The Rowan

by Anne McCaffrey

  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 shoud 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 lame-brained 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 tapeshelf 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 imparti
ally 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 megacity. 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, ci-ty, 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 Midwestmetro. 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 supper.’

  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 roiled with exasperation at Ray’s awkwardness or Seth’s incompetence, 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 dec
ided 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.