Damia's Children

by Anne McCaffrey

  “You do seem to have a way of relieving the tedium of a long voyage, Prime!” And when Thian stared at him in surprise, he added, “Oh, pet her before she makes ribbons of your leg. She’s insatiable for attention when she’s gravid. Now, where were we?”

  “I think you were about to tell me off for my antics today . . .”

  “I was?” The captain’s eyebrows once again raised up in feigned surprise. “You know that for certain . . . Prime?” There was a delicate pause before the last word.

  “Sir, you must know that with a shield as tight as yours I couldn’t get a trace of your feelings about my . . . unorthodox behavior. Which,” and Thian lifted a hand in apology, “is as good as admitting that I tried, I know, though ethics do inhibit me from reading past the public mind unless given explicit permission. But with so much at stake . . .”

  “Indeed there is, young Lyon,” Ashiant said, leaning back in his chair as he watched the cat lower her head to her paws on Thian’s lap, “which is why I will ask you from now on to stick to the normal procedures whenever possible. You acted with promptness—if in a most unusual manner—in a situation that could have had tragic results. I see, however, that your . . . ah . . . skills will be more extensive than I had been led to believe. I feel much better about communications already after your exercise of ’Dini today.

  “First I’ll discuss with you the duties which Earth Prime felt you would be able to perform to ease the discomforts of this long voyage.” He held up strong thick fingers, ticking off the responsibilities one by one. “All interracial ship communications, which in all honesty have been damned sparse and misunderstood so far; all necessary transportation between ships in this squadron; receipt and dispatch of all capsules, drones, and personnel; instruction for all officers in basic ’Dini. Among us we’ve only enough to express ‘stop,’ ‘go,’ ‘port,’ ‘starboard,’ and ‘attack imminent: yellow and red alert.’” His eyebrows did a roller-coaster effect of disgusted dismay at such paucity. He waited significantly until Thian nodded hurriedly in acceptance. “I’ve a list,” and he passed over a comreader pencil file, “of all those on board who’ve tested Talented. Not many but I’m told that their abilities can augment yours in an emergency . . .” Ashiant paused again, eyebrows raised at Thian.

  “I’ll try to announce emergencies whenever possible, Captain,” he said meekly.

  “Emergencies never announce themselves beforehand, Prime,” Ashiant said, his sentence a long sigh of resignation. “However, you will discuss what might be demanded of them, preferably singly as what you have in your hand is exceedingly top secret,” and Thian quickly shoved the file into his breast pocket, pressing the closing tab tight. “We have, unfortunately, found that those with minor Talent are disadvantaged by it so, unless those on board have discovered each other by chance, they’re unknown to each other. But it’s nice to have a back-up system . . .” Thian thought his parents and grandparents would have strangled to be termed a “back-up” system but Ashiant was only repeating what was a common attitude among non-Talented. “Introduce yourself so you can be tuned, or primed, or whatever for whatever code or method you use to do whatever it is you Primes do.” He made circles with one hand to indicate either indifference or ignorance. Then he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Thian Lyon, I’m the only one on board who knows your chronological age. That white lock doesn’t wash out, does it? No?” The captain nodded when Thian murmured that it was a genetic attribute. “But Jeff Raven assured me that you’ve had excellent training and sufficient solo operations to handle your various duties. After today’s exhibition, I think you do, too.”

  Astounded, Thian stared back at the captain.

  “Now, what’s this about air purification? We’ve been sucking this smog so long we don’t smell it anymore, even if half the time we can almost chew it. Small wonder your ’Dini couldn’t breathe.”

  Still stroking Tab, Thian hitched himself more upright in the chair and began to explain about the ’Dini vegetation used to purify the air on their long-voyage ships. Although Human life support systems were more than adequate for the usual duration of voyages, even those not assisted by Talent thrusts, this long cruise had obviously taxed the system.

  “Now I understand,” Ashiant said, leaning back and swiveling idly in his chair. “The KLTL ’Dini offered me some plants after our last conference. Didn’t realize how significant that offer was.”

  “How would you know? You didn’t, by any chance, dream about plants the next couple of nights?”

  Ashiant stared at him, his brows nearly meeting over the bridge of his fleshy nose. “I did! Thought it odd because I dreamed there were these big leaved pots all over the ship, and everyone was smiling like loons.”

  Thian grinned. “You did know that ’Dinis use dreams as communications?”

  “Yes, I’d heard that, but dreaming plants? C’mon now, Prime, that’s too exotic for this mother’s son.”

  “I also interpret ’Dini dreams—if you get any more, sir. Strictly top secret,” Thian said, hoping he hadn’t misjudged the captain’s humor.

  He hadn’t for Ashiant roared with laughter. “Never thought I’d have a ’Dini dream. Not that sort of temperament.”

  “Temperament has little to do with receipt of ’Dini dreams, sir. You learn to respect repetitions because that’s what they want you to ask about.”

  “Oh, do they so? Hmmm.”

  The upshot of that interview was that Thian made a second contact with the KLTL, conversing this time with their life support systems officer and discovering that yes, there were available sgit plant shoots that could be spared and possibly more from their sister ship in the squadron, the KLTS. An improvement would not be immediately noticeable, depending on how long the overuse of the oxygen had been but a gradual betterment would occur. Sgit plants grew rapidly and had to be constantly separated, which was all to the good for an air improvement system. If there were sufficient shoots, pots of them could also be put about in cabins or larger facilities and assist local improvements. Leaves and stalks of young plants were edible.

  “Some of their vegetables are quite tasty, captain,” Thian ventured and then grinned at his expression.

  “I only eat enough greens to keep balance,” Ashiant said and, then after a pause, added, “but I think I’d be willing to try them. For good will, you know. Ha! Glad you’re aboard, Prime. You’ll sort a lot of this kind of misunderstanding. And I think I’ll do some discreet inquiring and find out if any officers or ratings have had odd dreams. I’ll tell Exeter—you’ve met him—in case he’s had incidents reported to him.”

  Then he took Thian to the bridge to introduce him to those on duty. If the bridge crew had any private thoughts about the congenial attitude of their captain for the newest arrival, they kept so tight a lid on them that Thian couldn’t sense a thing. Thian was invited to the captain’s mess at 2000 and provided with an escort—until he learned his way about the ship—to return him to his cabin.

  Wearier than he had ever been before—even after helping his parents push big daddies—Thian was grateful to close the panel on his tiny cabin. Dad had warned him that it would be different working totally on his own. Thian had been dismissive then, but now, with no other Talent as back-up, it was different. Slumping down on the bunk, he had only to extend his hand to the terminal and contact sick bay.

  “He’s fine,” the medic said. “No, it’s fine. Read somewhere that these creatures don’t have any sex.”

  “They do but they don’t discuss that aspect of their biology. In ’Dini culture, ‘it’ is always preferable to either gender designation, doctor.”

  “Why?”

  “Doctor, that requires a very long explanation.” And a yawn surprised him.

  “I’ll catch you later,” the medic said with a chuckle.

  Thian was almost asleep before his head hit the bolster.

  * * *

  Dinner at the captain’s mess was not an obvious ordeal. D
rinks were offered as well as hot finger foods which Thian decided were not the standard fare to judge by the pleasure of their reception.

  The captain cleared his throat and the wardroom had his immediate attention.

  “In case you haven’t guessed, the extras served tonight are thanks to the supply drones brought in by Prime Thian Lyon,” and Thian tried to demur as he’d been as much a passenger as the food. “Whatever, Prime,” the captain went on, “we have it and intend to enjoy it and it came with you. As most of you already know . . .” now Ashiant grinned as he glanced about, “the Prime has demonstrated some of his potential use to the Fleet by what I hear . . .” he cleared his throat “are termed his antics today. ‘Antics’ if you will but they saved the life of one of our allies and have given us the opportunity to forge stronger links with them. So welcome aboard, Prime Thian Lyon.” He held his glass up, looking about to see that his toast was being recognized by everyone, and drank to Thian.

  Thian cleared his throat several times, bombarded by far too many reactions emanating from all sides of him: one outright black thrust of suspicion and distaste, several skeptical ones, but more were curious, with tinges of amusement and slightly malicious anticipation. To counteract the negative feelings, Thian began to project serenity and compassion.

  “Considering the havoc I played today with navy protocol, sir,” he said, grinning sheepishly, “I can only say I’m infinitely relieved to be here and not in the brig or sent back where I came from.”

  That reply generated a few honest laughs but also a second shaft of malicious amusement at his self-deprecation.

  Cloudhead’s smarming the audience, is he? was the verbalized thought.

  On the pretext of lifting his own glass to toast his company, Thian looked around, trying to spot the source.

  Ohho! Could he have heard me?

  The thought was all too ephemeral and there were too many people who could have thought it. Thian hadn’t been quick enough to catch that second unexpected lapse. He let his glance slide quickly from Commander Tikele to the chunky sallow-skinned woman beside him, a security officer by her shoulder-tabs, Vander-something; and around the immediate circle. The comm officer, Eki Wasiq, a very gaunt man with soft brown eyes that made him the least likely suspect of the group; the exec, Jaskell-Germys, a few centimeters shorter than Thian, with a carefully controlled face that gave away nothing of his thoughts. Lieutenant Sedallia, the only one he already knew by name, exhibited polite attention while the gunnery officer, an older man, Fardo Ah Min, with the squint that had become a programmer’s trait, had been so abstracted that he was late lifting his glass, and more irritated by that lapse than shooting snide thoughts at the newcomer. The two juniors present, because it was their off-duty time, were laughably easy to read: they hadn’t expected the chance to dine well tonight.

  Thian tipped his glass to his lips and drank. The malevolence was as startling in its absence as in its brief flare.

  As he was seated opposite the security officer, Lieutenant Commander Ailsah Vandermeer, he had a chance to put her to the most adroit mental probe he could summon: the kind he got away with using on his cousin Roddie. He could read no more than her public mind without breaching the most stringent injunction of his training but, if she was dissembling, she was doing an extremely skillful job of it. Her thoughts were clearly centered on enjoyment of the excellent meal: such comments as she directed at him were about learning Mrdini.

  He was astonished at how many were willing to learn Mrdini, including Lieutenant Sedallia. In answer to a direct query from Commander Tikele, Thian—again sensing only genuine interest—agreed to produce ’Dini engineering terms, and their phonetic equivalents, for the engineering officer to study. Tikele already had plans of the ’Dini engines but was unable to decipher some of the special terms for a full understanding of the intricacies of the ’Dini drive: a system that had some advantages over the type which the Humans used. Tikele was hoping to draft some refinements, using the ’Dini method, that would improve the Vadim’s drive. Sedallia was his design assistant.

  On a chase assignment like this, as on exploratory vessels, crew and officers were encouraged in off-duty studies and occupations, interspersed with emergency drills for any contingency the devious mind of their captain could envisage. As Thian later heard a chief petty officer proudly remark, “Cap’n Ash-i-ant can sure think up some dillies! Ain’t caught us out yet, neither.”

  The wine that was drunk that evening was not part of the supplies which arrived with Thian and his ’Dinis. But it was the last of the dry white the mess steward had and he advised all to make the most of it. Thian liked wine, perhaps too well, for he seemed unwilling to refuse a refill of his glass, yet he didn’t think he’d ever been what others might call drunk. This evening, probably due to the cumulative effects of the day’s busy-ness, he did find himself a little light-headed. That’s when he began to “hear” the snicking little taunts. As these came through in the form of mental commentary, he couldn’t even identify the sex of the source. Whoever it was did not like Talent, of any degree, though Thian suspected the person was unaware that he or she possessed some: the person was “sending” on a telepathic level which, to Thian, indicated a latent Talent of some degree. The content of those little barbs was much like the sort his cousin Roddie would verbally throw out. At least with Roddie, you knew who you were fighting.

  The time—when Mur would be released from its treatment—saved him from both too much wine and too much stress under the continued barrage of malicious jibes. He excused himself to the captain, thanking him again for the meal, and once again repeating his wish to be of service to the Vadim in any way he could.

  “D’you know your way to sick bay?” Commander Tikele asked as Thian had his hand on the wardroom door release.

  “I think so, sir,” Thian said with a smile at the medics in intense conversation and left. There’d been no over or undertones to that remark and yet . . .

  Thian had lied. He’d had enough wine so that he didn’t know if he should turn left or right—port or starboard. He’d better get accustomed to thinking all the time in nautical terms. He looked up and down the passageway, closed his eyes and ’ported himself into the main corridor outside sick bay. At this hour, as he’d hoped, there was no one about and he went in.

  Mur was out of its bath, color bright and pelt shining, poll eye sparkling. On the other hand, Dip looked exhausted.

  THN HAS COME FOR US, Mur said in its clipped staccato fashion and a nurse looked around the curtains separating cubicles.

  “Oh, Prime, you’re very punctual,” she said and then smiled broadly. “Mur is quite recovered but I don’t think Dip has stood the gaff as well. I offered . . . you do call them ‘its,’ don’t you . . .” and when Thian nodded, she went on, “but all it took was some enhanced broth. Dr. Exeter looked up what additives would be sustaining for a ’Dini. He was really frightfully pleased to meet such a distinguished ’Dini physician, too.”

  Despite his fatigue and the blurring caused by the wine, Thian couldn’t help but note that she regarded him with keen interest, tilting her head and smiling at him. She was pretty, he thought, and certainly gave off a reassuring aura. She’d be a comfort to the sick.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant . . .” All navy nurses were at least lieutenants, weren’t they?

  “Greevy, Alison Anne Greevy,” she said. “Most people call me Gravy, though,” she added with a rueful grin.

  “Oh,” was all Thian could think to say at first, then he added, “most people call me Thian.”

  “But you’re a Prime,” she said, surprised.

  “Primes are people, too . . . Gr . . . Gravy,” he said, annoyed that he was stuttering. There was something wrong and he didn’t know what it was. His mind seemed gluey.

  WE MAY GO NOW, Mur said at its firmest and folded its digits about Thian’s hand. COME DPL.

  Gravy looked down at them with the sweetest smile on her face. “They are the d
arlingest creatures. I’m so glad Mur recovered.”

  He gulped. “Where are the two from the other ship?”

  She smiled again. She seemed to have quite a vocabulary of smiles. This one was slightly condescending, as if he should have known. “They’re asleep. They were tireless in their care of Mur. And they speak very good Basic. They will contact you when they have refreshed themselves . . . their words . . . and are ready to return.”

  “Oh, good. Yes, that’s fine.” Thian was excessively relieved that he didn’t have to ’port anyone anyplace tonight.

  Dip was swaying.

  “Ah . . . um, Gravy, how do I get back to my cabin? Deck Eight, cabin C80N?”

  “Very simple,” and it was, when he took the directions from her mind, and paid no attention to what she said, for she had a habit of using her right hand when she said “port,” and her left hand when she meant him to turn to “starboard.”

  That they got back to his cabin at all was due to Mur’s attention.

  WINE, THN? Mur asked once on their way.

  WINE, MRG, Thian admitted. NO GREAT QUANTITY INGESTED. FATIGUE ASSISTS EFFECTS.

  THN WORKED HARD THIS DAY. REST COMES.

  DREAMS, TOO, GOOD DREAMS WITH MRG RECOVERED. And Thian was overwhelmingly grateful that this was so, and hugged the silky body to his side. He helped the ’Dinis into their hammocks and then stretched out, once more, on his own bunk.

  And there were dreams, but not ’Dini inspired. Gravy seemed to be flowing all over him while something black hissed out of the walls of his cabin which compressed and expanded with no warning.

  * * *

  Over the next few weeks, Thian was so tightly scheduled that mental exhaustion made him sleep deeply and dreamlessly. Gradually, as he became accustomed to the new routines, he did enjoy dream-time, with his ’Dinis and with the other new ’Dini personalities he met, either physically, as he ’ported them to the Vadim or took Captain Ashiant and other officers to the KLTL and the KLTS, or by communications. These dreamers were different from any he had previously encountered: older and considerably more active so their dreams were projected on many levels: some which he couldn’t understand. Mur and Dip, as juvenile in experience as himself, were unable to give him any help: as much because they were in awe of these contacts as anything else.