pregnancy, we both are, Jeff answered when he 
felt the Rowan was spinning out the silence too long.
     Why did you tell him that?  she said in a private shaft at him.
     He doesn't deserve it.
     We've had our fun with him, Rowan.  I've been listening on another 
level.  Reidinger's a tired, worried old man and you've just given him 
something to hope for at a time when he needs it.
     What does he need hope for?
     I don't know, and Jeff was baffled.  To Reidinger he said, It's a 
nebulous contact, of course, at this stage of fetal development -- And 
what do you know of fetal development?  the Rowan asked again on the 
private level.
     Jeff grinned at her.  I didn't have six sisters without picking up 
some dribs and drabs of obstetrics!
     Suddenly both realized that Reidinger had broken off contact 
during their swift mental exchanges.
     `Well, that was sudden!' the Rowan said, piqued.
     Jeff chuckled.  `We gave the old boy something to mull over.' The 
Rowan let out a long sigh then.  `I'm glad it was a short inquisition.
     Now, whose turn is it to cook?' `Ah-ha, I decided neither of us 
would waste time on mundane chores so scan the list of viands made 
ready for your arrival!' He tapped up a menu which used such an elegant 
archaic script that the Rowan had trouble deciphering it.
     `I could probably eat all of it!' `And grow to Siglen' 5 size over 
the next few months?  I won't permit it,' and with the foolery that 
followed, it was nearly an hour before they returned to the menu again.
     They were sitting in front of the artificial fire which was, as 
Jeff reluctantly admitted, a very good simulation, when the comunit 
gave a discreet burp and tripped the green flash all over the house.
     Raising her eyebrows in surprise at such a discreet summons - both 
she and Jeff were accustomed to a direct mental inquiry - she opened 
the channel.
     `Prime Rowan?' asked an unfamiliar feminine voice, a warm and kind 
voice.  `I am Elizara Matheson, T- 1, Medic/Oh.  With all due respect, 
I request an interview.' `Not on my day off!' The Rowan's finger was 
halfway to the disengage when Jeff caught her wrist.  `Damn Reidinger!
     How dare he presume!' `What harm does it do?' Jeff asked at his 
most disarming.  `You're going to need a T-1 during the delivery of a 
Talent.  They can be most obstreperous about leaving their safe haven.
     At least Reidinger cares enough to send the very best.' When the 
Rowan regarded him with amazement, he grinned.  `I don't think you 
accessed the right prenatal information.  And if that lad of ours is 
half as stubborn as either of his parents, you may need all the 
persuasion you can muster.' He leaned across her.  `By all means, Medic 
Elizara.
     Please proceed to the residence.' Every now and then the Rowan 
came smartly up against the realization that she couldn't argue with or 
wheedle her way around Jeff Raven.  He was steadily becoming stronger 
and stronger in all areas of his Talent.  If sometimes a part of her 
resented that strength, at others she felt tremendously comforted and 
protected.  Or, as right now, in complete rebellion.  But she rebelled 
right now, not against his common sense, but against an intrusion of 
the short hours when they could share each other on the deepest 
possible levels, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual.
     But she acquiesced.  You give me no option, do you?  she shot at 
him as they waited for the unsolicited visitor.
     I'm far more careful of you than Reidinger gives me credit.
     There was no flexibility in his gaze, or mind.  You are not the 
obstetrician's ideal proportions for easy birthing, you know.
     Let's take every precauflon.
     Medic Elizara's personal appearance was a surprise to them both as 
she was a slender woman, no taller than the Rowan, and looked far 
younger.  Her smile as she felt their astonishment was vastly pleased 
with her effect on them.
     `I have heard so much about you, Prime Rowan,' she said with 
irrepressible mischief in her wide-spaced, lightgreen eyes, `that I 
elbowed my way right past everyone with far more seniority than I have.
     Then, too, your reputation .  . .` and her marvelous smile 
deprecated the Rowan's reputed temper, `made others demur.  Gollee Gren 
solemnly warned me that you're more devious than Reidinger.' At that 
remark, the last of the Rowan's resentment evaporated.  `Gollee warned 
you, did he?' Reidinger's positively Machiavellian, isn't he?  Jeff 
said to her privately.  What a choice!
     Oh, no, came from Elizara, the choice was mine, though when Earth 
Prime interviewed me, I could tell he thought that I would suit.  `I 
shan't take more than a few moments of your time right now, Prime, but 
I need to update the Altairian report.' `Not a moment has been wasted,' 
the Rowan remarked sardonically.
     `No!' And Elizara's eyes twinkled.
     She did not indeed take more than a few moments.  The Rowan had 
never met a T-i in another field and was very much reassured by her 
competencee and deftness.
     `The pregnancy is proceeding nicely.  I have nothing further to 
add to what the Altairian medics told you,' Elizara said in conclusion.
     `The boy child is not far enough along for us to make a worthwhile 
contact.  That's when my particular Talent becomes useful and I can 
assist you both in the preparations.' `My mother had no trouble with 
any of us, Jeff said, and the Rowan heard the first tinge of 
uncertainty before he could dampen it.
     `True enough,' Elizara admitted, `probably because her mother was 
her constant companion during the final month.' `How on earth did you 
know that?' Jeff asked, surprised but he found out before Elizara could 
prevent him.
     `Reidinger has been very busy, has he not?' `I think you both must 
appreciate why and allow him his prerogatives,' Elizara said with 
gentle dignity and a hint of reproach.
     `This is our child, not Reidinger's.  And he's no relation to be 
prying into ---` Easy, love, Jeff said, reaching with hand and mind to 
soothe her.
     The fetus will react, you know, Elizara said mildly.  The calmer 
you remain, the easier it will be for you both!  The stronger a bond of 
trust you make right now, the easier the birth will be.  The child will 
need to trust you then.  `But the main reason I was acceptable to the 
Prime, and you may find this so, too, was that I had easy births with 
my own two Talented children.' That reassured the Rowan more than 
anything else about Elizara, though at that moment, she did not want to 
feel calm, even to reassure her unborn child, but she could not evade 
Jeff as easily as she could Elizara.  Nor could she evade, or disobey, 
any of Reidinger's subsequent safeguards which she found intrusive, 
impudent, arrogant, unnecessarily restrictive, and too authoritarian by 
far.
     Unfortunately, Jeff Raven was in total agreement with the Earth 
Prime.  She was never sure if Elizara truly disagreed with the two men 
on the subject of her return to Altair or was `humoring the pregnant 
woman' The upshot was that the Rowan was not permitted to return to 
Altair and was reinstalled as Callisto Prime.  Jeff went off to Altair 
until two appropriate T-2s could be found and integrated with 
Maharanjani and Bastian at Altair.  When that task was completed, what 
Jeff termed his galactic peregrination began.
     Reidinger sent him to each of the other Prime Stations on various 
errands of high security importance.
     `I don't know what could be more secure than a mind to-mind 
contact or why he has to shoot you all over the place.' `Oh, I find it 
incredibly fascinating, love.  I've met all the Primes, now, and I 
really did pick the best of the lot of you,' he said with an outrageous 
glint in his eye.  `That Capella!' He raised eyes and hands in such 
comic dismay over that confrontation that he made her laugh.
     While the Rowan could appreciate just how valuable Jeff was to 
FT&T as the only peripatetic Prime, she resented his absences even 
though Jeff always took several days rest on Callisto between jaunts.
     On the other hand, Jeff returned, stimulated, excited, and highly 
pleased by his reception at every tower.  She did like listening to him 
discuss his perceptions of the other Primes, the diversity of the 
planets linked in the Central Worlds: once she would have envied him 
his fearless ability to transverse those immense distances, but she 
formed a secret intention, when her pregnancy was over, to join him in 
these tours.  But the traveling, despite Jeff s innate strength, took a 
noticeable toil of his energy.  She worried about the alarming signs of 
deep fatigue which he dismissed lightly.
     `Sure it takes effort, love, Jeff told her as they sprawled 
together in their favorite spot in the lounge before the artificial 
fire.  For the Rowan, being close to him physically was in many ways 
far more satisfying than the more intimate mental contact.  As much, 
she thought, because she had had so few physical relationships that she 
found their intimacies especially rewarding.  `And it's tiring, but a 
few days with you and I'm rarin' to go again.  This galactic touring's 
quite an eyeopener for this poor little ole Denebian farmboy.' `Don't 
you say that about yourself!' The Rowan bridled at his phrase, punching 
his upper arm to emphasize her annoyance.
     `Darling, I am poor,' he reminded her.  `Mind you, the bonuses 
I've been extorting from Reidinger for doing these leapfroggings is 
bringing me out of debt much faster than if I just drew stationary 
Tower pay.' `Nor are you little.  . .` The Rowan was not letting him 
belittle himself in any way.
     Jeff let out a hoot of laughter.  `Honey, I love your sense of 
loyalty but have you seen the guys they grow on Procyon?
     And Betelgeuse?' He shot her a glance for comparison's sake and 
she saw that he had felt dwarfed in their presence.  `And I AM a 
Denebian farmboy.' He grinned in his roguish way.  `Keeps me from 
getting above myself.' `Oh, was David being difficult again?' Jeff ran 
a few scenes of the Betelgeuse Talent's arrogance through her mind and 
she was both appalled and amused.
     `If I'd ever met Siglen, I'd've had a few cogent remarks to make 
to her about her notions of "training" Talent,' he said, serious for a 
moment.  `And Primes are unquestionably the vital links between Central 
Worlds, but there are T- 1 ratings in every other Talent that make some 
of us stevedores look rather limited.  Still,' and he sighed for he was 
at heart a generous and forgiving person, `she got the basics right but 
we'll train our own kids the way they ought to go.' `Indeed we will!' 
Jeff tightened his arms about her, kissing the side of her neck 
tenderly.  `And none of our kids will need a Purza.' `Was the pukha on 
my mind again?' `She keeps lurking there, where you can't see her.' `I 
can't imagine why.  Not after I've been back to Altair, and the Rowan 
mining campsite.  Not with you doing far more for me than any construct 
could ever do.' `I can't read why she keeps surfacing, love, except 
that Purza was the most important thing in your young life.
     I'm not exactly sure I like competing with a No way!  Then Rowan 
let out an exaggerated sigh and then a self-deprecating chuckle.  `But 
for ages there, that pukha was the only thing in the world that truly 
understood the young Rowan child.  . . or so she thought.' She paused, 
frowning.  `You know it's very odd, your mother asked me who Purza was, 
too.  That caught me off-balance.' `I think we ought to get Mother to 
train her mind.' `Oh, she wasn't being intrusive.  It's as you said, 
she has a long ear.  I've never met anyone quite like her before.
     She was so calm and reassuring, even when .  .
     `When everyone thought I was dying?' `You were never dying .  . .` 
But a shiver caught the Rowan even as she repudiated the mention.
     Jeff cocked his right eyebrow, a droll expression on his face.
     `Not the way Asaph and Rakella tell it, my love.
     Well, I suppose Purza would surface at a time like that.
     When you need support the most.' The Rowan nodded, nestling as 
close to him as her altered shape permitted.
     `I think we, all of us, have someone, Jeff went on, `or some 
place, we retreat to in times of stress: a known comforter, adviser, 
confidante, who never fails us.' `You never needed one.' Rowan was 
beginning to wonder about the odd resurgences of Purza.  She felt the 
unexpected embarrassment in Jeff's mind.
     `I haven't got you fooled, too, have I, love?' And Jeff gave her a 
quick hug, laughing.  `Believe me, dear heart, the only advantage I 
have over others is that I learned to read minds quick enough to 
correct my follies before they got out of hand.  That's all.' `But did 
you?' She needed to delve into that curious embarrassment, so unusual 
in her self-possessed and reliant love.
     `Yes, I did,' and he gave a funny chuckle.  `Your Purza was at 
least a visible creature, properly programmed to respond to certain 
infant and pre-adolescent needs `What's wrong with an invisible 
friend?' The Rowan now plucked that easily from his mind.
     `Nothing.  Until your younger sister fends out about it and the 
whole family gives you an unmerciful ragging.' Does your friend have a 
name?
     Jeff stroked her head.  Bagheera.
     Oh?
     It's been so long, love, but you know, it's rather odd that he was 
also a feline, like your Purza.  Big, black, powerfuL he loved to lie 
on branches high up in trees which was not surprising as I was always 
climbing trees myself, or lurk on sunny rock ledges because I used to 
hide from chores on such places, and he hated water!  Which I did not, 
actually.  I loved to swim but I could never get him to join me.  He 
had yellow eyes - like Afra .  . . Jeff's tone was amused/amazed that 
he had found one point of resemblance with anyone of his acquaintance.
     We spent a lot of time discovering unexpected treasures :n caverns 
and mines and other unlikely places.  He was good protection against 
all the terrors of wild, raw Deneb.
     And we'd make fortunes for our planet and bring it in to the 
Central Worlds Autonomy faster than any world had ever been admitted.
     Jeff chuckled.  `You know, I haven't thought of Bagheera for 
years!  He was, I think, a character in a children's story.  I 
preempted him for my own special use.
     He was invincible.' Hey, are you falling asleep on me again?
     `Not really,' and yet a massive yawn caught her.  `We don't need 
to move from here, do we?' She snuggled up against him, fending the 
right hollow in his shoulder for her head.  He brought a warm blanket 
from their bed to cover them so there was no need to rearrange 
themselves.
     Despite what the Rowan saw as Reidinger's intrusiveness, she 
looked forward to Elizara's visits.  Gradually the T-1
     Medic appeared on Callisto twice a month and then weekly.  At the 
beginning of the last semester of the pregnancy, Elizara came to stay 
until the delivery.
     `But I'm fine, and the baby is developing perfectly,' the Rowan 
protested, `or so you've told me.' Elizara grinned.  `You know it to be 
so yourself, Rowan.
     Call it an old man's foibles.  A young man's too, considering Jeff 
s state of mind.' The Rowan grunted and felt her baby react.  To save 
herself violent convulsions of her womb, she had learned to restrain 
untoward responses to each new imposition.
     `Jeff knows how much family means to you,' Elizara said.
     `Family?' The Rowan found the wording odd.  Jeff never referred to 
their unborn as `family': usually it was `his' or `their' son, or Jeran 
when they finally decided on a name for him.  But the child's arrival 
would indeed make them a family!
     `There was once a time,' Elizara went on in her lilting voice, 
`when the mother and father of a newborn were totally unprepared for 
it, or the effect it would have on them and their own relationship.  Of 
course, parenting has become so much a part of early education, that 
many of the iniquities of earlier centuries can no longer be 
perpetrated on young, unformed minds.  But the highpotential Talent 
child needs special care and handling, especially at birth and in the 
first three months.' `I know that.  I know that!  I've been made aware 
of that by just about everyone in the whole damned Central Worlds.  The 
only one who hasn't alluded to this is Capella and right now I could 
almost trade places with that dried up old virgin!' `Rowan!  If she 
should hear you!' `She is,' the Rowan acidly replied, `probably the 
only Talent in the entire FT&T network who doesn't contact me half a 
hundred times a day to ensure I'm still all right and the child is 
alive and kicking!  Which he is right now!' `Then calm down!' Elizara 
exuded an authority that the Rowan found as impossible to evade as 
Jeff' s. So she found herself initiating meditation in obedient 
response.  Elizara's inner serenity extended itself to the Rowan and 
the flare of anger and frustration was soothed away.
     `Oh, by the way,' Elizara said when the Rowan was tranquil again, 
`I took another liberty on your behalf.' She hesitated.
     `Why not?' Elizra touched her hand in gentle rebuke.  `I've 
managed to trace the Gwyn family.  Just in case there might be some 
genetic flaws that we should know about in advance.' `You did?' the 
Rowan exclaimed.  `But I tried `Yes, you tried from Altair,' and 
Elizara gave a little smile, `but not from Earth.  And not consulting 
the original immigration files, only the Altair entries.' `They were 
useless.  And?' `Genetics prints were made of all outgoing settlers; 
genotypes and blood profiles.  You could only be the child of Ewain and 
Morag Gwyn.' Shyly Elizara slipped two small holograms from her pouch 
to the table.  `As you'll notice, the tendency to premature silver hair 
affected both parents.' With a reverence akin to awe, the Rowan looked 
down at the two faces: Despite the fact that her father could have been 
no more than thirty, his hair was silver while eyebrows and mustache 
were as black as coal.  He had a strong face, and his brows were drawn 
in a faint scowl.  Her mother's hair had silver streaks from a center 
parting: she looked more worried than anxious, but she had bequeathed 
her gray eyes to her daughter and the narrow face.
     Elizara, if you knew what this g'fl means - Ah, love, I do!  And 
Elizara laid her hand gently on the Rowan's bowed head.
     What's wrong?  was Jeff s sudden demand.  He was never out of 
touch with her and he was as grateful to Elizara as she was.  That 
girl's a wonder!  Give her a hug for me!  I don't dare do it myself or 
I'll have you to answer to!
     I'm much too happy at this moment we knew that, my love!
     In her mind was a fiendish chuckle.  Warn her!
     The Rowan didn't, but smiled happily to herself, her eyes resting 
on the two holograms until they were indelibly imprinted in her mind.
     She had parents now: and it was enough to know that she had had a 
brother.  She could console herself wondering whether he had resembled 
father or mother more.  Maybe Mauli, who was deft with pencil and 
paint, would draw her a likeness of what her brother might have been.
     On one count did the Rowan prevail against Reidinger's over 
protectiveness: she was allowed to continue working Callisto Station.
     Torshan and Saggoner were needed on another colonial outpost, and 
Elizara, backed by all other medical consultants, reassured Reidinger 
that the Rowan's mental abilities were in no way affected by the 
pregnancy.
     Nor was her normal occupation affecting her unborn child.  The 
Rowan proved that more conclusively by a suspension of the pyrotechnics 
which had often disturbed the Station personnel during her moody 
periods.  For this everyone on the Station was grateful.
     As soon as her pregnancy became common knowledge, Brian Ackerman 
had braced Afra, wanting to know if the Rowan would be `OK' `If by OK 
you mean is she likely to be as difficult as she was before Jeff 
arrived,' Afra replied in a droll tone, his yellow eyes reflecting 
considerable amusement at the question, `I'm told that pregnant women 
are often more quiescent and docile.' `The Rowan docile?  I'd find that 
hard to believe,' was Brian's reply.  `But that Elizara's sure a nice 
person.  Does the Rowan like her?' `I believe they are compatible 
personalities.  Elizara is an extremely gifted practitioner.  If I were 
having a baby, I'd like her beside me.' Brian regarded the Capellan 
with a startled glance.
     `You're no mutant!' `No, and I'm as male as you are!' Afra stared 
back at Ackerman.
     `I didn't mean -- I mean, I know you.  . Oh, hell.  I figured you 
were gone on the Rowan Elizara's pretty, young, and -`I'll make my own 
match, if you don't mind, Brian, but I appreciate the concern.' And 
Afra retired to his own quarters, leaving Brian wondering if he had 
mortally offended him and wishing he'd never started the conversation 
in the first place.
     As the delivery date approached, the Rowan spent a lot of time in 
the Dome's pool.  It was the only place she did not feel awkward and 
unwieldy.  She had even discussed a water delivery with Elizara.
     `Wherever and however you feel comfortable,' the Medic replied.
     `This isn't going to be a huge production, is it?  I'm not going 
to have Reidinger shooting more experts up the moment I go into labor?' 
`Whenever, however, and whoever you need to make birth easy for you and 
the young Raven,' Elizara assured her so firmly that the Rowan let 
herself be convinced.  She appreciated the irony of Reidinger's ban on 
any travel that precluded her having the child in one of the highly 
specialized clinics on Earth.
     She was aware of all the discreet monitoring devices that had been 
installed; in her couch in the Tower, her quarters, lining her bed, the 
pool, the rocking chair which Jeff had made for her with his own hands, 
the couch in front of the fire, even in the food preparation area.
     That was quite enough surveillance but having a baby should be a 
private affair, not a matter of interest to the inhabited galaxy.
     -The Rowan suddenly knew of one other presence she wanted very 
much to have with her: Isthia Raven, with her deep r and her loud 
voice.  The notion surprised her and yet it had a calming effect on 
her.  A matter of con......
     `Whoever you need,' Elizara repeated, tactfully advising the Rowan 
that her thoughts were clear.
     `But would she come?' The Rowan was inhibited by an odd reticence.
     Isthia Raven would be harvesting Deneb's first post ET crop on the 
family's holdings.
     Ask her, Jeff advised when the Rowan timidly tested the notion on 
him.  She'd be honored, and she'd be helpful.  She's been taking 
instruction on that metamorphic treatment that worked so well on me.
     Does that stuff help in childbirth?
     Would you ask her for me?
     What?  The redoubtable Rowan is afraid of her mother-inlaw?
     Well, you are!
     Not often.  Not since I met you.  There was a snide chuckle at the 
end of that thought.
     I don't know why I put up with you!
     Because you adore me, of course!  Which is reciprocal.  The 
chuckle was replaced by a vision of him as a callow mooncalf.
     Isthia Raven was flattered by the Rowan's request and exchanged 
considerable information with Elizara.  She had been rather worried 
about the Rowan who was, to her mind, not the optimum shape for easy 
childbearing.  She said that she would come as soon as she was needed.
     You're needed now, Jeff told his mother.  By me, if no one else.
     I thought it was the Rowan who wanted me, she replied teasingly.
     You know perfectly well that she and your son will be all right.
     How many clairvoyant Talents have you asked already?
     I see no reason not to avail myself of professional courtesies, 
Jeff said in a testy tone.
     Isthia chuckled and changed the subject, arranging with him to 
bring her to Callisto a few days before the Rowan's due date.  Her own 
worries ceased the moment she saw the mother to be, radiant and, as the 
Rowan put it, bulging in all forward directions at this late stage of 
pregnancy.  Isthia sincerely admired their living quarters, remarking 
drily that she had never expected dome living to be quite so spacious.
     She paid very close attention when the Rowan and Jeff explained 
all the safety features, and held a drill for her.
     `Planets at least give you lots of places to hide,' she remarked 
in her droll fashion.  `Could be awkward if there was an emergency just 
when Jeran chooses to arrive,' she added, as she peered into one of the 
safety chambers.  She made a pantomime of the Rowan attempting to fit 
inside.
     `The house has triple seals,' Jeff remarked.  `The Prime cannot be 
risked.' `I'll stay very close to you then, daughter,' Isthia said.
     `But you certainly have an elegant residence.  Ah, well, we'll 
soon set matters right on Deneb.' `Doesn't that ever bother you, 
Rowan?' she asked after dinner when Jupiter rose, filling the skyview.
     She eyed the massive planet warily.
     `What?  Him?  I'm accustomed to it now,' the Rowan replied, trying 
to settle herself on the comfortable couch in front of the fire.
     `Levitation?' Isthia suggested, glancing at Elizara for her 
opinion.
     `We've tried that, too,' Jeff answered with a rueful grin for the 
Rowan's dilemma.  `Not much longer, love.' The Rowan gave a skeptical 
grunt.
     `Elizara, if you're a T-1 Medical, can't you establish a time, or 
at least a day?' Isthia asked.
     `We have been able to improve prenatal care to insure almost 
one-hundred per cent normal healthy babies,' Elizara said with a slight 
smile, `and we can induce labor if the term runs over a normal 
gestation, but we're still unable to dictate the ETA.' `I wish this one 
would consider an early appearance,' the Rowan remarked wearily.
     `It's your first,' Isthia said in a dry tone.  `The way out is not 
so obvious.' `I've told him and told him,' the Rowan replied, `to get 
`Had any effect?' Isthia asked, amused.
     `He responds with sentiments of complete satisfaction in his 
present environment and sees no need to make any alteration.' `In that 
many words?' The Rowan laughed, delighted to have startled Isthia.
     `Hardly.  I just get an impression of complete contentment.' 
Isthia turned to Elizara.  `What about a hands-on?  Of course, Rowan 
isn't overdue .  .
     Elizara smiled gently.  `We wait.  Time enough for hands-on if 
labor stops and we sense a complete reluctance to leave the womb.' 
Then, abruptly, Isthia sat straight up in the lounger which hastily 
rearranged itself to her change of position.
     She cocked her head, listening.
     `What's the matter?  What do you hear?' The Rowan asked.  `Ian?' 
They might tease Isthia for her `long ear' from time to time but it was 
always respectful.
     `I thought I .  . .` Isthia faltered and looked keenly at Elizara.
     `Did you catch anything?' Elizara frowned but she was patently 
sharpening her senses, listening with that other sensitivity which all 
three women had in generous measure.
     There!  Isthia said.
     The Rowan had felt something, just at the very edge of her own 
deep range.  Too distant.  Anger!  Pain!
     Whose?  Isthia added in a very thoughtful tone.  The source 
defeats me.  I don't think it was human!
     Elizara regarded her with surprise.  How could you hear it, then?
     `I heard it, too,' the Rowan reminded the medic.  She grimaced.
     `None of our kin at least,' she added to reassure Isthia.  Or 
shall I give a shout and be sure for you?
     Slowly Isthia shook her head, frowning with puzzlement.  Then, 
shaking off the brief thrall determinedly, she smiled at the other two.
     `If it had been you, Rowan, we could put it down to prenatal 
nerves.
     The Rowan sighed with deep exasperation, and stroked her extended 
abdomen.  `C'mon, now, son, get in to position and let's end this 
waiting.  You're old enough to be born now.
     Two days later, as splendid Jupiter rose to obscure deep space 
from those in the Callisto dome, Jeran Raven decided to take his 
mother's advice.  The baby dropped his head into the birth canal, 
precipitating the breaking of the Rowan's waters, and almost before 
Elizara could help the Rowan block the pain, long and intense 
contractions began.
     Just off duty from the Tower, Jeff arrived as Isthia and Elizara 
were making the Rowan as comfortable as possible.
     `Now is the time for hands-on,' Elizara told him, `to reassure 
your son.  This is the difficult part for him and he must not draw back 
or resist.' It comforted the Rowan tremendously to have Jeff's strong 
body supporting her, his hands stroking her; to join mental forces in 
urging their son to endure this brief discomfort and be made welcome in 
the world of the living.
     Isn't it a shade hypocritical of us, the Rowan said very privately 
to Jeff, to require him to leave the safety of the womb, for how can we 
promise him safety when we've never known it?
     So you want to stay pregnant for the rest of your life?  Was 
Jeff's reply as he smoothed back silver hair already damp with sweat.
     NO!
     Then push!  Elizara urged.  Take Isthia's hands!
     Isthia's strong hands anchored her through the massive 
contractions that followed: hands that also soothed and eased the 
involuntary spasms.
     `Those contractions are fierce, Isthia remarked.
     `Not unusually so,' Elizara replied, `and at five minute 
intervals.' `Is he resisting or is it me?' The Rowan asked, panting 
with relief as a particularly severe contraction ended.
     `A little of both,' Elizara replied, and the Rowan could find no 
qualification in the Talent's mind.  I never lie to my patients!
     Not to this one, you couldn't!
     Nor in the present company she's keeping, Elizara added, her tone 
amused.  `All right, now, here comes another one.' They all sensed the 
child's sudden reluctance as the pressures of his mother's womb caught 
him in an inexorable rhythum.  He disliked the sensation: it frightened 
him.  He was instantly reassured of warmth and love and comfort if he 
did not falter.  He did not like this experience at all.
     I'm not much enjoying it right now myself, my son, the Rowan told 
him and then could not even think as a particularly hard contraction 
seized her.  She clasped Isthia's hands in a grip that she feared would 
bruise the flesh.
     Hold hard!
     To the Rowan, caught by the inexorable process of birthing, the 
struggle with her son seemed to go on interminably.  The contractions 
came more frequently, lasted longer and but for the nerve blocks she 
would have been in some agony.  As it was, the muscular strain wearied 
her.
     Please, Jeran, please!  she cried, wondering how much more of this 
she could endure.
     Gripped by yet another massive contraction, she felt Elizara and 
Isthia place hands on her heaving abdomen, and this contraction seemed 
to be abetted by their minds, overruling Jeran's resistance.  As the 
boy's head passed out of the birth canal, he gave a terrible cry, 
mental and physical, of protest, of resentment, of fear.
     `You are born, my son,' the Rowan cried with mind and mouth as she 
opened her eyes to see Elizara receive the baby's wet and wriggling 
body in her hands.
     Jeran wailed again, a confused and angry cry at the difference of 
environment, the noise, the cold, the disorientation.
     There, there!  three adult minds consoled him.  There, there.  You 
are loved, you are wanted.  Here, now, you will be warm.  You will be 
comforted.
     Elizara deposited the baby on his mother's newly deflated belly 
while she performed the necessary post natal offices.
     `Even upside down, you're beautiful,' the Rowan told Jeran, 
intercepting one of his violently waving hands as he continued to 
complain on several levels about the brutal treatment he had just been 
through.  He's so strong!
     So angry!  and Jeff's tone was immediately proud and relieved.
     Now, now, my beautiful boy!  Its all over.
     Lord no, i?s just starting, Isthia replied.  `Good lungs on him,' 
she added approvingly.
     He has obviously inherited your voice, mother, Jeff said.
     That birth shout was loud enough to reach Deneb!
     And you're sori-spoken?  Isthia teased back, beaming with joy, at 
the successful birth.
     `Just over four kilos,' Elizara said, pleased.  `You wouldn't want 
any heavier a child, Rowan.  And no worse for the passage.  Now we will 
all soothe him on the most primitive levels.
     Ganging up on my poor son?  asked Jeff, fatuously smiling down at 
Jeran.
     Soothing your not at all poor son, Elizara rebuked him.
     This is the most important part for a child as obviously Talented 
as Jeran is.  Hands-on!  Isthia, begin on the metamorphic levels.
     Rowan won't want him operating on a psionic high over the next few 
months.
     As Isthia stroked the sturdy little feet, she began to croon 
softly.  Elizara and Jeff sponged him clean, all the time soothing him 
with touch, mind and voice.  Soon he was yawning and quite willing to 
drift off into sleep.
     When the afterbirth was delivered and the Rowan made comfortable 
again in her bed, the sleeping child was placed in her arms and Jeff 
stretched out beside them both, his eyes dark and brimming with love.
     I never thought I would feel quite this intensely about a baby who 
will shortly drive us both demented with infantile needs, Jeff said.
     On his forefinger, he tipped up Jeran `5
     little hand which opened to curl about it.  I'll be the most 
impossible father in the galaxy.
     Jeran IS quite the most marvelous baby, the Rowan agreed, as 
fatuous with pride as he was.  `What .  . . on earth?' At her altered 
tone, Jeff followed her startled gaze and saw containers and 
arrangements of flowers of every variation imaginable appear and settle 
themselves on whatever surface was available until the room was almost 
filled with them.
     `What is going on?' Jeff scrambled to his feet though what harm 
could masses of blossoms cause.
     That young `un has so loud a voice I knew before Elizara told me!
     said the familiar voice of Reidinger in an unfamiliar whisper.
     Thank you!
     Jeff and the Rowan stared at each other for the uncharacteristic 
savility in Earth Prime's tone.
     Rowan?  Jeff?  Isthia's voice, too, was hesitant but there was 
such an underlying throb of excitement that they both asked what was 
wrong.  Nothing except there can't be any flowers left on Earth for the 
masses that just appeared all over the dome!
     `You should see our room,' Jeff called aloud.  `Come on in, and 
where's Elizara?' `In the pool - if there 5 room for her to swim among 
the water lilies I saw heading in that direction,' Isthia said in quiet 
mirth as she opened the door.  She halted, staring around her in 
amazement.  `Who on earth.  .
     `Reidinger!' the Rowan and Jeff said in unison.
     They heard a distant exclamation, and a much more audible 
Grandfather, haven't you got a wit left in your head?
     So much floral perfume and pollens are not good for a baby!
     `Grandfather?' Now Isthia joined Rowan and Jeff in chorus.
     Oh, bugger, I blew it!  Elizara sounded disgusted.  Just let me 
dress and I'll come clean.
     Come clean first, dress is optional, Jeff replied, doubling up in 
a paroxysm of laughter.
     Don't laugh, Jeff' The Rowan said, wrapping both hands around her 
much abused abdominal muscles.  Please don't make me laugh, Jeff1
     Please!
     Isthia came to the Rowan's assistance with strong hands on her 
belly, trying hard to scowl at Jeff but grinning broadly at the same 
time.  Then Elizara appeared, her hair still wet, swathed in a big 
towel, and looking chagrined.
     `Reidinger's your grandfather?' The Rowan asked, wondering how she 
could have missed the relationship.
     `Actually my great-grandfather, but that's a mouthful and makes 
him feel ancient.  I buried that fact behind a shield before I came 
here.  Grandfather impressed on me that you might resent my help if you 
discovered the relationship.  But I'm also the best qualified person 
for such an important accouchement.  And what I told you in our first 
interview was true: I offered to come but he was so dreadfully relieved 
that I had.  He may holler and rant at you, Rowan, but, believe me, 
that indicated just how much he cares about you.  And about Jeff.  And 
now Jeran is added to his most special list.' The Rowan closed her arm 
protectively about Jeran and glared at Elizara.  `I'm NOT breeding for 
FT&T.' `No more am I,' Elizara replied with a laugh, `but children are 
part of being a woman.  Can you deny that you feel more feminine at 
this moment than at any other time in your whole life?' The Rowan 
considered this and had to agree.  `In fact, now I've done it, I won't 
mind being pregnant often.' She shot a sly glance at Jeff.  `Only 
Reidinger must know it's because we want more children, Talented or 
not.' `I won't for a moment deny that my grandfather lives and breathes 
for the efficiency and continued success and expansion of FT&T.' 
Elizara's eyes twinkled.  `He was massively disappointed that I went 
medical but that's where my Talent lay.  In fact the poor dear,' and 
she grinned as she caught the surprise in their minds at her loving 
reference, `has been continually disappointed in his seven children and 
their progeny unto the third generation.  He's the third Reidinger to 
be Earth Prime, you see.
     Not always consecutive.  The Talent sometimes skipped one 
generation.  He did so want to train up a fourth.  That's one reason 
for his bad temper.  He feels he's been let down by genetics.  Oh, most 
of us have valid Talents but none of us are Prime candidates.  It is 
the rarest combination of Talent, you know.  And you both are, and so 
is young Jeran.' `Reidinger has an odd way of displaying concern,' the 
Rowan replied testily.  `When I think of the blastings I've received .
     .
     `Come now, Rowan,' and Elizara's tone altered, `surely you, of all 
the Primes, appreciate loneliness!' She paused while the Rowan did 
indeed feel the pinch of that accusation.  `Grandfather cannot let 
personal feelings interfere with his professional responsibilities.
     Much as it might surprise you,' and the gentle Elizara spoke with 
an edge to her voice, `he feels very deeply.  He just hides it better 
than anyone else.' My apologies, the Rowan said meekly.  I know I'm 
selfcentered.  `Primes tend to be,' Elizara said more mildly, `it's a 
hazard of the profession.  And you mustn't change your responses to 
him.  He'd be annoyed with me for even suggesting that there were 
chinks in his shield.  But I'm a match for him.  As you two are.  And 
you, Isthia, are far stronger than I first thought.' Isthia had been 
watching Elizara's face intently.  Now she shrugged noncommittally.
     `Deneb is my future.  But I am interested in these insights on the 
formidable Earth Prime.' Her voice ended on an upward note.
     Elizara gave a brief warning frick of her hand.  `Enough of 
banter.  Let's move some of these flowers out of this room.  Too many 
is just too many for newborn lungs.' `Not to mention the air 
conditioning units in this part of the dome,' Jeff said.
     `You know, it was really rather sweet of him,' the Rowan murmured 
sleepily.  And by the time the transfer was finished, she was fast 
asleep, one arm curled protectively about her son.
     `He's rather a good baby, as babies g,) Isthia remarked several 
days later when she was making her farewells.  `I didn't think I'd miss 
Ian, but I do.  And I've wallowed in luxury far too long.' She ignored 
her son's snicker and laid her hand on her sleeping grandson's 
forehead.  `He'll be a handful, Rowan, but you've started out right.' 
`Thanks to you, Isthia,' and the Rowan' 5 voice and mind were deep with 
gratitude.
     Isthia gave her an understanding smile.  `I stood in loco 
parentis, my dear, and we both know it.  Nonetheless I was flattered.
     She bent over and kissed the Rowan's cheek.
     `Such a bit of a thing!' And quickly left the room.
     The Rowan's farewell wishes followed her personal capsule all the 
way back to Deneb.  Elizara stayed on another few days, to be sure the 
Rowan had completely recovered physically as the delivery had been 
strenuous despite its brevity.
     `I'm telling Reidinger in no uncertain terms, Elizara said as she, 
too, prepared to leave the new family, `that you are to be on maternity 
leave until I approve your return to work.  He'll growl and rage but I 
won't budge an inch.  He loves it when someone stands up to him.  You 
don't know how delighted he was when you popped in on him.' `I'd never 
have known,' the Rowan replied drolly.
     `Besides, he's not about to risk his pet Prime.' `I dislike being 
considered a "pet" anything,' the Rowan responded tartly.  She was 
nursing Jeran and her expression was singularly at odds with her voice.
     `I'll remind him,' Elizara replied mildly.  `You're a good mother, 
too,' she added.  `That will please him more,' and she grinned as that 
brought a sharp glare from the Rowan.
     `You are, you know.  It comes naturally.' Then she frowned 
slightly.  `Who is Purza?  Your mother?' The Rowan stared at her.
     `Will she never stop haunting me?' `She wasn't haunting,' Elizara 
replied, pausing to consider her next words.  `She's far too happy.' 
`Purza,' the Rowan said with some asperity, `was what I called the 
pukha they gave me on Altair.' Elizara raised her eyebrows slightly.
     `She's been more than that, Rowan.' She smiled gently.  `And right 
now, she's proud and happy for you, that alter ego of yours.  As you 
are proud and happy after a very long road to find such emotions.' `My 
alter ego is a pukha?' `Why not?' Again that slightly mischievous grin 
curved Elizara's lips.  `It was very cleverly and ingeniously 
programmed, you know.' She laid a reassuring hand on the Rowan's 
shoulder and with the tactile contact more of Elizara's professional 
approval flowed through to the Rowan's mind.  `Purza's physical form 
was destroyed by that arrogant little bouzma but you never really lost 
her.' She gathered up her things.  `Remember now, I'm only a thought 
away and I will be open to you at any time.' With parents so closely in 
contact with Jeran's needs, he made excellent progress and was rarely 
troublesome without an easily discernible reason.  The children in 
Callisto Dome were as entranced with him as the adults.
     The Rowan recovered her energy while Jeff twitted her about her 
`maternal' curves.
     When Elizara arrived back at Callisto Dome for the six weeks' 
postnatal check, she pronounced both mother and son in excellent 
health.
     However, no sooner was the Rowan back in the Tower, Jeran in a 
carrier by her couch, than Reidinger sent for Jeff.
     `That's mean!' the Rowan complained, pacing up and down.  `Your 
son needs your presence.  I need your presence.  I don't care what 
Elizara said, he's got no right to break up our family unit.' 
`Sweetheart, we don't know that that's his intention, Jeff replied.
     She caught his not quite suppressed thought.  `You!  You like 
whizzing about, oozing charm over everyone!  Traipsing about the galaxy 
like a .  . . a `Trapeze artist?' Jeff suggested mildly, not the least 
bit ashamed of his inclinations.  `And you can't fool me that you like 
someone else, even me, managing your Tower.
     Callisto is your bailiwick: it works more efficiently with your 
mindset than anyone else's.' She eyed him.  `Now, wait a minute, Jeff 
Raven, don't try those tactics on me!' `The last person in the world I 
can fool,' and he held out his arms to her.  We don't stay angry with 
each other, love.
     We know each other far too well.  He fitted his body to hers, her 
head under his chin and reassured her with every fiber of his being.
     `Besides, I'm curious as to what Reidinger has in mind for me now.
     I've been everywhere else and even I know that Central Worlds 
isn't planning to install a new Tower any time soon.' Faced with the 
inevitable, she lifted his capsule and thrust it efficiently toward 
Earth and, with a sigh, went back to work.
     Jeff was absolutely correct about Callisto being her Tower.  Being 
Altairian Prime had been a subtle victory and she had enjoyed working 
with old friends, and using her new awareness to facilitate a blending 
of the Talent required to operate such a major way point.  But Callisto 
was hers, her home, where she had met and loved Jeff, and where their 
son had been born.  The Tower personnel were an integrated team that 
had survived all her early foolishness and she now realized they had 
become the family she had lost.  Afra was more younger brother than 
colleague.  He honestly found Jeran an enchanting child which only 
reinforced her good opinion of him.
     Live stuff coming in, Afra's thought broke through her musing and 
instantly she caught the large personnel carrier as it arced up from 
Earth Prime.
     Hi, honey, and Jeff's mind, the initiating kinetic, met hers.
     Breeding animals for Deneb!  We got a bonus: maternity and 
paternity.
     FT&T policy, so don't raise your hackles.  I just blew all mine to 
restock the farm.  I'll be home tonight.
     She could hear that he had something of momentous proportions to 
tell her.  It was a long day for her, part of it waiting, part of it 
attending to Jeran's needs, but most of it wondering what sort of an 
assignment Reidinger was now laying on Jeff.  She'd be willing even to 
leave Callisto but she had to be with Jeff.
     You will be, love!  His quick thought answered her.  His mind 
resounded with elation.
     The Rowan was nursing Jeran when Jeff arrived back so 
surreptitiously that she didn't hear him until she felt his presence 
behind her.  Jeran let out a frightened squeak.
     Then Jeff opened up the blaze of his exultation and his son's eyes 
grew as round as his mother's as the import of Jeff's news clarified.
     `Earth Prime!' `Shhh!  Everyone'll hear you,' Jeff said, sliding 
on to the bed beside her and kissing her neck.
     `You mean, everyone'll hear you!' Then she absorbed the 
implications.  `Earth Prime?  Reidinger's Earth Prime.' Sadness tinged 
Jeff's face and mind.  `Mother caught it from Elizara.  We were too 
involved with Jeran here to notice.  Did you realize that Reidinger is 
110?' `Oh!' Jeff nodded.  `Precisely!' And he opened his mind to all 
that had occurred during that momentous interview in Reidinger's 
spacious hidden office in the FT&T Cube.
     How desperately Reidinger yearned to retire and enjoy a few years 
free of the stresses of such high position: a desire made more urgent 
after Siglen's demise for Reidinger was very much aware that his mind 
faltered from time to time out of sheer fatigue and the debilities of 
his advanced age.
     Yet he could not relinquish command to an unsuitable personality 
It would have been me?  The Rowan said, shrinking from the very notion 
of such onerous responsibility.  Patently Jeff regarded it as a 
magnificent challenge.
     Sorry to do you out of it, love.  . . He grinned, knowing the 
depths of her relief.  Idly he reached out to let Jeran `5
     fist curl around his fingers, his expression dotingly tender for 
an omnipotent Prime-elect.  Up until my call for help, you were being 
subtly groomed for the job.  David certainly wasn't capable, much less 
Capella.  When I think what I can now do for Deneb.
     `For Deneb?' the Rowan echoed, startled.  Then she began to laugh, 
loving him more devotedly than ever for that altruistic consideration.
     Small wonder he had become Reidinger's choice.
     Jeff nodded, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling with delight in her 
appreciation.  It simply isn't on for Earth Prime's native world to be 
second-rate, now is it?
     You demanded a Denebian Tower as a condition?
     Lover, and Jeff stretched out on the bed, punched a pillow 
comfortably behind his head, I could have demanded the moons of the 
solar system on a diamond chain and had them.  As you well understand, 
Central Worlds has to have the best Talent as its Prime.  His grin was 
particularly arch.  I don't think I was greedy or particularly 
difficult.  But Deneb will have a Tower.  You cobbled together the 
basic facilities: we'll improve them and send in teachers and 
assessors.
     Rakella's oldest boy bids fair to develop into a reasonable Prime.
     That is, until Jeran here is old enough to take over.
     The Rowan curled her arms protectively about her son.
     `My baby's not going to be marooned on Deneb!  You said you 
wouldn't let him be indentured to FT&T.' Jeff flipped over on his side, 
stroking her cheek to reduce her wrath, grinning in a fashion that she 
could never resist.
     `Love, the whole game plan just changed, in our favor.
     It'll be quite another matter if our children end up running FT&T, 
now won't it?  We'll raise `em the way Primes should be reared, in a 
large and loving family.  None of them will have to make do with a 
pukha.  Not while we live!  We're a team, love, with strengths and 
resources not given to many.  We'll make the best possible use of our 
Talents.' His expression was both entreating and serious.
     `On that score, let us have a meeting of minds.' Loving him as she 
did, that is exactly what they had.
     Jeran was a hearty six months old when the Rowan conceived again.
     She was amazed to be roundly scolded by everyone.
     `It's my body!' was her response.  `I feel fine so stop fussing at 
me.' Despite his increasing frailty, Reidinger's voice was not off a 
decibel in full bellow as he let her know in no uncertain terms that he 
considered she was putting both herself and the new child at risk by 
becoming pregnant so soon.
     Reidinger, you will butt out of my private life.  You are the last 
person who should have objections!  she responded in icy tones.  You 
made it abundantly clear to Jeff by the tonne on the hoof how much you 
appreciated Jeran.  What's your gripe?
     I will not have my best Prime The Rowan laughed heartily and 
without a tinge of jealousy.  Do get your facts straight, old dear.
     You told Jeff that HE was your best Prime.
     DON'T YOU DARE INTERRUPT ME --No, I shouldn't, should I?  the 
Rowan replied meekly.  It's Sooooo bad for your blood pressure or heart 
or lungs or cranium or whatever.  So you be a good boy and take some of 
that tonic and mind your Tower.  While you still can She felt him 
gathering himself for another blast and then suddenly, he was silent.
     For a heart-stopping moment, the Rowan wondered if she had gone 
too far.
     No, I told him it was our business, Jeff reassured her, and then 
went on in another mental tone entirely, but even Mother gave herself a 
year between pregnancies.
     The Rowan, rather too sweetly: I thought you wanted to come home 
tonight to your loving wife and adoring son?
     There was another pause.  I will be home and I will discuss it 
with you.
     Another of those times, the Rowan thought to herself testily, when 
a man thinks he knows more about maternity than someone who has borne a 
child.  So she decided just how to handle him this evening before he 
could handle her.
     She hadn't meant to get pregnant again so soon, but Reidinger 
dispatched Jeff to check on this or that Terran installation, or to the 
Moon, and then the big Mars substation, and the more important Asteroid 
Wheels.  Jeff had to be introduced to all the Governors as well as the 
more important members of the Nine-Star League.
     Consequently, when he was on Callisto, they tended to make up for 
opportunities lost.
     `I've had to sit through some of the dreariest meetings,' he told 
her wearily.  `It ought to be a prerequisite to high government office 
that the incumbent be at least a T-4.
     That would halve the time spent in politicking and correctly 
aligning power balances.' `I didn't realize that Reidinger had to deal 
with that kind of administrative nonsense,' the Rowan said.  `No wonder 
the man is aged before his time.' `Oh, that isn't part of the FT&T 
Prime's function but as their apparent, I have to be displayed to all 
those who worry about leaving FT&T autonomous.  I've got to be shown to 
be the right sort of stuff and all that.  As it is, not all the League 
Ambassadors are convinced that an ex-colonist is the "right sort of 
person" to be entrusted with such grave responsibilities.
     Jeff's mobile face ran a gamut of the lugubrious, skeptical, or 
censorious expressions of his various detractors and had the Rowan in 
whoops.
     `Be glad you're stationed on Callisto,' he assured her and then 
turned his attention to more pressing matters: such as showing her how 
much he had missed her.
     Which was why she was pregnant now despite the fact that a Talent 
of her scope and strength was able to affect certain bodily functions.
     She had forgotten - well, neglected - to affect the possible 
outcome of the evening's pleasures.  The two children - this one, by 
the Rowan' 5
     choice, was female - would be close in age, yes, but the Rowan and 
Jeff would make certain that they were close in affection as well: 
another fringe benefit of strong Talent when properly directed.
     Rowan!  Jeff's urgent call reached her as she was feeding Jeran 
his supper.  Even her name was colored with excitement - and more.
     Mother wants me to come out to Deneb.
     Something's troubling her.  She said you and Elizara had a hint of 
it, too, just before Jeran was born.  Do you remember?
     Suddenly the Rowan did, though she had given the incident no 
further thought, being involved in maternal duties.
     Elizara felt something but couldn't define it.  Any more than I 
could beyond anger and pain.  At the time, Isthia thought it wasn't 
even human.
     I'd better go and see what I can hear.
     The Rowan gave a mental snort which Jeran picked up, regarding his 
mother with rounded eyes and a certain babyish pout of anxiety.  She 
soothed him on one level and responded to Jeff on another.  Your 
mother's got the `long ear' Which, in her son, has been considerably 
refined, sharpened, strengthened, horned, and is completely 
operational.
     Maybe now is the time to pester Isthia to train early.
     Jeff returned to Callisto the following morning, arriving by his 
own gestalt with the first batch of inbound drones.
     Hi, darling.  Where've you stashed our son?  Ah, with you.
     Look, I'm going to bathe and eat, then I'll join you.  I'm twelve 
hours behind Callisto's day.  His buoyant mental tone reassured her 
that whatever Isthia had heard' could not be of an urgency Jeran was 
asleep when Jeff reached the Tower.  She continued her grab and thrust, 
keeping the generators at a high peak.  He waited to join her until she 
had handled the outward bound freight.  He brought up cups of the 
sweetened drink she liked, handing her one, kissing her forehead, 
before pausing to stare down at their sleeping son, a doting expression 
on his face.
     `He doesn't look like anyone in my family,' he remarked and not 
for the first time.
     `He looks like himself, Jeran Gwyn-Raven.  Well?' She regarded him 
over the rim of her cup.
     `Well, I don't know what upset my mother,' and he perched on the 
console, one arm across his chest, the other supporting his cup.  `I 
didn't hear a blessed thing.  But Rakella said she did, too, and 
Besseva Eagle, who's been ninety-eight per cent accurate in all her 
precogs, thinks there is trouble on its way to us.' He made an immense 
circle with his free arm.  `Immense trouble.' `The beetles wouldn't 
come back for more.  Would they?' That would account for the anger and 
pain I felt.
     `Beetle anger?  Beetle pain?' Jeff was close to laughter at the 
suggestion.  `Though they might well have been annoyed at the loss of 
two advance assault vessels.
     However, from what the specialists have deduced to date, they had 
a hivelike societal structure - our merge saw eggs in the ship, 
remember, and we found hundreds in the space debris - at various stages 
of larval development for different types of beetles.  Hive societies 
don't tend to emotions: workers, drones, queens, whatever, do exactly 
what they were bred to do.' `Yes, but there was sentience of some sort 
directing the three vessels that attacked Deneb.  That oversized beetle 
we saw in the protected inner chamber of the ship?  The queen.  Could 
it have been intelligent enough to direct the others?' `Hmm.  Tactics 
did change, was Jeff's grudging admission.
     `Beetles tend to be tenacious,' the Rowan added, though `tenacity' 
was certainly more of a trait than an emotion.
     Jeff shrugged.  `They can come back, angry, hurt, or merely 
tenacious, any time they care to have more of the same.  And when they 
get anywhere near the perimeter of League Space, alarms will ring all 
over our sphere of influence.' `I'd've chalked it up to prenatal 
nerves,' the Rowan went on, still trying to analyze the faint emotions 
she had perceived, `except that Isthia heard it, too.' `Isthia's 
maternal sensitivity is exceedingly acute,' Jeff agreed but his tone 
also assured the Rowan that he was not going to make the mistake of 
dismissing the incident.
     Rowan?  It was Isthia's tone, stronger than her usual mental 
voice, have I caught you at a bad time?
     Jeran and I are having a swim, the Rowan replied, not slow to 
catch the anxious undertones to that deceptive query.  What's wrong?
     Whatever IT is is getting stronger and more am:nous.  Her worry 
was deep.  Rakella and Besseva concur, and eve'y woman with any modicum 
of Talent on this planet is beginning to display anxiety symptoms.
     You'd think the planet was populated by viragoes the way tempers 
are flaring for no reason at all.  Rakella and Besseva are merged with 
me to make this contact!
     And here I thought you'd yielded and taken some training!
     The Rowan deliberately spoke in a light vein.
     Now I wish I had.  I shan't be so perverse :f we get out of this!
     Even as she spoke to Isthia, the Rowan had risen from the pool and 
thrown towels around her son's wriggling body and her own.
     I take it no masculine minds have been touched by this phenomenon?
     the Rowan asked, deftly inserting Jeran into his padded pants.
     She also assembled some travel requirements for them both.
     That's it precisely.  Isthia's reply was grim.  The male minds 
don't hear a twitch.  Not that they won't listen to those of us who do!
     Callisto is occluded right now so I'll call a day of rest.  I 
think I'll bring Mauli with me.  She's a keen echo finder even Mick 
isn't present.  Jeffs on Procyon.  Be with you soon.
     The Rowan did not find afra or Ackerman as cooperative about what 
they termed a `rash and impulsive venture' `Mauli will do anything you 
ask,' Ackerman said testily, `but I'm damned if Afra and I will take 
the responsibility for you two, and Jeran, baring off to Deneb without 
at least checking with Jeff.' `I can't disturb Jeff in that meeting on 
Procyon right now.  And if I have to, Brian, I can also launch myself 
and Mauli without a gestalt,' the Rowan replied, gesturing for Mauli to 
settle herself in the double capsule.  She handed Jeran over and faced 
her critics.  `Now, will you stop being overprotective and run up the 
generators?  You both know that Isthia wouldn't put me, or Jeran, in 
jeopardy but if she wants me on Deneb, she's earned the right to my 
assistance at any time.  Hasn't she?' `At least clear it with Jeff,' 
Ackerman replied in a request that was nearly a plea.
     Jeff Isthia wants me on Deneb.  The situation is hotting up.
     Really?  Should I come?  She could sense that he was only 
half-listening to her.  He was at a meeting but not bored.
     I'm taking Jeran and Mauli.
     He's old enough for a long `port.
     Afra and Ackerman had to accede to her orders then, but she knew 
both were uneasy.  But then, they always were when she wanted to `port 
anywhere: even when she was now undisturbed by the process.
     Call this an inspection tour by the Denebian Prime-to-be, Afra, 
and don't worry, dear friend, the Rowan said, lightly touching Afra's 
forearm so she could impose assurance on him.
     He gave a shrug and a wry smile, then helped her into the double 
carrier beside Mauli.  Brian's scowl did not abate as the canopy locked 
shut.  Then he turned on his heel and returned to the Tower, Afra 
following him.
     Though this would not be Jeran's first `port, for Jeff had taken 
him out beyond Jupiter on several occasions to accustom his son to the 
sensations, it would be his longest.
     He spent the transfer gurgling and enthusiastically waving his 
arms.  He registered Isthia's welcoming mind-touch with an extra 
chirrup.  He liked his grandmother and his mind associated her with 
soothing sounds and contacts.
     Did you catch that, Mauli?  the Rowan asked, sometimes unable to 
restrain her pride in Jeran's obvious Talent.
     Mauli's smile broadened into a laugh.
     Isthia brought them with no more than a light bump into the cradle 
at the fine new Tower, bathed in spotlights at this time of Deneb's 
night, its big, new generators humming idly.  The Rowan had a nostalgic 
moment for what she had contrapted out of sheer necessity but then 
Isthia, Rakella, and a third woman whom the Rowan identified by 
mind-touch as Besseva emerged from the facility.  Besseva reminded the 
Rowan so forcefully of Lusena, physically and mentally, that she 
experienced a brief jolt at the contact.
     I am then doubly honored, Besseva said, inclining her head 
slightly toward the Callisto Prime.
     `And no problems with this fellow in a long `port, I gather,' said 
Isthia, taking her grandson from his mother and settling him on her hip 
as she had her own children.  `I am truly grateful to you, Rowan, and 
to you as well, Mauli, for humoring me.
     `Humoring you?  Spare me that, Isthia!' The Rowan let her 
exasperation color her mind as well as her voice.  `Since you've 
obviously left the generators on, let's see what we can plumb out 
there.  I brought Mauli for that echo effect she has.' `Night is the 
best time to sense the presence,' Isthia said.
     `And we have!' Besseva stated firmly, and Rakella gave a single 
emphatic nod of her head.
     All three Denebians emanated a tenseness, a barely controlled fear 
that bordered on terror.  The Rowan was seized with an urgent need to 
either deny or confirm it.
     The Tower had been enlarged as well as modernized and, judging by 
the blank west wall, clearly the architect intended to expand in that 
direction when the time came for Deneb to have a full Prime Station.
     `That's right, Jeran, look about you!  This may one day be your 
domain,' the Rowan said, grinning archly at Isthia, trying to 
neutralize their fears so she could be objective.  They felt so 
strongly that it was, for once, difficult for the Rowan to maintain her 
integrity.
     `Poor baby!  What a fate!' Isthia stroked his cheek and then 
placed him in one of the spare couches, lightly strapping him safely 
in.  `He shouldn't be bothered there.' She gestured for the others to 
take the conformable seating grouped at the main console.  Then she 
courteously gestured for the Rowan to initiate the gestalt.
     As the Rowan felt the ready response of the bank of generators, 
she grinned again at the change from that poor wheeze of an affair.
     Isthia had been practicing, for her mind smoothly blended with 
hers: then Rakella, Besseva, and a little timidly, Mauli merged.
     Where?  the Rowan asked.
     Isthia pointed to her right, slightly west of true north, at one 
of the more brilliant constellations in the Denebian skies.  The Rowan 
didn't know its astronomical designation for she was more familiar with 
the patterns in altairian or Callistan skies.
     Though I don't think that star system is where it originates, 
Isthia added.  But it is coming from that general area of space.
     The Rowan let her augmented mind range beyond Deneb's night 
horizon, beyond its moons, far, far out, past Deneb's heliopause, into 
the blackness of space.  This merge was vastly different to the one she 
had led to Deneb's help nearly two years ago.  This time she was the 
focus.  Suddenly Yegrani's Sight came back to her, and the Rowan 
wondered if perhaps she had erred in believing that the Sight had been 
fulfilled with Deneb's trouble and Jeff's arrival.
     You have not yet been the focus of which Yegrani spoke, said the 
quiet voice of Besseva, nor was she ambiguous.
     Deneb's danger was not yours.  This is!
     What the Rowan felt then was not prompted by Besseva's voice or 
words.  There was inarguably something dangerously evil inexorably 
heading toward Deneb's system.
     No, not evil!  Determined!  And determined in a sense that gives 
new potency to such a mind-set.  The thian section of the mind merge 
qualified the emanation.
     Rowan: The emanation has no pain now.  No anger.
     Besseva: In time all pain heals and the anger has been sublimated 
into purpose.
     Rowan: What IS it?  Though she could discern intense and 
unrelenting mental activity, she could `see' or `read' nothing: she 
could detect no string of thoughts being processed, only the moil of 
determination.
     Rakella: `It' is not single!
     Mauli, in a surprised tone: `It' is a many.  And they frighten me!
     They are.  . . oily.
     Isthia, bleakly: This `many' exudes a purpose of destruction.
     Enough to agitate even an insensitive mind.
     Rowan, recalling vividly that earlier merge: The survivor was sent 
off in that general direction!
     Isthia: The merge didn't follow it to its destination?
     Rowan, with a sigh for that error: At the time our actions seemed 
sufficiently punitive.
     2% Isthia: All should have been destroyed.
     Rowan: Hmm, yes, a bad judgment error.  We didn't succeed in 
scaring them off We should have plunged all into the sun and saved a 
lot of cleaning up.  Were you in that merge, Isthia?
     Isthia: No, and there was a thread of droll amusement m her tone.
     I was otherwise occupied.  This time we will see the threat 
removed completely.
     Rowan: We will not err this time.  Only what will be a sufficient 
deterrent?
     Besseva: I respectfully suggest total annihilation.
     Rowan: That notion will be totally unacceptable to the League 
Councillors.  Even the aliens are nonviolent.
     Isthia: Drastic measures must be considered.  The hive mentality 
obviously didn't respond to a fear stimulus.  Just what sort of 
intelligence guides this second assault?
     Mauli: Would it be wrong to assume that, as in other insect 
colonies, the female, or egglaying gender, is the guiding force?
     Ensuring the perpetuation of the species?
     Isthia: A logical assumption since we apparently sense what the 
masculine mind does not.
     Rowan: I resent reacting to a beetle.
     Isthia, drolly: Did you see the reconstruction the specialists 
made of one of those `beetles'?  BIG!  Even one of the smaller types 
would be a formidable opponent!  Don't think of them as beetles.  Think 
of them as BIG, dangerous animosities.  I should not like to have to 
defend myself against them on Deneb's surface.
     Besseva, in a dry voice: Especially as Deneb has little in the way 
of defensive weaponry.  Hunting anns wouldn't even dint their body 
covering.  If we can assume that we are dealing with a hive society 
Isthia: I think we can.  Remember the eggs among the debris of the 
ships that were destroyed.
     Besseva: And with a species that will pour huge numbers of 
determined troops into a surface assault, they must be halted before 
they reach the planet!  Or we'd better think of evacuating Deneb right 
now.
     Isthia, in unalterable defiance: We are NOT abandoning Deneb.
     Mauli: I sense something so mass:ve .  . . and broke off, tucking 
her fear as far away from consideration as she could.
     Rowan: That has not escaped any of us, Mauli.
     Isthia, wryly: D'you think we'll get the Fleet this time without a 
lengthy argument, Rowan?
     Rowan: You better believe it!  Even :if I have to `port every unit 
myself Besseva: Be a little more subtle, Rowan.  Just tell Earth Prime 
that you refuse to leave Deneb until naval reinforcements arrive!
     Isthia, laughing: Reidinger won't risk you!
     Mauli: Shouldn't we withdraw?  They might sense us.
     Rowan: I doubt it, Mauli.  There is no sense of awareness of 
anything other than their purpose.  Deneb.  And that's the reason we 
sense them: their purpose is aimed at us!  Single mindedness has 
certain disadvantages.  I just wish I could perceive more details, 
unravel the mechanics of their thought processes.  The Fleet will want 
details.
     Isthia: So will Reidinger and Jeff But there are none.
     They will have to trust our perceptions.  She sounded dubious.
     Rowan: Oh, they'll believe us!  Why have a dog and bark yourself?
     Isthia: Say what?
     Rowan, chuckling: One of Siglen's little sayings.
     The Rowan began to relax the focus of the merge and was astonished 
to see daylight flooding through the Tower windows.  Jeran was sound 
asleep, his right thumb pulling down his lower lip.  A quick glimpse 
reassured the Rowan that his mind held no trace of any neglect, that he 
had fallen asleep unfelled.
     `I hadn't realized we'd be gone so long,' Isthia said with 
apology, looking at the station timer.  `Five hours!  You took us 
farther than we'd been able to reach.
     The Rowan stretched, easing stiff muscles as she swung her legs 
off the conformer.  The others were doing the same.
     Rowan!  Jeff s tone bordered the peremptory.  Where have you been?
     I couldn't reach you at all!
     Well, have a good look then, my love, because Deneb's the target 
once again.  Only this time we won't stop with half measures, the Rowan 
replied and opened her mind to him.
     That's fascinating!  Jeff replied when he had absorbed the total 
report.  Nor can anyone ignore this as a case of mass hysteria if you 
and my mother are involved.  And Besseva, he added hastily, with a 
mental grin of apology.  These days I know why Reidinger couldn't just 
call up the Fleet when I wanted him to during the last invasion.  But I 
also know which panic buttons to press to initiate a Red Alert.
     Isthia, at her drollest: If what we sense about the incoming 
vessel is even marginally accurate, the Fleet wouldn't be of any use.
     Except psychologically.
     Jeff: Mother!  You'll crush their fragile egos!  Surely they're 
good for something!
     Isthia: Well, they might be able to spot the thing when it gets 
closer but, to be perfectly candid, I don't want that thing to get much 
nearer!  It's causing sufficient havoc as far out as it is and I dread 
what it'll do up close.
     Jeff: It would be wisest to nip its pretensions as soon as 
possible.
     Isthia, patiently: It's not an `it', Jeff It's a `many', a 
feminine `many' Jeff: Then we are in trouble!  And he was only 
half-joking.
     Are you staying on there, Rowan4ave?  His thought was only for her 
and its wisffulness made her smile.
     Rowan, with a quick look at Isthia: No, I should return to 
Callisto.  I can nag people just as easily from there.  I'll leave 
Mauli to help keep in touch.  But I assure you, if we don't get 
immediate action, I'll come right back here so the League will be 
forced to take this seriously.  These creatures may be heading for 
Deneb, but to have such animosities anywhere in the League's sphere of 
influence endangers ALL!
     Isthia: It's proceeding at a frightening rate of speed.
     Jeff: I know.  I'll persuade Admiral Tomiakin to lend me a fast 
scout ship for reconnaissance.
     Rowan: With you on it?
     Jeff: Who better?  A grin tickled the edges of her mind.  I didn't 
call `wolf the first time so they'll listen to me.
     Isthia said aloud and screening her thought: `Men!  They have to 
have their place in the scheme, don't they?' Rowan: You'd better be 
sure there's a large female complement on that scout.  Or better still, 
take Mauli with you.
     She knows what to listen for.
     Jeff: Your wish is my command!
     `I think everyone is going to have to be in on this defensive 
action,' the Rowan said soberly, `or that thing is going to land on 
Deneb.  And all too soon.' The Rowan knew she had only put into words 
what the others thought but saying it out loud did nothing to relieve 
the tension.
     `I will arrange a watch rota,' Isthia said.  `There are enough of 
us to do that.  And Rakella, you can see about some sort of medication 
to dampen the reaction.' `Not every woman is experiencing it,' Rakella 
remarked.
     Isthia grinned in sudden humor.  `So we find out just how much of 
Deneb's female population have traces of Talent.  `Tis an ill wind that 
blows no-one good.' Rowan, very privately: You're amazing!
     Isthia, equally private: Take the good with the bad.
     Then Jeran awoke to be fed, so Isthia hustled mother and son back 
to the rebuilt Raven Farmhouse, where the stock purchased by Jeff s 
paternity bonus grazed on the lush hybrid grass that had thrived in 
Denebian soil.  What surprised the Rowan about the new residence was 
that most of it was built underground.
     `Once bitten, twice shy,' Isthia replied with a shrug and a grin, 
`as well as being sound home-engineering: energy efficient, cooler in 
the summer and warmer in the winter.
     And I feel a lot safer.  Doesn't mess up the landscape either.
     You'll find more of Deneb City underground.
     We'll overfly it on our way back to the Tower.  Now, let's feed 
this hungry young'un.  And us!  Those long night watches make me 
ravenous.' Once back on Callisto, the Rowan allowed Reidinger to scan 
her memories of the merge.  That he was seriously disturbed was obvious 
by the fact that he hadn't so much as roared over her abrupt departure.
     When she mentioned Yegrani's Sight as verification, he became 
testy.
     You were the merge, he said.  You saved Deneb and you've traveled.
     I was NOT the focus at Deneb.  Jeff was.
     Reidinger made a rude noise.  Damned clairvoyants are so clever 
with their ambiguities.
     REIDINGER, you are not ignoring this!  It was her turn to bellow.
     Fat chance I'd have of that when that aggressive Denebian husband 
of yours is agitating Fleet High Command as well as everyone he's ever 
met on the League Administrative Panel.
     Reidinger sounded disgusted yet there was a hint of pride in his 
voice, which made the Rowan grin.  Should never have introduced him so 
universally.  He's got Fleet in a flap but the units that were 
stationed around Deneb are insisting that they get the chance to 
reconnoiter.
     Rowan: Jeff said he'd be leading the way.
     Reidinger was silent for a moment.  He hasn't wasted an ounce of 
that ingratiating charm of his over the last six months.
     He smothered exactly the right egos with it.  Consequently he can 
manipulate the various authorities and agencies that would be involved 
in an operation of this magnitude.  And cut through delays.
     The Rowan grinned to herself at Reidinger's grudging admission.
     She had learned a thing or two from Jeff about dealing with 
bureaucracy.  More importantly, he could manipulate at a high level.
     With Deneb the ostensible target for this new assault, he had 
every reason to marshal his Talent.
     Jeff was very effective: he managed a squadron to reconnoiter.
     And, obeying his wife's advice, specified a high complement of 
female crews on two of the ships.
     Damnedest thing I ever heard of, Reidinger complained to the 
Rowan, Jeff s the most perceptive, and certainly the strongest Talent 
I've ever encountered - and he had to go some to exceed you, Angharad 
Reidinger had taken to calling her by her real name since Jeran's birth 
because `Angharad' sounded more feminine than a tree name - so he's got 
xenobiologists from all parts of the League screaming for details about 
these feminine menaces oil yours.
     The female of the species has always been more deadly than the 
male, Reidinger, the Rowan replied, though she couldn't remember where 
she'd heard that maxim.  It didn't have the same ring as one of 
Siglen's.
     Defending its young.  I suppose even beetles can have maternal 
imperatives!  If it IS the same blasted beetles.  His grumbling tone 
faded from her mind.
     As the Rowan turned back to some minor domestic chores -`porting 
fresh water from a Welsh artesian well for the Callisto cisterns, the 
weekly supply of comestibles and special household orders of those who 
lived on the Station - she waited with half a mind open for Jeff's 
progress report.
     We're beyond Deneb's heliapause by two A Us, he said.  I brought 
the squadron out myself Fine Captain, excellent crew, he added with a 
mental picture of the ZAMBIA's bridge and the exceedingly handsome 
woman occupying the Captain's chair.  The officers seated at consoles 
were all reasonably young and attractive, too.  Picked less for 
pulchritude and more for vestiges of Talent.  You have no competition, 
my love!
     I won't daign: that with a reply.
     Then shall I be magnanimous and say they confirm your perceptions 
about the approaching vesseL Not all the crew's female but those who 
are have exhibited the same symptoms Isthia reports en masse on Deneb.
     I'm feeling distinctly left out of all this and I'm supposed to be 
highly perceptive!
     Be glad you don't pick up on the aura, Jeff' You can really call 
it evil, or even truly malicious, but it emanates an intensity - an 
anticipation of destruction - that is frightening.  If I were a 
barquecat, every hair on my body would be standing stark out.  And 
don't call the phenomenon `it'.  Mauli echoed a `many' - a many which 
will not be diverted from their purpose.
     Exactly how Captain Lodjyn summed up her impression of the intent 
of this Many.  And they're unequivocably headed toward Deneb.  I may be 
slightly paranoid about what happens to my planet, but I really can't 
quite make myself believe the vessel is going through Denebian space 
for a shortcut when Deneb VIII will just happen to be in their way.
     What I can't understand is how they will avoid impaction at the 
speed they're going.  It takes time to decelerate from the speed at 
which they're now traveling.  Or maybe beetles stand multigravities 
better than us fleshy sorts?
     Rowan, sensing suspicious peripherals from Jeff s mind: Just what 
are you doing right now?
     Taking a look.  Too much `noise' on the ZAMBIA.
     She didn't like the thought of him in a vulnerable personal 
capsule, far from the nebulous safety of a multiweaponed scout vessel.
     You should have taken the Captain with you.  You won't hear a 
thing.
     I did and Mauli's along.  And we're in the Captain's gig.
     I've some sense for a mere man, my love.
     You reassure me no end!
     Jeff's tone turned wry.  I thought this would, cariad.
     Mauli's echo is going to come in real useful.
     Like never before!
     He was silent though his mind kept contact.  So, putting everyone 
on the Station on a Yellow Alert status, she left the Tower, with afra, 
Mick, and Ackerman in charge, to attend to her son.  It was soothing to 
feed Jeran his lunch before settling him down for a nap.  Most of the 
time she did not have to reinforce his natural rhythm with a mental 
suggestion, but he had been a little off normal schedule since the 
Deneb `portation so she gave him a nudge.  She gazed down at him for a 
long moment - he was endlessly enchanting.  Then she stretched out on 
her bed, one arm flung across the side which Jeff usually occupied, and 
relaxed, clearing her mind.
     WOW!  The awe in Jeff's voice was sufficient to rouse her totally 
from the light doze she had entered.
     Mauli's reaction was less awed and considerably more fearful.
     Jeff: We seem to have a lumpy-surfaced oval planetoid rolling 
towards us at speeds which make even gestalt assisted movements seem 
crawler-paced.  It is currently twenty AUs out but closing fast enough 
I like.  That defense ring which Fleet is so proud of is going to be no 
use against a vessel this size.  More like a flea trying to swat one of 
those large men Proceyon breeds.  Easy, Mauli.  I don't care what 
instrumentation it might have, it can't see us.  We're less than a 
mote.  You may feel it, but :f it had sensed us, we'd really be motes.
     The Rowan, briefly touching Mauli's panicked mind to reassure the 
girl, heard Jells chuckle.
     This may only be a captain's gig but its scanner's the best so 
Fleet'll have the printout as confirmation.  I'm getting no readings on 
mass or composition.  Scanner says `no accurate assessment possible at 
this distance'.  That's a lot of comfort.
     Tut-tut!  And it's running dark.  Ignoring the basic laws of 
spaceman ship!  That seems to be upsetting the Fleet more than its 
size.
     No, that's a cover for the pure funk even admirals are feeling 
over my evaluation.  They're making contradictory preliminary 
assessments, demanding that I increase the resolution.  I did: it's on 
the max right now.  What do they think I've got on this skiff?  A 
portable sun for illumination?
     The Rowan refined the contact with Jeff sufficiently to see, 
through his optics, what he and Mauli were viewing on the skiff's 
scanners: a darkness that flowed across the backdrop of stars.  Quite a 
Leviathan, isn't it?  I understand why adrenaline is pumping through 
your veins Leviathan?  An interesting choice of phrase, my love.
     Jeff Raven, if you go in any closer to that.  . . that menace, 
I'll kill you, she added, abruptly seized by a gut-generated terror.
     Jeff chuckled.  That'll teach me a lesson.  Rest easy, cariad, I'm 
as close as I care to get, and closer than Mauli or the good Captain 
Lodjyn think w:se.
     Do they hear anything useful?
     Well, Mauli does and she doesn't.  She's let me merge and I can 
sense great industry and bustle, orderly activity, and some areas with 
no sound at all.  I think the damned planetoid was once just that and 
has been hollowed out for its travels.  Mauli's picking up a lot more 
than I am: six or more different mental entities.  His tone became 
attenuated as he spoke to her privately.  Mauli's in a muck sweat of 
terror from the level of `dedication' .  . . purpose is too weak a 
word.  . . that she perceives.  I'm taking us back before the poor kid 
dissolves.
     Even the Captain's sweating and throwing out fear phenomes.
     Rowan: When Deneb was attacked, the merge didn't sense any great 
dedication, purpose, or intelligence from the occupants of those 
vessels.
     Jeff: You're assuming that the ship we deported from our system 
went scimming back to this big Mama?
     Rowan: Why not?  You thought then that they were softening Deneb 
up for an invasion.  Why couldn't they have been preparing the planet 
for the arrival of what's bearing down on Deneb now?
     Jeff: And the `mother' ship is why only females sense its intent?
     Rowan: Don't you dare snicker!
     Jeff: Believe me, dear heart, whatever reservations I might have 
privately entertained at the outset are null and void.  We are in big 
trouble and I thank all the Powers of Balance for my mother's long ear!
     As it is, we're going to have to plan our campaign against that 
Leviathan very carefully.  That's the hard place, and Deneb's the rock 
and we - Mankind - are between it.  There was a brief pause.  And so 
I've just informed Earth Prime!  This time he also has no reservations.
     In the second pause, Jeff chuckled wryly.  However the League may 
well just argue us all to our deaths.  Would you believe it?  They are 
now debating the ethical point of whether we have the right to 
interfere with the approaching vessel simply on the grounds that it 
might - get that, might - have hostile intentions?
     Rowan, aghast: You can't mean it?
     Jeff, sardonically: Now just how do we prove hostile intent?  They 
haven't launched any missiles - yet - that I can lob at Earth and scare 
the doubters.
     Afra: You said Leviathan is clearly on a course to Deneb, did you 
not?
     Jeff: Yes, Afra, I did and the squadron's computer all confirm 
that.  Unless this Leviathan decelerates when it reaches Deneb's 
system, present calculations confirm that it will smash right into 
Deneb VIII.  Captain Lodj# is extrapolating the repercussions of such a 
collision.
     Reidinger: It will NOT come to that!  Talent does not bust its 
balls for the Nine-Star League to have them disregard a considered 
warning of imminent invasion of a possibly hostile force of unknown 
potential.
     Jeff: And what have you in mind, Earth Prime?
     Reidinger: I am in conference with the Nine star League 
Councillors and you may rest assured that they will be persuaded to 
act, not argue.
     Ah, good!  My first order from the Councillors is to dispatch the 
flagship Beijing to the Denebian system.  It will deploy one-half All 
beyond Deneb's helipause, the Welcome and Identity modules which were 
so successful with the Antarians sentients not dissimilar to the 
beetle-type species of the first assault.
     Rowan, exasperated: Of all the stupid face-saving ploys!
     Haven't we TOLD you that the main sentience of this vessel is 
motivated by destruction, the annihilation of Deneb VIII?
     Reidinger: Oh, I agree with your evaluation, Angharad.  I am 
further ordered to dispatch the Moscow, the London, and the Newyork to 
redeploy defensive mines one-half inside the heliopause.
     Jeff: Bluebells all in a row?
     Reidinger: Under the premise that a warning shot across the bows 
ought to be universally understood.
     The Rowan snorted.
     Jeff: Remind the captains of those vessels to get the hell out of 
the way before that thing gets within fifty-thousand klicks of the 
space mines.
     Reidinger: Now we wait!
     Rowan and Jeff in simultaneously expressed disgust: Wait?
     Reidinger: Wait!  That's the trouble with you youngsters.
     You don't know when to bide your time.
     Jeff: Not when it's my planet that's the target.
     Reidinger: It was before and you were rescued.  However, in 
addition to my official instructions, and Reidinger paused 
significantly, I have sent out a discreet alert to all Primes and 
Talent above grade 4, regardless of their discipline.  Does that 
precaution reassure you?
     Jeff, diffidently: Not exactly, for I fail to see what Talent will 
be able to do against that Leviathan!
     Rowan: Alen for what action?
     Reidinger, malicious chuckle: I thought you'd grasp the essentials 
more quickly.  Mull it all over, will you, while we're waiting.  And, 
in this interval, Jeff, I want you to proceed to Deneb.  Angharad, 
please join him there but I would request that your son remains on 
Callisto.
     Jeff: Now, wait a minute Rowan, beginning to catch a glimmer of 
what Reidinger held so tightly in his most private mind: No, Jeff I 
should be on Deneb to augment Isthia.  Then as soon as we know and 
Jeran is safer away from the furor.  It could overload him.
     And Reidinger most certainly doesn't want that, do you, Peter?
     Reidinger in a growl: No!
     The Rowan did not like leaving Jeran behind: She would miss him 
keenly but, between the other women on the Station and Afra, he would 
be lovingly supervised.  So she settled in her capsule and calmly 
waited for the generators to hit the proper revolutions before she, 
with Afra and Mick assisting, `ported to Deneb.  When she entered the 
Denebian Tower, she noticed the signs of stress in the faces of those 
who had maintained the Watch.
     `If we swallow any more sedatives, we won't be able to hear a 
damned thing,' Isthia said bleakly.  However, as she gave the Rowan a 
quick embrace of welcome, her incredible energy seemed undiminished, 
bright red and tangy.  `There's a bottom to the well and a long dry 
period if I dip in too often.  But those things will NOT have my 
planet.' The red of her deepened.
     `What does Besseva say now?' the Rowan asked, missing the 
clairvoyant from those on duty.
     Isthia gave a diffident shrug.  `She's gone into a deep trance, 
trying to penetrate the shell of that - what did Jeff say you named it?
     Leviathan-' she went on when the Rowan put the word in her mind, 
`to see what's inside.  It's damnably frustrating to have an unknown 
assailant.' `The Councillors wish to believe that they may not be 
hostile,' the Rowan said in a saccharine tone of voice.
     Isthia was not the only one in the Tower to have a poor opinion of 
that belief.  Then the Rowan took a spare couch and joined the minds 
merged on the approaching vessel.  It had shortened the distance to 
heliopause considerably Jeff: Get set to catch me, will you, loves?
     Isthia, privately: He must be tired if he's asking us for help.
     Rowan: All right, then, my fine lad, into the cradle you go!
     Jeff's step had none of its usual spring as he entered the Tower 
and dropped into the nearest chair.  Before Isthia could motion to one 
of the girls, the Rowan had obtained a glass of stimulant and, placing 
it in his hand, laid both of hers on his temples, transferring energy 
to him.  Closing his eyes, he accepted her gift, a loving smile turning 
up the corners of his mouth.  You always know what I need, dear heart!
     My profound gratitude.  I'll return the gift on demand.
     `How long before we get some action?' Isthia asked in a gruff 
voice.
     Jeff shrugged.  `The Fleet wants to make its war-game moves.  They 
believe in their invincibility.  I do not.' Rowan: Could a focus 
protect them?  Leviathan may have weaponary we can't perceive.
     Jeff: Not over the area of space where they've deployed, and it'd 
be damned bad tactics to group them together where we might possibly be 
able to shield them.  He gave a mirthless laugh.  The Councillors are 
certain that Leviathan will respond reasonably to the Welcome and 
identify modules.
     The Fleet are not so no:ve as to consider that likely.
     However, the good Admirals are confident that Leviathan will react 
to the presence of the mines.  Once Leviathan has demonstrated its 
weaponary against the mines, they will know how to defend us against 
it.
     Rowan: There are women Councillors Jeff: None with much more than 
an empathetical Talent and your report has frightened them from even 
the most discreet of direct contact.  The W & I modules were only 
deployed to pacify the non-aggressive element in the Council.
     Rowan: What :f Leviathan is duplicitous?
     Jeff laughed.  What?  Do you mean they'd respond sweetly to the 
Welcome and Ident: and then launch missiles once we let them advance 
`in peace?' Isthia, considering: The Many is definitely not as devious 
as that.  Single-minded is what those things are!  The Many all 
thinking along the same line.  Destroying what is in the way of their 
objective.
     The other women in the Watch concurred immediately.
     Isthia: And where is Mauli?
     Jeff: Resting.  Which she needed, and an example that I should 
follow.  Now, while I have the time.
     Jeff was back in the Tower when the first Welcome message was 
ignored.  There were ten in the string, each comprising sounds, 
signals, and signs that were thought to have universal significance.
     He hauled Rowan and Isthia away from what he called `their 
compulsive watching'.  He made them both sleep in the way that they had 
once forced him to rest and ignored their protests when they awoke.
     `My squadron has taken up positions behind Deneb's moons,' he told 
his mother and his wife as he watched them consume the hearty meal he 
had prepared for them.
     `It gives them a psychological sense of security!' He grinned.
     `Even the male complement on board all three destroyers are 
believers now!  And Leviathan has passed into the Denebian system 
proper, closing fast on the minefield.' He rubbed his hands together, 
his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.
     Isthia regarded the Rowan drolly.  `They're all alike!' `I beg to 
differ, Isthia,' the Rowan replied with great dignity, `this one has a 
few redeeming features.' `Yes, he has learned a thing or two from us, 
hasn't he?
     And I don't mean cooking.' `Why didn't you think to arrange a 
sleeping facility here, Mother?' Jeff asked as they `ported back to the 
Tower.  The watch was just changing, but the outgoing crew showed no 
signs of dispersing to their homes.
     Besseva: What is really needed is enough seating for those who 
don't wish to miss the action shortly to begin.
     Isthia: Oh, is that all?  Stacked metal chairs arrived on the 
landing.  Need more?
     Rakella answered this time: About a dozen more, cups, and say a 
case of a caffeine beverage and several of fruit juices.  It's going to 
be exciting and we'll need to keep blood sugar levels up.
     As well, the Rowan thought, entering the building, that the west 
section was empty of equipment for it shortly became a spectators' 
gallery.  They were quiet and their presence supportive.  Jeff sat at 
the console where screens linked up the three reconnaissance ships and 
two of the closer dreadnoughts, the Moscow and the London.
     Once she was settled in her couch, the Rowan nodded to Isthia and 
the two women, their minds strengthened by the gestalt, reached out 
into space.  Unerringly now they perceived the intruder.  It had 
reached the last of the Welcome devices.
     Isthia: Well, that's that.
     Rakella, tentatively: Maybe they just didn't understand any of the 
programs.
     Isthia: That's immaterial.  A pointed attempt to make 
communications deserves the courtesy of some response.
     Rowan: So much for the pacifist Councillors' good intentions.
     Reidinger, gently insinuating an ironic voice in both minds: It 
was worth a try, wasn't it?
     Isthia, giving a mental shudder: I suppose it salves conscience 
and looks good on the record.
     Reidinger: There was rather a large segment of our populations 
that bet that the intruder would shoot the devices up.
     Jeff: Thereby establishing a clearly hostile intent!
     Isthia: I keep telling you that hostile intent has already been 
unequivocably established!  Those beings are really alien.
     Jeff: Who's taking bets about their firing on the mines?
     Whoops!  I never laid any credit on that bet!
     In the next few moments the screens were hectic with reports from 
the dreadnoughts and the smaller courier ships.  The seeded mines were 
being demolished but not by Leviathan.  Scanners now registered the 
appearance of mobile units, originating from Leviathan and speeding 
toward the mines.
     The Rowan and Jeff simultaneously: Same sort of craft we destroyed 
two years ago!
     Reidinger: Score a point for Talent!  Fleet took nine seconds 
longer to identify.  ZAMBIA and her sister ships are demanding the 
chance to retaliate!
     The Rowan and Isthia: Do NOT permit them to engage!
     The Rowan: We'll need their minds!
     Reidinger: You figured it out then, Angharad?
     The Rowan: I did indeed!  But Leviathan must get close enough to 
hit the gravity well before it can be swung away from Deneb VIH Jeff, 
grimly: And we wait?
     Reidinger, equally as grim but with such a strong vein of 
assurance that the Rowan could feel Jeff relax: We wait for the right 
moment!
     Jeff composed a graphic display, the Fleet deployment and the 
Leviathan's mobile units, added the now measurable speed, mass, and 
composition of the invader, and grunted when the projection appeared.
     `Closing too bloody damned fast.  And if this master strategy of 
yours doesn't work?' Reidinger: Fleet elements have already destroyed 
or disabled seven of the fifteen destroyers Leviathan sent out.
     We've sustained some casualties.
     When he paused for too long, Jeff asked sharply: And * they're 
beetles, aren't they?  More of those damned beetles!
     Reidinger: So the initial unconfirmed reports suggest.
     Jeff let out a wild yell, startling everyone in the Tower.
     `They'll be making statues to your long ear, Mother,' he cried, 
hauling her into his arms and whirling her about.
     Isthia swatted futilely at him but his ebullience did much to 
lighten the tension in the Tower.  `Silly boy!
     Hearing was the easy part!' She pulled herself out of his arms, 
but not before giving his face an affectionate caress.
     The eyes of everyone in the Tower turned to the graph and the 
inexorable progress of the Leviathan past the cold and sterile outer 
planets of the Denebian system.
     Reidinger, righteous but sad: Two of our destroyers were wiped 
out.  Got too close to the Leviathan when they chased its defenders 
back.  Then it sent seeking missiles in the direction of the 
dreadnoughts.  All sustained damage, fortunately none have been 
crippled.
     Jeff: Does the Fleet still believe in the potency of its weaponry?
     Reidinger with a snort: Moscow and London are bracketing the 
intruder and have launched their first salvos.
     Isthia: They have to be seen to try, Jeff Stop that pacing.
     My nerves are bad enough without you clamping about like that.
     The Rowan: Save your energy, love.  Talent has the big guns and 
you're the bombardier!
     Jeff's eyes sparkled and his grin was pure malice.  I figured it 
out.  A bit slow, perhaps, but this local yokel finally caught on.
     I think, and the Rowan paused dramatically, you got past 
Reidinger's shield and sneaked a peek.
     Jeff, wearing an innocent expression: I?  Invade our Master's 
privacey?  I'm good but I'm not that good!
     The Rowan laughed aloud.  `I think you're better than good, love.
     If you'd waited, you'd've figured out what Reidinger has in mind.' 
It wasn't easy for anyone in the Tower to wait, watching the invader 
making its way deeper and deeper into Denebian space, knowing that the 
intersection of the planet's orbit and Leviathan's path was steadily 
approaching.  Isthia sent people home to rest, ordered food brought in, 
revised the Watch rota, sent Jeff and the Rowan to the Farm to sleep.
     She arrived at the Farm and sent them back to assume command.
     Additional squadrons were dispatched to harry Leviathan.  Though 
many strikes were made on the surface of the planetoid, the hits had no 
discernible effect on its inexorable path.
     The Rowan, on a thin band to Isthia: Those mothers must feel 
pretty invincible by now.
     Isthia: I sense that they are aware of the attacks.
     The Rowan: And smug!  I dislike that attitude.
     Besseva: It will suit our purpose.
     The hours dragged and the Rowan began to realize subjectively how 
Jeff must have felt during that first contact.
     Jeff: Bloody useless is how I felt.
     The Rowan: That's not how you came across to me.
     Jeff, giving her his special smile as he swiveled his chair around 
to her: And how did I come across to you?
     The Rowan regarded him for a long moment, smiling tantalizingly.
     Busy.  Preoccupied.  Annoyed with bureaucratic inefficiencey.
     Jeff said aloud, fidgeting, `I wish I was busy right now!
     Even a little bureaucratic inefficiency to maul would be a 
relief!' He sat bolt upright when he glanced at the monitor.  `Hey, 
that thing has slowed.  It's going to go into orbit around us!' `Why?' 
Isthia wanted to know.  `I will not believe its intentions are pacific 
!` Jeff was busily adding equations to the graph.  `No, not in that 
orbit.  Just far enough away for its missiles to be effective and too 
far for any retaliation from the ground if we had any missiles of any 
kind.  Ruddy bitches are going to pound hell out of us again!' No, 
they're not!  Reidinger's mental alert was almost anticlimactic when it 
echoed through the minds of everyone in the Tower.  Angharad 
Gwin-Raven, the A focus is yours.  Gather it!  Jeff Raven, collect the 
B focus, Prepare!
     With a single look of exchanged love, the Rowan and Jeff lay 
supine on their conformable couches and relaxed their bodies.  They 
didn't notice Rakella motioning for medical orderlies to attend them.
     Capella came querulously into the Rowan's mind first: This is 
becoming a habit: twice in as many years.  Really!  I do trust that we 
can dispose of this intrusive type for once and all.
     The Rowan: That is the intention!  The Rowan also read how nervous 
Capella was under the guise of complaint.
     She felt vulnerable, a sensation which the Talented rarely 
entertained.  To herself, the Rowan realized how much she had learned 
of herself, and others, in the two years since the first merge.
     With Capella came the surge of all the female Talents of her 
system.  Then the T-2 Jedizaira at the Betelgeuse Station added her 
strength; Maharanjani from Altair and, among those who joined from her 
native planet, the Rowan felt the touch of her stepsister and welcomed 
her.
     Earth's Talents, Elizara leading as she was familiar with the 
Rowan's mind, swelled the force greater.  Procyon sort of stumbled into 
the focus, apologizing but Piastera was a T-3 and, with Guzman as 
Prime, had had little chance to do much merging off-planet.
     Other minds joined in large and small groupings, led by T-2s or 
T-4s, tentatively at first, then melding in more comfort as they were 
integrated into the whole of female Talent throughout the Nine-Star 
League.  Their determination to halt the invaders vibrated more 
fiercely than the force that opposed them.  The Denebians came in last, 
Isthia, Rakella, and Besseva down to young Sarjie, thrilled to be 
admitted into this experience.  Then all were swallowed up in the final 
consolidation of the Rowan merge.
     Reidinger, and his voice seemed nearly a whisper to the totality 
that the Rowan had become: Now, Angharad, now!
     The Raven merge is available!
     Blazoned in the mass mind was the graph on the Tower's screen and 
steadily the Rowan merge moved out toward the invader.  Like a laser 
stabbing through space, the Rowan-mind gathered speed and reached the 
planetoid.  Various elements of the Rowan-mind noted composition, mass, 
confirmed that Leviathan had been made from a dead world, now a 
darkness reverberating with noisy machinery and the scuttling of myriad 
creatures, whose minimal understanding responded to commands directed 
at them from the central point in the cavernous vessel.
     The Rowan-mind: The `Many' are sixteen but some do not emanate 
much strength.  We interrupt and distract the `Many' NOW!
     There could be no defense against such a shaft of pure mental 
energy and the `Many' struggled briefly, withered and collapsed into 
mindlessness under the intensity of the force directed against them.
     The Jeff-focus shouted: NOW!  And every kinetic male Talent was 
joined with full gestalt from all available generators to divert 
Leviathan on to its final trajectory straight toward Deneb's primary.
     Later, in the many years of discussion provoked by an event which 
lasted six hours, it would be seen as the most perfect example of mind 
over matter: ineluctably simple when compared to weapon technology or 
the complexity of spaceship drives.  Once the Rowan-mind merge 
distracted and destroyed the minds of the huge, female reproducers, 
Leviathan lost its directive force: the diverse subordinates aimlessly 
continued in the routines for which they had been genetically designed, 
movements that had become pointless.
     Then the Jeff-mind merge exerted the kinetic energy to deflect 
Leviathan from its intended orbit above Deneb VIII.  Together both mind 
merges concentrated on speeding Leviathan on its new course.  When the 
gravitic pull of Deneb's sun caught the planetoid, the mind merges 
released it.
     Leviathan's plunge into the solar incandescence created a brief 
flare in the corona, recorded as the finale to this astounding 
exercise.
     The Raven-merge: That's what we should have done with the first 
attackers.
     The Rowan-merge: We did warn them!
     Slowly the individual minds retreated from their focus slowly 
because the mass elation of success had bordered on exquisite ecstasy, 
too sweet not to savor; slowly because the communion of so many minds 
was in itself a rare and unique experience.  Thanks were given and 
received.
     Farewells were tender between those who had just met; reluctant 
between old friends, united once again.  The last withdrawals were 
almost painful and the Rowan felt totally drained, her mind barren and 
echoing after such a surfeit.
     `Easy, Rowan,' said Rakella in a muted voice.  Even so the Rowan 
winced weakly.  `Just drift.  Jeff's fine.  Dean's with him.  You'll 
both recover after a good, long sleep.' I'm here, Jeff said and 
although he was still on the couch not a scant half meter from her, his 
tone was a whisper.
     This was a much longer affair than the first one.  Sleep!  I'll 
love you later.
     `I want the pair of you asleep by the time I count three,' Isthia 
said, her doughty self.
     That's not fair, the Rowan thought despite a hideous pounding in 
her reverberatingly empty head.
     Why's fair?!  One, two, three!
     When the Rowan woke much later, revived and refreshed, she found 
she was alone in the bed at the Raven farm.
     Jeff was called back to Earth, Isthia said.
     Reidinger?  The Rowan shot straight up in bed in her anxiety Back 
in form, aren't you, `but don't you dare reach for him!' Isthia added 
in a bellow from the kitchen area.  The man's all right.  I can't lie 
to you.  And she couldn't so the Rowan knew that Reidinger had 
collapsed.  He is very much alive and kicking!  Or so Elizara says, and 
she should know.
     But his efforts to move dreadnoughts and who knows what else out 
to Deneb at the last moment were too much for a man his age.  He, and 
Isthia's tone became scathing, had to do it himself to be sure all was 
set up for you and Jeff Elizara has him in hand and she said that you 
must rest today, too.  You've the baby to consider.  But you may rise 
and dress.
     `You need food first, talk later,' Isthia said, when the Rowan 
managed a slow and slightly unsteady entrance, `but you'll be happy to 
know that one of the beetle attack ships was captured intact.  When the 
boarding party cracked the main air lock, they found the creatures in 
some sort of stasis, frozen in position.  Xenobiologists are of the 
opinion that they couldn't even perform routine tasks without ongoing 
contact with Leviathan.  The biologists are ecstatic: they can study 
the species with impunity.  The Fleet has a complete ship to 
disassemble and all that technology to dismantle.  When I think that 
Jeff nearly died trying to collect just bits and pieces, I could spit 
acid!' As the Rowan listened to Isthia, she ate ravenously and with a 
single-mindedness that appalled her.  It was a trifle unnerving when 
*****she recalled a similar trait in the beetle `Many'.  Not that there 
was even the faintest possibility of contamination or even a transfer 
of mentality, the Rowan thought as she devoured the very excellent meal 
Isthia had prepared.  Not between such disparate thing mechanisms, 
despite that brief but devastating period of contact.
     She was just very, very hungry after yesterday's exertions.
     Isthia: Of course you are.  Nothing more.  Don't even think about 
it!  `You were splendid, by the way.  In case none thinks to tell you!' 
Then she touched the Rowan lightly on her shoulder.  `That was two days 
ago, by the way.' `Two days?' The Rowan dropped her utensils and stared 
at Isthia.
     `You're pregnant.  You needed more rest.  But I saw to it that 
Jeff slept a full twenty-four before I let them ship him back to Earth.
     He deserved that much!' `He deserves a lot more than twenty-four 
hours' sleep!' The Rowan glared at Isthia and wished there was someone 
she could really tell off!
     I'm that person, then, cariad!  And JerI's chuckle sounded in her 
mind, soothing her, caressing her as only he could.
     Your part of the merge was the difficult one.  I only had to push!
     `Yegrani was g,) Isthia went on, `you were the focus that saved us 
all.  The Leviathan "Many" had to be immobilized first.' Suddenly the 
Rowan had had quite enough of Yegrani's Sight.  `I suppose I should 
feel relieved that I've fulfilled it.' Fulfillment for you has only 
begun, was Jeff's fervent reply, suffusing her mind and body with his 
love - and his yearning.  Get yourself down w Earth as soon as you can, 
cariad.  And his bawdy chuckle gave her fair warning of his intentions.
     This is the beginning of the Gwin-Raven Dynasty: you, me, ours, 
us!
     THE END