* * *
“Larak!” Damia cried joyfully, running to embrace her brother. “Whatever are you doing here?”
“Afra sent for me,” Larak told her, hugging her happily. He shook his head. “I hadn’t realized that Mom and Dad took his advice so seriously.”
“Your voice!” Damia declared, recognizing differences over the past year. “You’ve grown.”
“I’m not a little boy anymore, Damia,” Larak replied, his voice now deepened with adolescence. “I’ve put on three inches in seven months! I’ll catch up with you soon!”
Damia laughed. “And pass me out, I’m sure!” She pursed her lips. “Why did Afra send for you?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“We’re not exchanging confidences these days.” Damia’s response was curt, blocking any further conversation.
Larak ignored the implied injunction. He blew out his breath. “That’s new. I thought Afra was your extra special friend.”
“I’ve grown out of such a childish dependence.”
Larak gave her an appraising look, which turned into a different sort of look. He nodded appreciatively. “If you weren’t my sister, I’d ask you for a date! I’m not the only one who’s grown up!”
Damia shook her head. “Thank you. I’m not much into dates now, though.”
“Poor men!” Larak exclaimed. He hefted his carisak. “Well, lead on! I’m starving!”
Damia grinned. “That’s normal!”
* * *
Brian Ackerman caught up with them in the canteen. Larak waved a fork at him agreeably, his mouth working through an overlarge hunk of food.
Ackerman shook his head at the change in the young man. “I nearly didn’t recognize you!”
“Even with the typical Raven features? I’m hurt!” Larak had the same easy camaraderie his father possessed. Brian recalled with surprise that he had known Jeff Raven for over twenty years now and the Rowan for slightly longer. At seventy-five, Ackerman was beginning to feel his morning exercises but beyond that, and going totally gray, he felt himself to be much the same man as the one who had met Jeff Raven those many years ago. And the one who had, in desperation, sent his resignation to Peter Reidinger because he could not cope with the young Rowan. The thought of the Rowan made him flick his eyes at Damia. Her features were a delicate blur of the best of the Rowan and the best of Raven, but she favored more her mother in moods, temperament, and emotion. Yes, a lot like her mother, Ackerman decided, only more powerful. He wondered if the Rowan was really aware of her daughter’s psychic potential. He had his suspicions, but Jeff had tactfully kept his counsel on that score.
“What brings you here?” Damia asked with an unspoken accusation in her tone.
“I’ve got new Station assignments,” Ackerman replied.
“Station assignments?” Larak was startled. “Aren’t we a bit too young?”
“That’s never stopped you before!” Ackerman exclaimed, a smile forming on his lips. He nodded at the youngster. “I’ve read your transcripts, Larak. You’re going to be a great twic some day!”
“Twic?” Larak was puzzled, Damia startled.
Ackerman nodded at her. “It was a name your sister coined. Stands for second-in-command. Only she saw 2IC and pronounced it twic.” He paused. “Afra must’ve liked it because he’s used it ever since and it’s stuck.”
Larak turned a fond look at his sister, but Damia looked as though the words offended her. “So what’s up?” Larak asked, ignoring his sister’s expression.
“Altair’s up,” Ackerman replied, turning to Damia and winking at her. “You’re assigned there for six months, to work with Torshan and Saggoner. I think Earth Prime’s doing what Reidinger did to him—starting you on a round of Towers to give you experience.”
“Gren put you up to this, didn’t he?” Damia asked, her eyes snapping with blue sparks.
Ackerman recoiled from the verbal onslaught, confused. “Huh?”
“Where did those ‘assignments’ originate?” she demanded.
“Headquarters, on Earth, where else?” Ackerman returned, remembering belatedly how poor the Rowan’s manners had been when she was angered by something. What’s up? he asked himself. “You’ve done very well here, Damia. But it’s time for you to get about more.” He recoiled a bit at the anger she didn’t quite suppress.
“When?” Her question was delivered in a flat tone, but both men could sense the tension within her.
Ackerman blinked. “I guess you can go as soon as you like, Damia, but there’s no exact date given.”
“Well, I suppose I should be grateful for time to pack,” she said in a bitter tone.
“Ah, you just got in, didn’t you, Larak,” Brian began, trying to rescue himself. It was rather like those times when the Rowan had been in a right snit and no one knew why.
“Yes, I did,” and Larak fell quickly in with Brian’s obvious ploy. “Haven’t even seen my mother yet. Found Damia and she suggested I might be hungry.” Larak’s ingenuous grin flashed at Brian. “Have I got an assignment in that pack?”
Brian ruffled the flimsies. “Yes, you do, actually,” and he extracted the right one. “You’re here for six months, working with Afra . . .”
“So he had to get rid of me first?” Damia asked in a sullen tone.
“Afra has nothing to do with assignments,” Brian said, puzzled by her attitude. Why, when she was a baby, she’d followed Afra around like one of his Coonies. Ackerman shook his head. “He doesn’t know they’ve come in, much less who’s been assigned where. I don’t think he’ll like it much, though.” Ackerman looked at his watch and rose. “I’d better log these in officially, kids. I’ll see you two later?”
“Certainly!” Larak called back.
Afra had heard the news that evening and was not pleased. When he met Gollee Gren at Luce’s restaurant, he started right in. “What’s the idea behind sending Damia to Altair?”
“She needs the experience,” Gollee said simply, flagging down a waiter. “Please tell Luce that Afra’s here.”
The waiter looked dubious. “Afra?” He looked at the Capellan, who nodded politely.
“Afra of Callisto Tower,” Gren amended. “Luce’ll know what to do.”
“Chef Luciano is a busy man—”
“Who’ll be very upset if I have to tell him myself.” Gollee whipped his napkin from his lap and made to rise.
“I will tell him.” The waiter rushed off.
“New man.” Gren frowned. “He’ll learn.”
Afra shook his head. “I haven’t been here that often recently.”
“Tell me about it!” Gollee snorted.
“Tell me about Altair.”
“She’s got to have a lot more experience before she’s ready to run her own Tower,” Gren said, then paused as Afra realized what he meant.
“A new Tower? Where?” With more and more systems joining the Nine Star League—which had far more than Nine Stars in it now—there was incredible pressure on FT&T to expand their facilities.
“Aurigae,” and Gollee made a face. “They’ve got ores every system will buy. They already have credit by the pod load. They want a T-1 yesterday. But Jeff won’t overload her until he’s sure she’s ready for that kind of responsibility.”
“She’s got the capability.”
“She doesn’t have the self-control,” Gren said, and his eyes were hooded with disapproval. Afra arched an eyebrow and he shrugged, then admitted with a sigh, “It’s also because of the incident—”
“Jeff hasn’t heard, has he?”
“Not from my lips,” Gren assured him. “And no, I don’t think he has. Amr’s getting therapy and the prognosis is good, but he won’t ever make stationmaster. He also has no idea who she really is. So when Jeff was wondering where to send her, I admit I suggested that she fill the Altairian spot, with an eye toward Aurigae. It’s preferable to her being at Blundell.”
“Hmm, yes, she was dating the boy for six month
s. They did a lot of dancing. Someone’s sure to remember her face if she starts going out and about on Earth again.”
“I also think working with Torshan and Saggoner will be good for her. Jeff’s objective, but the Rowan’s not.”
Afra pursed his lips, nodded. “Yes, that’s a factor, too. Damia’s always been Rowan’s sore spot. It’s been pretty intense at times in the Tower during Damia’s apprenticeship. I don’t know how much of that is their personalities clashing. Even so, she’ll learn more control.”
“Oh, indeed she will. She’s scheduled to go to Capella after Altair,” and Gollee’s smile was malicious. “She’ll learn control.”
“Don’t be so hard on the child, Gollee. She’s only sixteen, and in an act of passion it’s hard enough for anyone to control themselves.”
“We manage!” Gren protested.
Afra agreed with a nod, adding, “But we’re not sixteen.” Then he deliberately changed the subject. “How’s Tanya? And the kids?”
“The kids are great!” Gollee returned promptly.
“And Tanya?”
Gren smiled, having lined Afra up for that. “She’s even better.”
“Your daughter, she’s what—twelve?”
Gren groaned. “Thirteen and boy trouble already.” He sighed, reflectively. “In fact, I had a long talk with her after . . .”
“Good idea,” Afra agreed quickly.
“I can’t figure out why the Rowan neglected . . .” Gren began in protest.
“I don’t think she did. I think Damia simply didn’t hear,” Afra cut in. “Cera had no problem.”
“Cera’s overcontrolled,” Gren remarked. “Would she?”
“The Rowan mentioned Cera had reached an understanding. A nice lad, she says, a T-3.”
“Jeff Raven’s own population explosion. You watch over all them, don’t you?” Gollee said, amused. “But Damia more than the rest.”
Afra shrugged. “She’s so much like the Rowan, it comes naturally.” Afra furrowed his brows. “But Aurigae? That’s going to be a tough Tower to run.”
“Who knows? Your Damia may well have found herself a soul mate before she gets to Aurigae,” Gollee said cheerfully.
The food arrived, along with an ecstatic Luciano, and the subject of Damia and Aurigae was not renewed.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
IOTA Aurigae was a blaze at zenith, to Damia’s left, glinting off her personal capsule. Capella’s light, from the right nadir, was a pulsing blue-white. Starlight from the Milky Way bathed her, too, but the only sound was her even breathing as she allowed her mind to open fully to the mindless, echo-freedom of deep space.
It was as if she could feel the separate cerebral muscles relaxing, expanding, as her tall, slender body went gradually limp. She enjoyed these moments of total mental relief from the stresses of Aurigae Tower. But her purpose in these jaunts had a more important application than a mental vacation for herself: she must also be certain that no unwelcome visitors approached the Nine Star League from deep space beyond Iota Aurigae, the farthest human colony from Earth.
Eventually the League would have sufficient sentries to ring the heliopause of every one of its member star systems. The effective warning system evolved by the combined effort of Fleet and Commercial Engineers was expensive, and time-consuming to manufacture, and almost as tedious to install when completed, since each network had to be designed for the star system it would protect. Since the Beetles had twice tried to penetrate Denebian space, that star system had been first to receive heliopausal sentinels. Despite the fact that the home system was already festooned with sophisticated sensors and listening devices in swarms about each of the inner planets and a gigantic listening mechanism on Neptune, Terra received the second system.
Over the next fifteen years, obvious politicking, strikes, ultimatums, and power plays by nervous administrators on the other Systems—Altair, Capella, Betelgeuse and Procyon—were frequent: each Star determined to have equal safeguards against alien incursions. As the newest, and least populated, of the colonies, Iota Aurgiae relied on Damia’s weekly reconnaissance.
Which suited both the Aurigaens and Damia perfectly. Perhaps that was why she so enjoyed the independent, reckless spirit of Aurigaens. They didn’t give a damn about their “perilously” unprotected status. They were arrogantly confident of their own resources and besides, wasn’t Deneb on the far side of the galaxy from Aurigae? Most of the energetic, hard-working colonists did not really have time to worry about something that “might” happen.
Then, too, after nearly twenty years, the memory of the Deneb Penetration had faded from active memory into a tale to frighten children with. Damia often wondered how many people—with the exclusion of all Denebians—remembered just how nearly the Nine Star League had come to being overrun by the Hive species. Certainly, during her childhood on Deneb, that lesson was reinforced time and time again. And regularly, the matter of adequate warning systems still exercised the Fleet, Nine Star League Senior Senators—of all species—and all members of the Federated Telepath and Teleportation System.
Much as Damia liked Aurigae’s raw and ruthless ways, she did find the utter peace of deep space an anodyne to the constant demands of her position as FT&T Prime. While gradually Aurigae was beginning to supply all agriculture and even manufacture needed parts for its technologies, she still had to haul in significant quantities of food stuffs and a multitude of the bits and pieces that Aurigae did not have the time or facilities to manufacture for itself. More to the point, she had to send off immense loads of the raw ores, minerals, and rare earths which made the Aurigae colony valuable, and affluent: commodities that in the main went into the manufacture of the low-pulse radar warning systems for other star systems.
Initially there’d been trouble with the Colonial Council in accepting Damia, who’d been eighteen when her parents had judged her ready to assume FT&T responsibilities. She’d been furious with the implied criticism that she, a Gwyn-Raven, of a family that already boasted four Primes, was too immature to handle a Tower. Worse, she had caught just a trace of anxiety in her father’s mind that she was too flighty to settle down to the hard and tedious work of a Prime.
So she’d shown them all her mettle in her first three months’ trial in Aurigae Tower. She’d mentally cajoled or bullied a Tower staff into line in the first week and had never lost so much as a single shipment nor bounced a cargo, no matter how heavy or awkward. Settling her staff so quickly had been a minor personal triumph for Damia, since her own mother had juggled Tower personnel for nearly five years before she’d been satisfied.
Occasionally, even Damia’s resilient mind felt the strain and required respite from the insistent murmur of broadcasting thought that beat, beat, beat like a tinnitus in her brain. Ironically, because she had done so well, Aurigaens now tended to take her for granted, to assume the fast and faultless service she rendered in her gestalt with the mighty dynamos of the Tower.
With a flick of a finger, Damia screened out the over-brilliant starlight and opened her eyes. The softened stargleams, points of gem fire in the black of space, winked and pulsed at her. Idly she identified the familiar patterns they made, these silent friends. Somehow the petty grievances that built up inside her were gently dispersed as the overwhelming impersonality of cold nothingness brought them into proper perspective.
She could even forget her present preoccupation for a moment: forget how lonely she was; how she envied Larak, his loving, lovely wife and their new son; envied her mother the company of her husband and children; envied the Rowan Afra . . .
Afra! What right had he to interfere, to reprimand her! His words still seared.
“You’ve been getting an almighty vicarious charge out of peeking in on Larak and Jenna. Scared Jenna out of her wits, lurking in her mind while she was in labor! You leave them both alone!”
Damia was forced to admit that such an intrusion had been the most shameless breach of good manners. But ho
w had Afra known? Jenna hadn’t even been aware until the split second when Damia had felt, as its mother did, the despairing birth howl of Jenna’s son. Unless Larak had caught her as she withdrew from Jenna’s mind and told him. She sighed. Yes, Larak would have known she was eavesdropping. Though he was the only T-3 among her brothers and sister, he had always been extremely sensitive to her mind touch. How often she and Larak had been able to overwhelm any combination of others, even when Jeran and Cera had teamed up with Talented cousins against them. Damia had never tried to analyze the trick, but somehow, she could switch into a higher mental gear, doubling the capability of other minds within her focus.
Afra’s scorching rebuke had come as an intense humiliation: one of several she had suffered from him. The worst of that was that invariably Afra had been correct. Well, better by that yellow-eyed, green-skinned, T-3 Capellan than her father, acting in his capacity as Earth Prime. She rather hoped that her father had not learned of that appalling breach of T etiquette.
Odd, though, she hadn’t heard as much as a whisper from Afra since then. It must be over seven months. He had listened in as she’d apologized to both Jenna and Larak, and then silence. He couldn’t be that angry with her. Or maybe he could. Afra’s methody upbringing made him a martinet on points of etiquette.
Damia diverted her thoughts away from Afra, and went through the ritual of muscle relaxation, of mental wipeout. She must be back in the Tower very soon. In a way, the fact that she could handle Prime duties with no higher ratings than a T-6 to assist had certain disadvantages. The Tower staff could handle only routine planetary traffic, but she had to be on hand for all interstellar telepathic and teleportation commerce.
It would be wonderful to have a T-2, or even a T-3, to share her duties: someone who could understand. Not someone . . . be honest with yourself out here in space, Damia. Some man. Only men shy away from you as if you’d developed Lynx-sun cancers. And the only other unmarried Prime was her own brother, Jeran. Come to think about Jeran, the smug tone of his recent mind-touches as they exchanged cargoes and messages between Deneb and Aurigae undoubtedly meant that he had found a likely mate, too. When the Denebians paused to use their wits instead of their muscles, they discovered in themselves strong embryo Talents. Like her father, Jeff Raven, or, more to the point, her grandmother, Isthia, who had waited until her forties to make use of powerful, innate Talent.
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