“Oh, you ... you ... methody Capellan,” she said in exasperation, making a brief attempt to slip from under his arm, but he was far stronger than she and she couldn’t escape. Not that she really wanted to. “We’re enjoying such a nice respite, with even Petra able to manage without constant supervision ... and isn’t training our own Aurigaeans enough of a challenge? If we needed yet another one?”
“Then you don’t object to Morag and Kaltia getting some experience at Clarf?”
“Not at all. Summers on Deneb are well enough, and Isthia is superb with them, but they haven’t really left home, as it were, for something completely alien.”
“Clarf’s that, even if they’ve been raised with ’Dinis,” Afra admitted in a droll tone. He frowned briefly. “Will Kaltia’s very fair skin be at risk?”
“Sunblock helps and she already knows she has to be careful after that awful case of sunburn she had on Deneb. And that primary’s not at all as harsh as Clarf’s...” Damia’s voice trailed off, and she frowned slightly. “Well, she’s old enough to know to keep out of the sun.”
“That’s right, my dear, and she could always make parasols fashionable on Clarf.”
“They are. But to get back to this Beliakin T-2 ...”
“Let’s worry about him when he gets here. Didn’t Jeff say that Gollee’s giving him some extra training?”
“Gollee doesn’t train, dear, he tests.”
“Hmmm. For what?”
That casually dropped remark from her father was what really alerted her to a possible contretemps. “If the fellow’s already been passed through the assessment process, why is Gollee handling him and not one of the regular trainers?” Damia asked, lengthening her stride to match her husband’s long-legged pace.
“We’ll know soon enough ...” They both heard the staccato rhythm of hoofbeats on the path winding up the hill behind their home. “There they go ...” They caught sight of their four younger children, galloping out to hunt. “Oh well, dinner’s soon enough to give them the good news.”
Afra tightened his grasp on her, pulling her closer yet, looking down at her.
“It’ll be good to have the house all to ourselves for a while,” he said.
Damia caught the gleam in his eye and put her arm about his lean waist. “Yes, it will. How convenient that Tri and Fok are hibernating. We really will be alone again.” She sighed in gratitude.
“Except for the tribes of Darbuls, slithers and Coonies that infest our house,” Afra teased her.
“This time of day they’ll all be asleep. Let’s hurry.”
Laughing, they ’ported into their spacious room at the top of the house.
They were grateful for that respite by dinnertime when they informed their ecstatic daughters Morag and Kaltia that they were to go to Clarf and assist their sister’s Tower team with the vast loads still being poured onto the planet Talavera.
“So we’re going to do something more than push big daddies,” Kaltia said, her unusual yellow eyes, legacy of her Capellan father, glistening like miniature suns.
“Huh. We’ll be pushing just as much around, and Laria’ll be bossing us,” Morag replied sourly.
“Laria has never been bossy,” her mother said firmly. “And if you need bossing, you’ll take it, young miss, if it comes from a Tower Prime.”
“I’m going to be a Tower Prime when I’m old enough,” Kaltia informed them with the complacency of her youth.
“That remains to be seen,” Afra said, for he was methody enough not to condone bragging. Kaltia gulped, subsided and concentrated on eating.
“Kincaid never bosses,” Morag said, affecting a pose, “even when he’s hunt leader.” She got on well with her sister’s T-2. She’d been impressed with how well he rode and what a good shot he was. She considered him a very comfortable person to be with. “Is Vanteer still engineer?” Her sly attempt to wheedle information from her mother was duly noted.
“Yes, and we’ll have no gossip, Morag,” Damia said firmly. “Lionasha’s Tower expediter.”
“Have they ’Dinis?”
THEY DO, THEY DO, chorused Kev, Su, Sim and Dar at once. WE’LL GO TO CLARF. The four of them started to do cartwheels and other acrobatic antics around the dining table.
WE’LL HIBERNATE IN CLARF ITSELF, said Dar, springing up and down with more height than one would expect from a ’Dini.
WE’LL SEE TIP AND HUF, AND NIL AND PLUS.
“You’ll have to help in the yard,” Morag said sternly. “No running off to your color houses whenever you want to.”
NO, NO, WORK IS FIRST. ALWAYS, Dar assured her, and then began to twirl Sim round and round until Morag was dizzy watching them.
“So, who’s this T-2 you’ll have to do our work?” Kaltia asked in a proprietary tone.
“Yoshuk’s younger brother,” Damia said.
“Isn’t Yoshuk the T-2 with Nesrun at Sef Tower?” Kaltia asked. “Thought so,” she added when Damia nodded. She was silent a moment. “There won’t be ponies, will there?”
“No, not on Clarf, silly. No room. ’Dinis there use flying belts,” said Morag.
“And you will not,” Afra said, pointing an admonitory finger at Morag, who was more athletically inclined, and reckless, than Kaltia. “You already drive a ground car and they’ve the same models there. Or you can ’port.”
“That’s not bad manners on Clarf?” asked Kaltia, surprised. On Deneb it was, but then, on Deneb they had had ponies.
“You will first inform anyone in the immediate vicinity what you intend to do,” Damia said firmly. “Otherwise it’s just as ill-mannered as it would be here or on Deneb.” When Kaltia made a long-suffering grimace, her mother added, “Not that I want you out in the Clarf sun any longer than is absolutely necessary.”
“I know, I know. I must use enough sunblock. Why”—her tone turned petulant—“did I have to get the fair skin and freckles in the family? No one else has them.”
“Grandmother says you’re a throwback,” Ewain said, as helpful as teenage brothers generally are.
“And you’re a ...”
“That’s enough,” Afra said firmly, and the three subsided and resumed eating.
“I think it’s great,” Petra said suddenly. “There’ll just be you and me, E, and no one to tell us which pony we can’t ride.”
“Yeah, but we’ll have to do all the hunting.”
Petra grinned. “But we won’t have to hunt so much with just four of us here ...”
“Possibly five,” Afra said, “unless Vagrian Beliakin chooses to live down in the city instead of here.”
“Forgot about him,” Petra said, turning glum. “Do we have to have him here? It’s E’s and my turn to have you,” she added, looking sternly from one parent to the other. “We’ve waited long enough.”
“When were you ever neglected?” demanded Morag tartly.
“I said, that’s enough,” Afra repeated, adding a mental quietus. “Good hunt, today? Where’d you go?”
“Laria’s valley. It hasn’t been hunted in just ages,” Morag said. “It has been neglected ...” She cast a daring glance at her father. “So the hunting was good.”
Afra regarded his daughter with such a long thoughtful look for her impudence that she turned her whole attention to her dinner plate.
She needs more work and responsibility, Damia said, though her tone was amused by her daughter’s clever wordplay.
The rest of the evening passed without incident, Damia and her daughters making certain the guest quarters, private from the main living area, were in order for the new arrival. Both Afra and Damia felt that a man of twenty-four would want to live nearer the city with all its possibilities of entertainment, though he would need to stay at Tower House until he’d found accommodations.
“You’re Vagrian Beliakin, aren’t you?”
Since the words were spoken close to a tone that was almost a challenge, Beliakin looked up at the woman who had stopped at his table. He felt her
shields resist his initial touch. She was only marginally attractive and he was far too involved with Tarmina d’Estes to need to seek additional female companionship.
“I’m T-2 and a far sender,” she said, with a twist of her lips that bordered on mocking.
Beliakin rose and gestured for her to be seated opposite him. He had chosen a table well away from the other Talents enjoying meals in the spacious and restfully decorated Blundell dining room. He had had an exhausting morning with Gollee Gren, and really did not want any company. But she had in effect challenged him; he had to respond, however briefly.
“Clarissia Negeva,” she said, sliding awkwardly into a chair.
Nerves, Vagrian thought, and gave her one of his reassuring smiles. Her reaction was a deep flush of blood to her face, and she averted her gaze to some point over his left shoulder. She’d be easy, he thought.
“I lasted longer at Clarf Tower than you did,” she said, composing herself and her telltale color, clasping thin hands in front of her on the table and leaning toward him. Now she regarded the pulse in his throat rather than his face.
“Did you?” He fought to stifle the burst of anger her comment roused in him. He had been given to understand by Gollee Gren that the abortive incident had been expunged from the record. His common sense took over. Tarmina certainly hadn’t known, nor had any other of those he had been in contact with. All the testers had assumed he was being reassessed. He was certain that if that abortive mission were known, he’d’ve been aware of either ridicule or prurient interest. He managed to keep his expression pleasantly puzzled as a third consideration occurred to him. If somehow this Negeva woman had information that was not normally available to others in Blundell Tower, she might be worth cultivating. He intended to pay back Clarf Tower’s Prime no matter how long it took. “May I ask how you knew that I had been to Clarf?”
Her lips moved slightly, and although she did not give him a direct look, he felt positive that she too had a bone to pick with Laria Lyon.
“I have a friend, a good friend, in the yard,” she said. “He had been on duty when you were ’ported and saw your precipitous return. He thought I should be informed.”
“Why?”
Even though Vagrian had come late to his Talent, he knew from his brother’s conversations at home that Talents did not generally avoid direct eye contact—since they could shield their true thoughts from all but the most determined invasion. In the point of courtesy on a first encounter, Negeva had neglected to offer him her hand ... almost an insult between Talents. While he was not a strong ’path, this close he could read her deep enough to find some reason for her approaching him. He ignored the fact that she’d been rattled by his smile: few women failed to respond—generally in positive ways. He resolved to make sure they made a tactile contact before she left his company.
She leaned even closer, lowering her voice, and now her eyes met his, anger and a sort of implacable hatred easy to note.
“That family dominates FT&T and they have no right to do so. They make arbitrary decisions and enforce them on us in an unjust and humiliating manner. They are weasel lovers, every single one of them!”
“You’re referring to the Gwyn-Raven-Lyon clan?” he asked, lounging back in his seat because her breath was sour. Probably from the curdled enmity that festered in her skinny frame.
“Who else? They have all the best Towers, all the best accommodations. They sit in judgment on every single Talent and they don’t ... have ... that ... right!” Her eyes had narrowed and she had had to lower her voice as she stressed that opinion.
“Who’s to oppose them?” Beliakin asked.
“They haven’t enslaved all the T-1’s in our worlds.”
“Really?” This was news to him.
“By no means. Nor all the T-2’s. Furthermore”—she gestured for him to close the gap between them—“they ignore the clairvoyant as if they were dirt.”
“And there has been a prediction that the mighty will fall?” he asked, feigning a hopeful anticipation.
“Of course. The higher they are, the harder they will fall. And fall they will. Then we will assume our rightful positions in the Towers, and annul the infamous Alliance. We have no more need of those ... creatures!” She gave a shudder of repugnance.
“Disgusting,” Beliakin said ambiguously.
“And giving worlds we Humans discovered with our advanced technology to ... them ... when we are to be given what’s left over is intolerable. No more promising colony sites can be so summarily just given away! Our future generations will be denied their rights of expansion on worlds that have been just handed over to ... them.”
Beliakin tightened his shields against this woman’s intrusion, though it occurred to him simultaneously that she was so wrapped up in her angry spiel that she was taking no notice of his reactions. Personally, he had no objections to the Mrdini. She was patently xenophobic. That species had taken the brunt of centuries of war against the Hivers. Their long struggle should have some rewards. As far as he knew, the one world released to the Mrdini would have been too hot to be comfortable for Human residence. On the other hand, he didn’t like the Hivers at all, having taken an opportunity to see the queen imprisoned at Heinlein Moon Base. That creature revolted him more than ’Dinis could—it and the scurrying forms that it had hatched from its mound of eggs. So the Mrdini were welcome to Talavera. The sun would fry an egg on a rock by midday. However, he was definitely curious about her group and wondered just how many Talents might be involved in any effort to overthrow the Primes. Though how that could be achieved was beyond him. On the other hand, reporting on their dissidence might be one way to nullify the Clarf disaster with FT&T.
“Are there many who feel as you ... and I?” he asked in a low conspiratorial tone, as if he agreed with her opinions.
“More than you’d believe,” she murmured. Then abruptly she rose. “I shall contact you. I shall use the word expunge so that you will know it is I contacting you and you will open your mind to me.”
Not if I can help it, Beliakin thought, but he rose too, and tightly shielding his thoughts as he’d been taught, extended his hand. She regarded it suspiciously and he could certainly sense her hesitation without any benefit of Talent. Her fingers gave his a glancing touch. He gleaned very little from it, but enough to know that this Talent could be dangerous in her hatred of the Gwyn-Raven-Lyon family. As he watched her stalk—yes, that was the right word—out of the dining facility, he wondered if he could effect a revenge on Laria Lyon without being tainted by whatever devious plans Negeva and her group had in mind. That is, if these had not already been “seen” by other, more sensitive Talents. She was, however, a T-2, and a sender was apt to have better shielding from any but a T-1. What a very odd creature she was. And viciously xenophobic! Talents were supposed, by the very nature of their abilities, to practice tolerance. Of most things ... He finished his meal, discarded the dishes and made it to his appointment with Gollee Gren to see what his new assignment was going to be. He wondered to which boondock he’d now be sent after his utter failure at Clarf. Hopefully where that wretched female couldn’t reach him, no matter how strong a sender she claimed she was. He did wonder, however, just how many agreed with her sentiments. Generally speaking—and it was why he was so jealous of Yoshuk—Talents enjoyed many more privileges and more prestige than any other profession in the galaxy. Few made full use of all such advantages. He intended to—that is, if he was any place where he could use the perks. What he found hard to understand in Negeva was why any disaffected person would wish to destroy ... No, she didn’t wish destruction, she wished a larger role. Beliakin knew there were factions dissatisfied with the Alliance, with the distribution of colonizable worlds (once Hivers had been dispossessed) and with the Mrdini in particular. Since weasel haters generally had little if any contact with the ’Dinis, he couldn’t see what upset them so much. In any event, he still had a score to even with Laria Lyon by whatever agency came his
way, even as unattractive and virulent a one as Negeva. And he’d get Kincaid Dano at the same time. Whistling happily at such a prospect, he took the lift to the administrative level.
“Iota Aurigae?” Vagrian stared in disbelief at Gren.
“You’d be working with two of the top Talents in FT&T, you know,” Gren said, “and I can assure you that the contretemps at Clarf will not be repeated. In fact, your kinetic ability is very much why you’re being posted there.”
“I thought the family handled all traffic,” Vagrian said, temporizing as he assimilated the fact. Such a posting had been so far out of possibility that he couldn’t believe it. Was this a tacit apology for Laria’s treatment? Damia and Afra Raven-Lyon offering him such a post to make amends for the vagary of their daughter? Considering its distance from the other main solar systems, Iota Aurigae could be considered a boondock, being a very recently developed mining world, but it was gaining prominence and expanding as the need for its ore resources increased. Topmost in his mind was the realization that he’d be able to hunt there—an activity frowned on by the more sophisticated worlds as archaic, or nonexistent as on Clarf, and one that he thoroughly enjoyed and excelled at. Afra was almost legendary as the Rowan’s T-2 partner until he married her daughter Damia Gwyn-Raven and they took over Iota Aurigae Tower, producing ... what was it ... eight T-1 offspring? Or were all the kids gone now? Not that it mattered. If he proved his capabilities as a strong kinetic at their Tower, he’d achieve an enviable reputation at FT&T. And he might also just happen to find out how to get back at Laria. Nothing like the home ground to discover the precise way to wound her the most. He had absolutely no reservations about working with the Capellan T-2, but Damia was known to have inherited the same volatile temper as her mother, the Rowan. Well, most of the Primes he knew anything about had tempers. Came with the awesome responsibility, he supposed. Were they aware of his calamity at Clarf? Could there be an ulterior motive to that posting? Apart from rectifying their daughter’s unexpected rejection of him?
The Tower and the Hive Page 13
