Dangerous personality with all that masculine charm. Damia gave a shudder. I had this awful sensation that he was Sodan come back to haunt me.
Did you? Afra looked surprised.
Damia flushed. Well, he has a similar dynamic charisma and you can’t deny he’s decidedly attractive.
Not at all my type.
It’s not a laughing matter, Afra. Young Naja Nurnto’s just the age to be bowled over and ready for an infatuation.
He’ll be an equal shock to our three Aurigaean lads, Afra said with a teasing glance. He’s not a threat we can warn them about.
He’s so much on his best behavior, Damia said thoughtfully. Maybe it’ll last. I can’t imagine why Father thought he’d do for us. When Laria ... Damia paused and turned wide eyes on Afra, who grinned knowingly back at her. He did? And she sent him packing? My father sometimes exhibits very poor judgment for a Prime. Did Mother know?
If she did, she was perhaps too hopeful and not as astute in her reading of Vagrian’s character as I would have thought.
Damia regarded her husband with a measure of dismay. He is absolutely the wrong sort for Laria, especially after. all she’s been through with the wayward Vanteer. How could Father have been so stupid?
Don’t think he was stupid, m’dear. I think he was so glad he’d found a strong T-2 kinetic to ease the load at Clarf that he sent the man ahead without preparing Laria at all. Afra poured cold Aurigaean wine for them both. Damia absently accepted the glass and took a slow sip of the dry vintage. I’d venture to say Vagrian blew it. Probably took the trouble to charm Lionasha, ignored Vanteer and then made a fool of himself trying to impress Laria. He’s only just discovered his Talent, and you know how witless that can make someone.
It hasn’t made Numto, Clunen or Deferson witless.
They’re younger by a few years, whereas I’d be very surprised if Yoshuk’.s big younger brother hasn’t been having his way with any girl he chose on Altair. If—and we can always confirm this with Gollee, Afra went on, holding up one hand, Vagrian made a balls of meeting Laria, and they’ve sent him to us to... ah... adjust ...
Of course they have. Damia scowled into her wineglass.
Then let’s see how well he performs and what we can do. Neither your father nor Gollee would have sent him here unless he has real ability that they wish to channel and save.
Damia was too accustomed to Afra’s sense of justice and common sense to ignore his comments.
Small wonder he wanted Morag and Kaltia away before Vagrian arrived, she murmured. Can you imagine the impact he’d’ve had on Morag?
With no trouble at all, Afra said with a chuckle. He’s descending. “I thought we still had some of that Brie-type cheese left, or did Morag eat the last of it?”
“I’ve pate and the local soft cheese,” Damia was saying, having swiftly ’ported crackers and spreads from the larder and cold store, while Afra opened a second bottle of white wine to add to the one they had nearly finished, as well as other liquors.
“What’s your preference, Vagrian?” Afra asked. “There are two local lagers that are quite palatable and something the miners drink that they call ‘bitters.’ ”
“Isn’t that an Altairian white?” Vagrian asked, pointing to the wine.
“Indeed it is,” Damia said, smiling approval. “One of our perks as Tower staff. You can order anything in when we’ve empty drones returning. And we have them in fleets,” she added in a weary tone.
“Let’s go into the lounge. Sunset’s rather unusual here on Iota,” Afra said, the indulgent host, and carried the drinks tray while Damia and Vagrian followed.
They were still on broad conversational topics when Petra and Ewain arrived, their Darbuls and Coons at their heels. Sim, Dar, Kev and Su followed, each with just one slither.
Thank you, dears, Damia said, nodding and smiling before she introduced her youngest aloud to their house guest. He’ll need time to become accustomed to the slithers, I think. Reptiles on Altair are too dangerous to be considered pets.
When they wished to, Petra and Ewain could be the epitome of well-behaved children. Attuned to parental attitudes, they assumed that pose and passed snacks, then politely urged Vagrian to try some that they preferred. His inquiry about what they hunted on Iota met with such explanations and eagerness for him to join them that Damia was able to go out to the kitchen with the ’Dinis to finish dinner preparations.
The hunting topic was pursued during dinner because Vagrian—with every appearance of good nature—was quite happy to compare his forays as a young hunter on Altair with the experiences of Petra and Ewain. Listening with an acute ear for any false tone, Damia had to concede that Vagrian was not exaggerating his prowess. Both she and Afra knew that some of the game he had pursued on Altair was a good deal larger and more dangerous than anything on the coasts or mountains of Iota Aurigae.
“We’ve nothing like ballbites and beartards here on Iota,” she said at one point.
“Frankly, it’s never been the size of permissible prey that’s attracted me, Damia,” Vagrian replied with perfect sincerity, “but the skill the hunting requires. If you do hunt here for the table, I’d be very happy to take part, if you’ll tell me what is and is not permitted.”
“What’s your weapon of choice?” Petra demanded, her eyes keen, mouth half open awaiting his answer. Damia was relieved that Petra was still a trifle too young to be seriously affected by Vagrian’s good looks. After all, her older brothers were just as attractive.
But, Afra put in wryly, merely brothers.
“What’s available?” asked Vagrian with a shrug.
“Just about anything,” Afra said, “from slingshot—”
“Slingshot? You can bring down prey with that?” Vagrian’s surprise was not feigned.
“Sure,” Ewain said nonchalantly. “Get most of the avians that way. Head shots that don’t bruise the edible parts.”
“Bow and arrow?” Vagrian asked now.
“Yup, and spear now and then against the bigger scurriers,” Petra said, and then grimaced, “though that’s kinda overkill. I mostly stick to my twenty-two.”
“Head shots?” Vagrian asked.
“If I don’t have a clear view of the eye.”
“Will I be safe out hunting with this pair?” Vagrian asked their parents.
“We haven’t eaten a guest yet,” Ewain answered, giggling.
After dinner, Petra, who was in charge of evening stables, asked if Vagrian wanted to come along.
“We’ve turned most of the ponies out,” Petra explained.
“And you’ve a favorite mount?” Vagrian asked.
“Yes, I’m allowed to ride Saki now. She was Laria’s special mount, but she’s such a brilliant ride we’ve all used her until our legs get too long.” She spared a glance at Vagrian’s legs. “You’re much too tall already.”
“Which is Saki?” Vagrian asked as they entered the stable.
“Here she is,” Petra said, and turned to the first box on the right. “Isn’t she beautiful?” She held her hand out flat and Vagrian had a brief glimpse of a tidbit that quickly disappeared into the mare’s eager mouth. When Vagrian stepped closer, the mare backed up, ears flat.
Once more unexpectedly startled, Vagrian wondered if the animals in this unusual household were also telepathic. The diverse herd that had startled him in front of the house had immediately withdrawn and sat in patient order until released. And now this mare seemed to sense his keen, and inimical, interest in her.
“She’ll behave better when she sees you more often,” Petra said airily. Then she tugged at Vagrian’s sleeve. “The horses are farther down and I’d say China will be up to your weight. She’s very sure-footed, which you need in our hills, and quite onward bound.”
Seeing a bucket of horse pellets, Vagrian took a handful, determined to make a positive impression on this mare. The dappled gray accepted his offering quite willingly and allowed him to stroke her neck and scratch her ears.
When Petra clicked twice, China stepped back and he got a good look at her.
“Good bone and strong hindquarters,” Vagrian said appreciatively, and when Petra gave him an approving glance, left his assessment at that. He was going to have to be very careful in this household, even in its stables. He must certainly remember that all of the Lyons were T-t’s. He wondered if such ratings extended to the animals. He would try to make friends with at least one of the Coon cats. They were an expensive import on Altair, so he had little direct experience with the breed. Canines were another matter, since he’d used dogs in hunts. He wondered how close to canines the Darbuls were.
“So what are our duties now?” he asked Petra.
“Oh, we just check to be sure their water bowls haven’t clogged, and clear out droppings. We didn’t hunt today, so we don’t have to check for prods or scratches. We have to be careful about them here on Iota. Lots of odd stuff even the horses born here can’t handle. There’s the medical kit.” She pointed to the green box on the wall. “Everything’s marked in case you need to use something and no one’s. here to help. Though we always hunt in pairs at least.”
“Wise,” he said. “So let’s clean the boxes.”
Petra went to an elongated object held by brackets to the wall at the entrance, and she pointed to a similar affair on the other side. “Xexo did ’em and these vacuum brooms save so much trouble. Try to lift only the droppings. Too many shavings mean you gotta empty more often.”
Vagrian had not seen such a handy device before, since Altair tended to use old-fashioned methods on its farms. However, following Petra’s advice, they had cleaned up the droppings in a fraction of the time such a task usually took. Then she showed him where to empty the now filled containers: a large tank.
“It processes the manure for use in agriculture,” she said, deftly handling the transfer. Having watched closely, Vagrian repeated the process. “Hey, you’re good,” she declared approvingly. “Do it wrong and it’s all over you.”
“I’m doing my best to make a good first impression,” Vagrian said.
“Oh, you’re doing all right,” she said, so airily that Vagrian once more tightened his guard. “Oh, don’t be so silly. Nobody here imposes even if we are T-I’s. It’s such bad manners. Just keep on my mother’s good side,” she added in a whisper. “That should be easy for you.” And with that cryptic remark, she motioned for him to replace the gadget on the wall.
Although the minor job he had just completed with Petra had required very little effort, he felt tired as he climbed the steps back up to the house.
“You look all in,” the girl said, cocking her head up to him as he held the door open for her. She frowned. “If you got here late afternoon, it’d’ve been twenty-two hundred hours at Blundell. You’d better get to bed. Tomorrow you’ll be initiated into transporting big daddies, and they’re something else again.”
Damia appeared in the hall. “I apologize for forgetting the time difference, Vagrian. And all of us handle the big daddies first thing when we’re well rested. Sleep well.”
Though the dismissal was kindly meant and Vagrian could not deny that he was tired, he wasn’t too pleased to be sent to bed like an adolescent who wouldn’t admit to fatigue.
The next morning after an excellent breakfast, he joined Damia and Afra in Iota Aurigae’s Tower. If the views from the house had been splendid, the positioning of the Tower in a gap of the mountains gave breathtaking panoramas of the foothills, which culminated in an immense range of snow-capped crests and endless ridges.
As they entered the facility, Keylarion, at her workstation, gave them a good morning and turned back to the screens showing the big daddies they would shortly send on their way. The throb of generators pulsed through the floor of the building as Vagrian followed Damia and Afra up the stairs to where three couches were centered, wall-mounted screens mirroring those at Keylarion’s desk. Several smaller couches had been pushed back against the outer wall. The one on the left that Damia pointed out to him was brand new while the ones onto which the Prime and Afra settled showed years of use and frequent repairs.
Vagrian was not the least nervous once he settled onto the couch, which fit him as if it had been custom-made for his tall, wide frame.
“What’s first, Keylarion?” Damia asked. One of the screens brightened. “Maltese Cross, huh?” She turned to her left, to Vagrian. “You have been trained in merge techniques, haven’t you?”
“Of course,” he said, and tightened his inner shields.
“Let Afra take you into the merge. And relax!”
He felt the gentle push of Afra’s mind against his and did manage not to resist. He was still unsure of merging despite the practice sessions at Blundell. But this was almost effortless and he could relax. And he did, then felt the incredible strength of Damia joining and picking up the existing merge. Afra increased and drew him to a higher level. An unexpected excitement began deep inside him to respond to the draw on his Talent.
Easy, Vagrian, Damia said. Now follow my lead to our target. We’ll need your heft... DAVID, coming your way... at top speed! NOW!
As if he were part of the drone they were manipulating, Vagrian felt its dead weight, felt the merge lifting it with incredible ease and then shifting it until he, within the merge, felt the contact of another merge, taking the drone the rest of the way to Betelgeuse.
He was aware then of the generators, dropping from the height at which they had assisted the gestalt of mind and direction.
Well done, Vagrian, Damia said, grinning at him. Keep in mind we’ve five more of these brutes to shove. Allow me to draw the heft as I need it. Don’t anticipate. It’ll take even you a little time to feel the needs of a merge.
The second screen brightened with the second target. “Trefoil Mine, this time, and then back to Maltese Cross.”
Afra was still in merge with him, and Vagrian had to appreciate the experienced delicacy of the other T-2’s touch. But then, the man had decades of practice, first with the Rowan at Callisto Station and then twenty-six or more years with his wife. No matter, the Capellan’s deftness was remarkable and most certainly did not give Vagrian any sense of violation or intrusion. He had thought that most merges occurred with the focus mind initiating the process, then including the others involved.
Damia’s strong even for a Prime, was Afra’s discreet remark. Especially working with our children, I could lead them into merge.
Ready? Damia asked.
Ready.
When you are, said another male voice that must be David of Betelgeuse. Who’ve you got throwing today? Certainly not Petra and Ewain.
Vagrian Beliakin, Damia said. Are you ready, David?
Quite!
This time Vagrian was ready for the sensation and the weight, and remembering not to anticipate, he found this thrust was indeed easier.
By the sixth and final ’portation, Vagrian knew he had worked hard. There was sweat on his forehead from the mental and physical effort. He was somewhat reassured to notice that Afra was mopping his forehead and there was a glow of perspiration on Damia’s composed and beautiful face.
Keylarion came up the steps with a tray of tall drinks, handing one to each of them. She grinned at Vagrian.
“I see you survived to tell the tale,” she said with a grin. “Didn’t even have the generators at max either. Xexo’s going to love having you here.”
He was debating a retort, when Keylarion turned to Damia. “Some incoming scheduled in half an hour. Okay?”
“You bet,” Damia said, tipping her glass at Vagrian. “We could damn well push to the Magellanic Cloud with this one assisting.”
“All in a day’s work,” he said, taking refuge in a trite reply because he hadn’t expected such approval. After all, she had had to tell him to exercise restraint. And she was Laria’s mother? Would he have made such a balls of it at Clarf if Damia had been the Tower Prime?
“Work’s not over yet,” she said teasingly, an
d took a long drink.
He did too, knowing that the stimulant would restore the energy those heists had taken, even if he didn’t feel them ... yet.
He concluded his first day’s work at Iota Aurigae Tower well pleased with himself and this assignment. This was a real challenge for any Talent, and for the first time since he discovered he had Talent, he felt he had used his mental muscles. It was also the first time he had not had a night-marish flash of that mud slide. He was glad that little reminder was receding. He’d been one of the senior wardens of a large game preserve on Altair, accompanying a big group of hunters, and he had managed to include in their number his current female companion. Alcibaca had claimed an enthusiastic interest in hunting—feigned, he suspected, in an effort to capture his attention. For once, his suspicions were false. She’d kept up with him and the others he had escorted on a regular basis. Without a murmur of complaint, she’d done her share of camping chores and had bagged three of the largest beartards, skinned and dressed down the meat properly.
They were on the fourth day of the week, and its third rainy one, when he led them, carefully, up a steep slope to a narrow valley he knew was the home of a large enough “bear” clan which needed to be culled. He had his charges spread out across the slope, since he was well aware of the dangers of mud slides in these hills. What with keeping an appreciative eye on the rear view Alcibaca presented and the other on the weakest hunters of his group, he did not see three of them closing up, ahead of him. Nor did he see the avian that one of them, who ought to have known better, fired at. The sharp crack was all that was needed to set the treacherous ground moving.
The three men had time to leap to the far side, clinging to the nearest saplings and bushes, but the slide, once it started, picked up momentum in an awesome, inexorable cataract of moving mud, heading right at the rest of the hunting party. Horrified, Vagrian kept his wits, saw that there was one chance to protect himself and his group. The slide was heading toward a granite outcropping. If there was only a way to push the slide to the opposite side of that, instead of over it, the mud would head harmlessly into the valley below. With every ounce of body language, he valiantly pushed the bulging, rippling head of the slide, and when it actually did pass on the far side of the rock, he fell to his knees, gripping his head against the most appalling, blinding headache he’d ever experienced.
The Tower and the Hive Page 15
