Damia

by Anne McCaffrey

  Afra had never experienced such an onslaught of emotions before. His face went numb and his mind raced in the tightest possible confused circles, hoping she wouldn’t probe at such a delicate moment. The Rowan was offering a deeper relationship than any he had ever had with another human being, even with Goswina. Less than Reidinger had hinted at but, for many reasons, more than Afra had any right to expect. A Prime was begging him to drop the careful choreography of acquaintance in the hopes of the most miraculous of friendships.

  Slowly, dropping his mental shields, Afra extended his hand to her, palm up. The Rowan looked at it, catching her breath and appearing for a long moment as if she would retreat further into herself. Impulsively Afra grabbed her hand. She jerked at the touch, then made her fingers unclench.

  What would you have me do, my friend? Afra asked across this tactile bonding, tighter than mere telepathy. Slowly the Rowan relaxed and slowly her marvelous smile lit her face to beauty.

  Afra made his bow deep and respectful. He doubted she ever made amends to any of the other Tower personnel. A Prime and the second in command of a Tower needed to cultivate their rapport—a rapport which must develop and intensify. To what degree? Afra wondered, once again recalling Reidinger’s remark. Was that behind the Rowan’s apologetic behavior? In the seconds it took to complete the bow, Afra decided it would be very unwise to anticipate. The Rowan was a lonely person but not necessarily lonely for him, in spite of what Reidinger tacitly suggested.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  OVER the next few years, by a serendipity Afra never quite understood, the relationship between the Rowan and himself deepened but never in quite the direction Reidinger would have preferred. Their professional rapport was shortly so fine-tuned that even the other Tower staff knew that Afra was the aide she had been searching for.

  On the emotional level, Afra became increasingly able to gauge the Rowan’s moods and, if necessary, would warn the Tower personnel to slap up their shields and endure. He could sometimes turn her state with an adroit pressure of positive reassurance. Sometimes he couldn’t, and the tension in the Tower would become thick enough to cut. Once or twice, when he felt she had gone beyond the bounds of permissible emotional display, he’d reprimand her, in kindly tone, heavy with surprise at her lack of control: though he hated to borrow any of his parents’ attitudes. On those few occasions when he did reprimand her, her turbulence would generally abate to a tolerable fury.

  As stationmaster, Brian Ackerman suffered more than anyone else. When he threatened to quit, Afra would appeal to Reidinger. Of course, Afra never “heard” what Earth Prime said to the Rowan, but she would be reasonably docile for the next week or so.

  Callisto was, in many ways, far more difficult a Tower than any other, including Earth’s. So there was greater pressure on its Prime and Tower staff. Some lower T ratings weren’t sufficiently flexible and were replaced, but gradually, over the next few years, a balance was achieved and maintained. Afra also suggested a roster of temporary replacements when some key personnel reached an overload point. As a T-4 in gestalt with the station’s generators he was able to, and did, send people downside for a few days’ relief, though, generally, the Rowan would oblige even if she was in a bad mood.

  Since Afra could ’port himself with an assist from the station’s generators, he availed himself of those periodic longer occlusions when great Jupiter or several of the smaller moons made traffic in or out of Callisto impossible. That was when he learned more of the planet of his ancestors.

  The first visit he made, however, was to Damitcha in his forest retreat. Though the old chief was genuinely delighted to see his young friend, his mind wandered and, even during the brief stay, Damitcha became confused, thinking he was in Capella port, or Betelgeuse, and wondering how Afra came to be so far from his home system.

  More frequently, Afra accepted Gollee Gren’s company on tours of the pleasure houses that abounded in the immense and sprawling capital of Central Worlds. These excursions were both relieving and tantalizing for Afra. He met many lovely women, skilled and innocent, but none of them could hold his interest very long. He returned most often to the calm and understanding Kama—even if she teased him that he came more to dally with Amos, the Coonie, than with her. But she knew that he found solace in her company, and she would arrange her time so that they could spend days together if he asked.

  Back at the Station he and the Rowan would engage in elaborate games, sometimes play-fighting with all the ferocity of mates. Sometimes, when the mood threatened to turn intimate, the Rowan would break away, hiding her head from the hurt she had imposed upon him. Afra’s stern methody upbringing helped him to school his expressions and turn his words to safer stances.

  Their relationship evolved into something approaching elder sister-little brother but with an intimacy such blood affiliations could not attain. Afra, for his part, found it easier to accept that role than the young lover of an older woman. The Rowan used her greater age on him unmercifully until the two finally grew tired of it, dropping the petty bickering for the silence of dear companions.

  Perhaps following the dictum that familiarity breeds contempt, the Rowan took to spending most of the station downtime in his company. Afra, for his part, began to accept the gender differences between them in an attempt to aid him in his dealings with his less cerebral relationships. If Kama guessed, she never mentioned it. Nor did the Rowan ever seek to find out more about Afra’s “downside” friend.

  That consideration only underscored Afra’s comprehension of the Rowan’s loneliness which tore at him viciously, sometimes at the expense of his seeking out Kama. His deep compassion for the Rowan constantly teetered on the verge of offering to provide her physical as well as mental comfort. He fought within himself over the fear that by not providing her with a physical bond he was denying her the lover she so desperately wanted. But he feared more the consequences of his being wrong: of robbing the Rowan of the only person to whom she could spill her soul. And, deep within himself, Afra feared that perhaps she would accept; for he did not want to be the youngster in his love, he desired to be the consoler, the anchor for a young spirit blown by the winds of life.

  But, as her loneliness manifested itself more frequently, Afra began to hope that she might turn to him. Certainly he was the most likely candidate in the galaxy, even if he knew that she could not requite his abiding love for her.

  Unconsciously he sought alternate solutions to the Rowan’s agoraphobia, a problem that seemed to affect all Prime Talents, of being unable to teleport without violent reactions. After her first space voyage, the Rowan had arrived at Callisto Station in a near catatonic state. While Afra knew that Callisto, also, had had the same violent reaction to space travel, he wondered if there might not be a cure, especially for one as young as the Rowan. If, he reasoned, the Rowan could escape Callisto Station and “bring Muhamet to the Mountain,” she would at least have the opportunity to dabble without it being immediately known to all her fellow workers. So he suggested that she try to overcome her space cafard by making small ventures off the surface of Callisto in a special capsule, cushioned against any movement and opaqued from any source of exterior light or view. With his mind to minimize the act of ’portation, the Rowan tried to neutralize her agoraphobia. Gradually, she was able to endure being ’ported beyond Callisto for short periods. Afra did not dare force the exercises.

  Then the eighth planet of hot Deneb, bombarded by an alien task force, made contact with Callisto for desperately needed medical personnel to cope with the plagues spurted from space at the colonial planet. And the mind that made contact was male, young, powerful, and unattached.

  When the Rowan proposed a mind-merge to defeat the invaders in Deneb’s skies, Afra was both elated and wary. But the mind-merge with Jeff Raven, successful as it was in destroying the intruders, was not sufficient to induce the Rowan to leave Callisto and join this potent young male on his home planet. Her despair hit a pa
ralyzing nadir so deep that Afra, and Brian, feared for her sanity.

  Afra’s rage on learning that Reidinger wanted to use the affair as a way of breaking the Rowan’s phobia surprised everyone in its intensity. Reidinger, in particular, had come to consider the young Capellan of a placid temperament. While he put his anger on hold with the appearance of the very distraught Rowan, he intended to do battle again with Reidinger as soon as possible; after all, he had been handling the situation quite adequately, damn it!

  The day was draining, more from the tragic air of the Rowan than the efforts of moving cargo. At the end of it, as Afra considered how best to help his Prime, a young man in plain travel gear arrived in the control room.

  “You come up in that last shuttle?” Ackerman asked the stranger politely. Afra lost the answer as he scrutinized the man. He was tired but carried himself with a composed air marred only by a slight wistfulness and a greater nervousness.

  “Hey, Afra, want you to meet Jeff Raven.” Ackerman’s voice called him back to awareness. Raven, Afra noted to himself. Deneb, another part responded coolly. Deneb here? Afra had trouble believing it: Primes did not travel. Jeff Raven’s eyes met his.

  “Hello,” Afra murmured, rueful that his introspection had betrayed him.

  “Hello,” Raven returned, his grin altering imperceptibly. Afra kept his expression fixed but he knew. He flicked his gaze away, unsure of his continued control.

  What the hell is happening down there? asked the Rowan with a tinge of her familiar irritation. Why . . .

  And then, in violation of all her own rules, she was there, standing in the middle of the room. She flicked a quick glance to Afra, who jerked his head in the direction of Jeff Raven.

  Deneb stepped to her side and gently touched her hand. “Reidinger said you needed me.”

  Reidinger said you needed me, the words rang through Afra’s mind like bells. He watched closely as the Rowan reacted. Well inside his shields, half-ecstatic, half-destroyed, Afra thought: Give her the care she needs! Give her what she will not take from me!

  And then the two Talents left, making their way up the stairs to the Rowan’s once lonely Tower. Afra broke the awed silence of the other Station crew by grabbing a cake from the box in Ackerman’s motionless hand.

  Eyes watering with the conflicting emotions that tore at him, Afra called out: “Not that that pair needs much of our help, people, but we can add a certain flourish and speed things up!”

  * * *

  Over the next few days Afra spent his free time adjusting to the fact that he no longer needed to worry or hope that the Rowan might one day come to him for more than verbal comfort. Then he recognized, with growing anxiety, that despite all his hopes and fears the Rowan was stuck in a terrible limbo: loving but unable to be in the arms of her lover. Jeff Raven had shown that Prime Talents could cross the void of space without the terrible disorientation that Siglen’s travel trauma had imposed on all her charges, but the Rowan still had to conquer that imposition in herself.

  Afra was delighted, if exhausted, when the Rowan awoke him early one morning to demand his aid in overcoming the neurosis. As much as he wanted to help her immediately, he recommended that she rest first and start the new attempt the next morning.

  With two hours before Callisto cleared Jupiter’s shadow and the Station could begin its workday, Afra gently nudged the Rowan’s capsule out, using his gestalt with the station generators to push it slowly into a Mars orbit.

  Afra was delighted when he heard the Rowan’s sour comment.

  I can’t just sit here in the cradle . . .

  You’re not, you know, he told her. You’re hovering near Deimos.

  She panicked and Reidinger screamed at him, but it was worth it. Afra was sure that in time he could help her break her fear, for he perversely determined that, now she had found her mind-mate, she was going to be free to be with him on Deneb.

  When Afra brought her capsule back to the Station, palmed open its door, he took her hand and pumped her energy levels back up. He was careful to replace his shields before she could read him: not just because he did not want her to know his plans but also because he still was not completely sure of his emotions.

  You don’t need to treat this as so commonplace an occurrence, you know, she said with some asperity.

  Why not? It should be! He returned with a smug grin. She pinched him. Yow! He sidled away from her.

  His pleasure was short-lived, however. The next morning, when the Rowan thought of going to Earth, he balked.

  “We’ve got some pretty heavy stuff to shift,” he warned her. But she glared at him, and Afra found himself wondering if he could endure her during the necessary adjustment period. The Rowan told the staff they could prepare for the day’s work without him or her, then glared at him.

  “I want to go back to Deimos again. Now!”

  “As you wish.” Afra gave in gracefully. Gently he pushed her back out close to Mars’ largest moon.

  Is Earth visible from this position? she asked him.

  He rotated the capsule and told her how to use the controls to get a magnified view of Earth and its Moon. But the blackness was too much for her and, the moment he caught the explosion of fear, he yanked her back.

  Easy, Rowan! he said, soothingly. But her reactions were so strong that they disturbed Jeff Raven way out on Deneb.

  Scared me half to death, you did! Raven told her.

  Jeff, Afra replied with some fear of reproach, she’s all right. Afra added to the strength of his response by initiating a metamorphic massage to the Rowan to reduce her tension. Inwardly he was angered: what was blocking her so much? Was he trying to inhibit her? Was he rushing her in order to threaten her resolve? Afra detested even the thought that such petty jealousies could lurk in his heart. I want her to be happy, he told himself sternly. I will be happier if the Rowan is happy.

  The day passed uneasily, with Afra walking a tightrope for fear of setting the Rowan off. But she worked more like an automaton, neither jocular nor snappish. They were just closing down the board for the day when an emergency cargo signal came through.

  Some Fleet nerd to judge by the ID . . . Brian Ackerman started sourly. Silence spread among the rest of the crew until Afra turned to the personal capsule. Jeff Raven stepped out, tossed everyone a jolly salute, and charged up the Rowan’s Tower two steps at a time.

  * * *

  “There’s nothing on this list we can’t handle ourselves!” Afra exclaimed, thrusting the cargo manifest back into Ackerman’s outstretched hand. “Get those generators back on line!”

  “But, Afra—” Ackerman began pleadingly.

  “No buts!” Afra’s yellow eyes burned hot. “We will not disturb them.” He gestured peremptorily around the control room. “Have Mauli and Mick report here; they’ve worked with me before.”

  “Yes, but only when the Rowan was in gestalt, too,” Ackerman complained.

  Don’t task me, Brian, Afra snapped back, his normal aplomb shaken enough that he ’pathed. He jerked his head in silent apology, adding aloud: “We owe them this much.”

  Ackerman sighed deeply, nodded in agreement. He turned to the others standing around the control room. “You heard the man, people! We’ve got work to do!” He grinned conspiratorially at the tall Capellan.

  “Just don’t try to resign because I’m bullying you!” Afra teased, waggling a finger.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it!” Brian responded heartily. “Now here’s the first load . . .”

  * * *

  “That’s the last load,” Brian said, handing the datasheets to the Capellan. “Afra? The last load.”

  “Oh? Yeah,” Afra looked up wanly, limply taking the sheets. Beyond him, Mauli and Mick reeled slightly in their seats. He walked over to them slowly. “Mauli? Mick?” He looked down at them. “Last one.”

  The twins slowly rose to their feet, swaying. Afra grabbed their hands, apologizing. “Tactile contact will make it easier.”

&n
bsp; Fortunately it was a small cargo lighter. Afra suspected that Brian had saved it especially. With a great effort the three heaved the empty ship back to Earth orbit.

  Hey! Watch it! Reidinger swore, steadying the tumbling ship as it popped into orbit just above the Earth’s atmosphere. Any closer and you would have drenched Sri Lanka!

  Afra ignored the comment, as they had done throughout the day in their contacts with Earth Prime. The excuse given out was that the Rowan was furious with Reidinger and not talking to him. The Rowan had never done that before, but Afra was sure she would be amused by the ruse when he had a chance to explain it later.

  “Afra—”

  “—we can’t do this again,” Mauli and Mick told them in their twin-speak.

  Afra gave them a long searching look before he nodded rueful acceptance.

  “We’ve got a passenger liner due through tomorrow, anyway,” Ackerman confided, the next day’s cargo manifest on his screen. “You’re beat. I’ll tell the Rowan in the morning.”

  Afra shook his head. “No, I will.” He looked around the control room at the exhausted crew. “Thank you.” Then he went around the room, shaking the hands or patting the shoulder of each and every person. “And please thank those outside who helped us today. I’m sure the Rowan will thank you, too.”

  “They didn’t do it for her,” Brian muttered under his breath. Afra did not hear him.

  Afra knocked louder on the Rowan’s door in his fourth attempt to rouse the pair the next morning. He had slept soundly but had woken quite early, nervously considering how to admit his weakness to the Rowan when Callisto Station had to go to work. There was that large passenger liner which, no way, could he and the twins ’port. He tried through the comsystem to rouse them again. No luck.