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 shipcrews 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 affect
ion 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 finds 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 ha
lf 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.
The Rowan Page 6
