Damia's Children

by Anne McCaffrey

  For a short while, Rojer wrestled with his conscience: whether or not to tell Chief Firr of Thian’s new finds. Wandering around the edge of the immense table on which facsimiles of the pieces were placed—much the same way Xexo had set up his display—Rojer found the ones he thought were sections of the whole he and Xexo had been working with.

  He asked Bhuto to point out the Chief, if he was present, and when Bhuto did, without saying a word, Rojer accosted the man, a stocky man with a big, red-veined nose.

  “Sir, I’m . . .”

  “And a good day to you, Mr. Lyon,” was the affable reply. “My compliments on your hoist yesterday. Glad to see the last of it. It’s safe now?”

  “At Heinlein Base on Earth moon.”

  The Chief scowled. “Wouldn’t like it in my sky, I can tell you. What can I do for you, Mr. Lyon? I perceive that you may also be a compulsive jigger or you wouldn’t’ve hung around so long. Know that look. What do you think of our set-up? Impressive?” and the chief peered up at Rojer, projecting a wish for praise.

  “It’s a splendid set-up: easy access to all the main and peripheral parts,” and Rojer knew he was sounding just like Xexo but it seemed to gratify the chief. “Ensign Bhuto,” and an odd expression flashed across the chief’s face which Rojer interpreted as meaning the chief found the ensign tiresome, “said that you’ve machined all these pieces.”

  “I have indeed, Mr. Lyon.”

  “I’ve the specifications of some new additions . . .”

  Before he could complete his sentence, the chief had him by the arm and was propelling him to an alcove where the parts programmer was installed.

  “So . . .” the chief said, turning it on and holding his fingers expectantly over the keys.

  “Rounds,” Rojer said and the chief’s fingers keyed the basic shape in. “In these dimensions . . .” and Rojer rattled them off. Like most of his family he had an eidetic memory.

  When the chief had finished the programming and the items had dropped into the basket, he made a grand show of adding them to the table, announcing that these were Mr. Lyon’s contribution and what said they?

  Rojer felt himself blushing at the cheer that issued from nearly thirty throats and hid his embarrassment by picking up the first piece to see if he could make a match.

  Much later in the ship’s day, his father extracted him from Cargo 3 to bring in three supply drones. Rojer remembered the ensign’s comment and saved out a net of assorted fruits. The young man’s gratitude was touching and Rojer realized that his talk was as much nerves as anything and Bhuto really needed understanding and reassurance. Those Rojer could project whenever they were together, and not necessarily in Cargo 3. Perhaps only Rojer noticed the decrease in verbiage. Or was it only because Bhuto would take Gil and Kat to one side and improve his ’Dini intonations and vocabulary? Evidently as long as Bhuto maintained silence, he could remain in the Cargo hold so Rojer, too, was able to indulge his obsession.

  A second compulsive Hive-oriented preoccupation had begun at Heinlein Base. All over the Alliance, viewers waited to see the queen emerge from her escape pod. A special channel was devoted to Queen watching with experts giving learned discussions on what she must be doing inside the pod (making sensible investigations of her new location?); when she could be expected to emerge (a matter which now involved thousands, even millions, of credits from the speculators); what she looked like—but this was based on the partial remains that had been gathered from the Nova wreckage and other detritus (large and insectoid with useful mandibles). Some earlier estimates had to be considerably revised on the basis of the size of the escape pod. Granted considerable space would be taken up by its life support, guidance, and propulsion units. No weapon apertures had been discerned but weapons on an escape pod were considered unlikely. Of equal interest to a sight of the queen was a look into the pod itself, to examine it inside out in minutest detail and subject the vehicle to most intense analysis. The hull sheathing was of particular interest.

  Considerable debates went on about her probable companions. One block insisted that she was alone to insure her survival if a lengthy journey to a safe haven was required. ’Dinis pondered her possible suicide rather than fall into inimical hands.

  A very small group of Humans wanted to greet her civilly—that being the best way to win her cooperation. How would she know, these proponents argued, that she had been rescued/retrieved by putative enemies? Human vessels had only recently taken space with their ’Dini allies and the queen would be unaware of the Alliance. Perhaps if she was met with courtesy, more could be learned.

  ’Dini resistance to that interpretation was solid. Denebians and any Talent interviewed refuted that attitude.

  They weren’t at Deneb, the Rowan said in an implacable tone of voice that made Rojer hope his grandmother never directed it at him. He had heard her addressing his father and he couldn’t help but hear that part of the conversation. They didn’t feel the alienness that we felt, the resolution to HAVE Deneb for their get! The Hivers cannot be allowed uncontrolled proliferation. Their depredations must be curtailed.

  I agree, Rowan, Afra said. Risking your displeasure, I wonder if we are taking the right attitude. With the Hive homeworld destroyed, isn’t it possible that the loss of their home base will limit further activities?

  Afra! Do you recall nothing of your contact with the Hivers? His grandmother’s anger at his father’s mildly delivered rebuttal was such that Rojer strengthened his shields. He was only on the periphery of her mental projection and the agitation was palpable. How could his father handle the full weight of her disapproval?

  I recall it all in an exceedingly vivid memory, Rowan, but so far—and I haven’t been against the Alliance in any way, shape or form—we’ve blithely accepted the Mrdini judgments as irrefutable. Would it not be the better part of wisdom—since we consider ourselves sophisticated and civilized—to see if direct contact with a representative of the Hives is justified?

  Really, Afra Lyon, only our long-standing friendship and involvement keep me from suspecting your loyalties!

  Rojer scrunched down under his thermal blanket, reassured by the warmth of Gil and Kat, sleeping on either side of him. This bunk was not made for such occupancy and he woke up each morning with cramp. Not that this minor discomfort was more than that. His bed at Aurigae had always allowed for three growing bodies. He’d been having a fascinating ’Dini dream and he used this to get back to sleep, ignoring the distress that conversation had produced in him. The Rowan might be his grandmother and highly respected, a heroine for being the focus of the Denebian repulsion, but she shouldn’t speak to his father like that!

  * * *

  When Rojer woke the next morning, he had vivid recollections of his ’Dini dream. So did Gil and Kat. They were all for rushing down to Cargo 3 for the dream had been about fitting pieces together. As sure as they were that three pieces would fit, Rojer scrambled into his clothes, remembered to depilate the fuzz from his jaw—while Gil and Kat harangued him for dawdling, jumping up and down like jacks in their excitement.

  CERTAIN PERSONAL HABITS MUST BE PERFORMED TO PROJECT AUTHORITY AND PRESERVE DIGNITY, he told them so firmly that they subsided. He couldn’t run ragtag about the Beijing as he could about Aurigae. And his father would give him one of those looks, letting Rojer know that he had dropped the family standard.

  GET THERE MOST QUICKLY? Gil asked, for the first time asking to be ’ported. Usually that was Rojer’s option and scrupulously observed by the ’Dinis.

  GOOD IDEA THIS ONE TIME.

  Rojer hunkered down, arms about his friends, and ’ported into the passageway adjacent to Cargo 3. That should be a safe enough destination. If someone spotted them miraculously appearing, well, everyone on board knew he was a Prime and why shouldn’t he use the Talent he’d been given. It wasn’t as if he had been indiscriminately popping in and out. And anyone who might be near Cargo 3 would know that he was also a puzzle buff.

  T
hey met no one but they could hear the usual low murmur and occasional curse as a hoped match dissolved. Rojer was greeted by a few noddings but the attention of most was on their fittings and piecings.

  Prompted by their ’Dini dreams, the three strode about the table—Gil and Kat with their heads bent so the poll eyes were fastened on their objective—Rojer scooped up one piece, moved down the table, extracted a second and found the third as far to the center of the table as he could stretch. By then, everyone was watching, sensing an Incident.

  Rojer held his breath and carefully turned the one piece on its rim, for it was rounded, fitted the second to its longer side and the third to the short one. There was no question of the fit. A cheer rang out and those nearest him were slapping him on the back, nearly upsetting Gil and Kat, and rejoicing in his success. Chief Firr was roused from his bunk with the news and it percolated quickly through the ship. Rojer’s piecing was registered. The fact that he was one of seventeen others in the Alliance, six ’Dini and eleven Humans, to have found the same match did not reduce the jubilation on the Beijing.

  Enjoy this moment with discretion, Rojer, his father said but did not hide his pleasure at Rojer’s achievement.

  Count on that, Dad, Rojer replied without bothering to dampen his private elation. After all, his dad wouldn’t think badly of him if he kept the lid on a public display. Besides which, I was not the only one.

  You are in very good company for all the others are trained engineers. I believe that perhaps your mother and I have erred in appreciating your positive vocation. We will discuss this on our return. Your grandparents will be pleased. Ah . . .

  Association had brought to the surface Rojer’s inadvertent eavesdropping the previous night and his father had unerringly caught it.

  Well, that can’t be helped. Rowan was too distraught to narrow her thought. We are to return today. You timed your success perfectly. My compliments, Rojer.

  We couldn’t possibly go by way of Heinlein Base, could we? The request was out before Rojer could censor it. Everyone and his uncle’s brother’s cousin’s grandson would be trying for a chance to visit Heinlein Base. What made him think that he had a priority on visiting?

  I believe we can make a case for ourselves, his father replied.

  I didn’t mean that to be heard, Dad, believe me!

  There was a chuckle through his father’s voice. I do. You’re high from your success because, I must assure you in my turn, that I was not invading your privacy.

  The significance of that mild statement capped Rojer’s day. Talented parenting involved the perquisite of reading a child as deeply as possible—especially highly Talented children—to correct any psychological quirks before they became established and warped a personality. That Afra had resigned that prerogative meant he considered his son adult enough to function with no further acute surveillance.

  Then his father went on. It happens that I, too, wish to see the escape pod closer than at the end of a long tether. Screen definition is very sharp but there is a certain quality that one perceives only in the presence of the object of scrutiny. We will have the opportunity to scrutinize.

  This exchange occurred while the general celebration was continuing, with many of the dedicated puzzlers examining the fit, doing and undoing the pieces. When Chief Firr arrived, he put the three sections under the ’scope and verified the fit. He couldn’t have been more pleased than if he’d done the deed himself.

  “It’s up to you guys now,” Rojer said when the excitement had calmed down sufficiently for him to speak. “Dad and I have our orders: we’re to ’port back to Callisto.”

  “Hell, man, why’nt you just ’port over to the Moon and get a good look at that ol’ pod?” one of the mates asked.

  Rojer grinned. “Rank has some privileges . . .”

  “Rank?” the chief asked, his eyes widening.

  “I’m a civilian after all,” Rojer said, deceptively meek.

  “You’re a good . . . guy,” the chief said and Rojer knew that he’d been about to say “kid” and Rojer grinned in appreciation.

  “Wish you luck, chief. Maybe you’ll get the next match!”

  “For the honor of the Beijing!” Firr replied with a broad grin and held out his hand to Rojer.

  Without hesitation Rojer took it, and knew that the chief had liked him for himself, and because he’d put a plug in that motor mouth of an ensign. He had to shake hands all round after that and did so, gathering the impression that, despite being a Talent and still downy cheeked, the crew liked him.

  Almost more elated by that than the piecing, Rojer went to join his father in the messroom. Gil and Kat asked to stay in the Cargo, just in case something else from their shared dream had results. When Rojer asked permission for the ’Dinis to stay behind, Chief Firr absently concurred: he was already collecting more rounded bits that might possibly add to Rojer’s contribution.

  As Rojer left, behind him was an excited buzz of folk given a positive stimulus to their avocation.

  * * *

  Captain Smelkoff joined them for breakfast, adding his own compliments for the join.

  “On an extended mission like this, Rojer, this sort of preoccupation is invaluable and you’ve just added the impetus of success. Good morale booster. You two are quite a team. I liked that older boy of yours, Mister Lyon, didn’t see enough of him. Real pleasure to have you aboard, and special thanks for importing those fresh supplies! Feed the crew well enough and they’ll put up with a lot of privation.” Then the captain leaned toward Afra in a mock conspiratorial pose. “You couldn’t leave this one behind for a while, could you? I guarantee I’d make a sailor of him!”

  Afra grinned broadly. “Unfortunately, Captain, he’s about to take up his own station.”

  That was news to Rojer but, on the heels of that thought, he realized his father was courteously dissembling.

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll be a credit to you. A real credit.”

  Rojer began to feel distinctly uncomfortable in the light of such effusive commendation. He knew he’d done a good job of what he was sent to do: he was delighted to have had a whole week on board a mission vessel; he was elated to have matched artifacts, even if he wasn’t the first to do so. That was almost a relief. But he had only been doing what he was trained to do, ’porting and interpreting ’Dini dreams.

  How many of the others could have shared the same dream? he asked his father as he ate in as self-effacing a manner as he could.

  That was how it came to you then? It might be instructive to find out how many had similar dreams. The comm indicated diverse origins.

  * * *

  Rojer kept to himself, and from Gil and Kat, that there’d be a diversion to Callisto Station and a side trip to Heinlein Base. But that made it easier for him to say his farewells to Captain, Chiefs, crew and Ensign Bhuto who, for once, only grinned and let Rojer do the talking.

  With the hatch closed, Rojer took a deep breath and stood behind his father’s focus to “push” the carrier back to Callisto Station.

  So my grandson has covered himself with glory, has he? said his grandmother in a mood much different from the one he had overheard in the night.

  Not especially, Grandmother, Rojer said equably because he just knew she’d be waiting to jump on any pretensions.

  Hmm. I’d say the mission did you a lot of good, young man. I hate a cocky boy!

  When would one of us Lyons have a chance to learn to be cocky?

  That’s exactly what I meant. All right, get out of that spatial coffin and have a meal with me. I don’t get the chance to see you often enough.

  I’m stuffed with breakfast, thank you. Hungry as he usually was, there was a limit to Rojer’s capacity.

  You’ll stop then while I breakfast. Then you can take yourself to Heinlein Base. I can trust you to do that, can’t I?

  If Dad’s too tired to, Rojer said, wondering just how long last night’s conversation had lasted.

  I’ve an
hour before Callisto clears.

  Rojer caught his father’s eye and grinned. They unstrapped, helped the ’Dinis out and took the path from the yard to the Rowan’s house.

  To Rojer’s surprise, because he’d had no hint, Jeff Raven was also seated at the breakfast table and beckoned them enthusiastically to join him. Empty places were set for two more Humans and two ’Dinis.

  “I add my compliments to all the others, Rojer,” his grandfather said.

  “I’d like a kiss, Rojer,” the Rowan said.

  That was the ultimate accolade and Rojer nearly stumbled on his way to his grandmother’s side of the table. His mother had often said that her mother shamelessly cultivated her imperious pose. It certainly scared Rojer. But, keeping the thought scrupulously private, Rojer thought she was a very beautiful grandmother, with her striking mass of silvery hair, her small but delicately featured face—she was no taller now than his shoulder. She turned her cheek to him, held up one hand to encircle his head when he appeared to hesitate, and he kissed her.

  What he had expected to feel he didn’t know: what he got was unqualified approval and acceptance. Her cheek was smooth as a petal and her perfume was subtly but not sweetly floral.

  Thanks, Grandmother, he said gratefully.

  That’s the trouble with being Talented, Rojer. The ordinary human touches assume merits beyond their true status. That was a grandmotherly kiss of welcome after long absence: nothing more. But I am pleased with your performance. As deftly as ever I or your grandfather could do it. You deserve to see the thing if that’s your desire.

  Clearly the Rowan had no desire to view the escape pod, though that was all he sensed. No trace of her rancor and anger of last night was perceivable.

  “Coffee or tea, Rojer?” she asked, gesturing him to take his place, WERE YOUR DREAMS GOOD? she asked Gil and Kat in clipped ’Dini accents as they took their stools.

  VERY GOOD. WE FIT PIECES. NOT FIRST BUT FIRST FOR THE SHIP WHICH RESULTS IN MUCH EXCITEMENT AND PRAISE, Gil replied.

  “Ve virr plezz’d,” Kat added not to be outdone in the courtesy department. It had never had much luck with the “w” sound though Gil managed well enough. “Good fun to play Uman gamez.” Kat always leaned on the plural “s.”