“Warned?” Afra leapt on the choice of word. Perhaps she was not as completely bedazzled as they’d thought.
“Of this momentous occasion,” she went on, oblivious to the implication. “You’ve touched Sodan, Afra. Don’t you agree that his feat of crossing to another galaxy is momentous?”
“Yes, it is,” Afra said tactfully. “Only a brilliant mind could accomplish such a feat.”
Damia caught an undertone he wasn’t quick enough to suppress. “Oh, you! You’re jealous! Jealous?” Damia eyed Afra closely, plainly struggling with this new dimension to her oldest ally.
“And you’re also letting dinner burn,” Larak said, pointing to a sizzling pan.
“Don’t either of you know better than to distract a cook with stupid questions?” she demanded, quickly shifting the pan. “It’s a mercy nothing is burned!”
She served them, irritated that her dinner was not as perfect as usual, and the two men could think of no way to break the strained silence, especially as both had to concentrate on maintaining a convincing level of trivial surface thoughts. They hardly needed to use such a subterfuge because Damia went off into a private reverie, ignoring them completely.
Finally Larak pushed back his plate, having finished every scrap on his plate and what was left over in the pans.
“Even with half your mind on what you’re doing, sis, you’re a great cook,” Larak said, wiping his mouth and sighing with repletion. “So! This Sodan entity is clearly not a new reconnaissance device of the Deneb Beetles?” Larak looked from Damia to Afra, who shook his head quickly in denial.
“No question of that,” Afra replied. “Totally different mentality . . .” He ignored Damia’s snort. “. . . and vehicle. There is an impression of immense distances traversed, far longer than the twenty years since the Deneb entanglement.”
Larak whistled appreciatively, as if this was news to him.
“You didn’t happen to catch any details about propulsion and power which my sweet sister would not deign to notice?”
“No, actually, for there were no obvious visual images to be sensed and I was only concerned with identification. Clearly this entity isn’t a Beetle.”
“Stop calling Sodan an ‘entity,’” Damia said. “That’s rude. And he has eyes,” she added defensively. “We’ve discussed the concept of sight. You must take into consideration that he is also in control of the ship, and the drain on his energies to reach me as well as manage ship function and crew is enormous. It certainly is on me.”
“Yeah. You could do with some beauty sleep, sis,” said Larak.
“Thanks muchly,” she said, bridling.
“Children! Cut it out!” Afra intervened automatically.
Larak and Damia glared at each other, but the long habit of obeying Afra held.
“Get to bed, the pair of you,” he added. “Snarling at each other in the worst example of sibling rivalry I’ve seen since you graduated from Isthia’s fosterage,” and now he gave Damia his full disapproval. “Makes me wonder how your father dared install you as Aurigae Prime.”
“If there’s anything that annoys me more than Larak acting fraternal, it’s you, Afra, being avuncular.” She spoke coolly, but her flare of temper had been controlled.
Afra shrugged, relieved that his diversion had worked before Larak inadvertently disclosed to Damia why he was fielding these particular queries.
“At least this avuncular entity has sense enough to go to bed when he’s out on his feet,” he murmured. As he passed Larak, the boy winked.
The next morning at breakfast, no one looked particularly rested by a night’s sleep. Afra kept a surface rumble going in his mind to mask both tension and anxiety. Larak delivered a running monologue about his son’s developing intelligence and Jenna’s maternal charms. Damia was also closely shielding. When the three reached the Tower, Damia took the most cursory glance at station business, noting that cargo was light and the few messages were standard communications.
“I’ll take you out now, Larak, and then you’ll be free to handle the afternoon dispatches.”
“Fine. Dad wants Afra on Procyon as soon as I’ve taken over from him.”
Damia hesitated, then jutted her chin out. “I suppose you want to come along again, too,” she said, flinging the challenge at Afra, who merely shrugged.
“I wouldn’t mind another gawk. Fascinating mind,” Afra said casually. He was intensely grateful to whatever quirk had prompted her to make such an offer. He’d thought he’d have to surreptitiously follow Damia and Larak. With such distances to travel, he’d been nervous of losing even their combined touch.
“You two get settled. I can follow if Damia’s leading,” Afra said, boosting the generators to their peak. Xexo had gotten the ailing one back on line for which Afra was extremely grateful.
As Damia and Larak left the Tower for their capsules, he contacted Jeff and the Rowan to stand by, then settled into his own shell, reassured by their sustaining presence in his mind.
Is there any possible chance we’re wrong about Sodan’s intentions, or the depth of Damia’s emotional commitment? the Rowan asked hopefully.
Less and less, Afra told her grimly. We’ll know soon for certain. Larak needled her last night. She’ll have to check to make sure he’s wrong about Sodan.
Then Afra touched Damia and Larak, and all three went the mere half light-year farther to the ship, and Sodan.
You have rested well and are strong today, was the cool greeting after an instant’s welcoming flash.
Damia instinctively covered against the discovery of her co-riders, but the greeting stuck in her mind. She could not escape the inference that Sodan was displeased with her strength, yet a tinge of relief colored that fleck of thought.
You come nearer to physical contact with us every day, she began.
Us? Sodan queried.
My planet, my people . . . me.
I’m only interested in you, he replied.
Damia was unable to censor from Afra and Larak the pleasure she felt in that qualification. That is between us, but my people will be interested in you, she said adroitly.
There are many people on your planets? he asked.
Planet.
Doesn’t your sun have several life-supporting satellites?
That is why I must know more about your physical requirements, Sodan, Damia replied smoothly. After all, my home world may not have the proper atmosphere.
My physical needs are admirably sustained by my ship, Sodan said brusquely, with the slightest of emphasis on the second word.
It was the Rowan who caught the infinitesimal break in his shielding, and simultaneously all four minds stabbed at the gap to widen it. Sodan, torn by this powerful invasion, lashed back in self-defense with a vicious blow at Damia who, he thought, had perpetrated the onslaught.
No! No! Not I, Sodan, she shrieked. Larak, what are you doing?
Struggling frantically, Afra tried to become the focus of the other minds, only to find himself caught in Larak’s mind with the Rowan and Jeff, as the curious bond between brother and sister snapped into effect.
He must be destroyed before he can destroy you, Damia, the Larak-focus said, tingeing its inexorable decision with the regret it felt.
No! I love him. His mind is so brilliant, cried Damia, pitting her strength against her peers to defend her lover. The Larak-focus staggered, unable to prosecute their attack against such a combination.
Damia, he is only a mind!
Stunned, Damia hesitated, and the Larak-focus plunged forward again, battering against Sodan’s shielding.
Only mind? she gasped, begging Sodan to deny it.
Why no vision? Why no sound? He is only a brain, devoid of all except remembered emotion. He is slowly depleting your strength so that he is free to attack this system. You are its only defense. Did you never realize that? Feel the dangerous substances this ship carries? Is that customary for a peaceful exploratory expedition?
You
’re against me, against me. No one wants me to be happy, cried Damia, suddenly aware, terribly aware of her loving blindness. He loves me. I love him.
If he has nothing to hide, he will reveal his reason for crossing the void, the Larak-focus said, implacably intent. Is it truly peaceful? Or is it acquisitive? Why do we search out new worlds? Or is it because his galaxy is so depleted that he must search elsewhere for the rare metals that are required for more vessels like his?
Reassure me, Sodan, Damia pleaded, desperately, hopefully. Tell them you come in peace? To find other sentient beings, to establish friendly relations?
For what seemed an eternity, Sodan hesitated.
If I could, I would, he said softly and with honest regret.
Like a vengeful blade, her mind, freed from the infatuation which Sodan had artfully fostered and, strengthened by her righteous indignation, launched itself with the others to destroy the aggressor. For Damia could now comprehend Sodan’s purpose and knew his disembodiment. The battle was waged in the tremendous space between two heartbeats. Sodan, his mind fortified by the exotic power of his ship, was stronger than their conservative estimates. Almost negligently, he held the Larak-focus at bay, his mind laughing at what he considered their puny efforts.
Then, the veil of her romantic illusions stripped from her perceptions, Damia increased her pressure and aligned herself with the Larak-focus. Sodan called for more power within himself. The scorching blaze that fed through Damia’s resurgent and catalytic mind flashed through and stripped him bare, lashing beyond to trigger the metallic structure of the ship into instability. Involuntarily, and for a microsecond, the Larak-focus caught a glimpse of what Sodan had been.
Once, generations ago, embodied, he had breathed an alien air, propelled his curious body along alien roads; until his brain had been chosen to undertake the incredible enterprise of crossing the galactic rift.
In my fashion have I loved you, he cried to Damia as he felt her reach the fuel mass. But you never really loved me, he added with intense surprise as her mind, vulnerable in the instant of that massive thrust, was open to him. And he shall not have you!
With his last strength, Sodan sent out one final mental flare just as the ship exploded.
Even as Damia felt herself blacking out from the tremendous battering, she frantically tried to deflect that shaft.
As a kingpin flattens a row of its fellows, so Sodan’s blast, striking through the Larak-focus, caused a wave of mental agony to roll backwards to Aurigae where station personnel grabbed at their skulls in anguish and all four generators seized up in overload; to Earth and Callisto where T-ratings cringed in pain and on to Procyon where old Guzman’s valiant heart stopped. Horrified crews found Jeff Raven and the Rowan unconscious in their Tower couches and sent for Elizara and her teams. Jeran on Deneb had certainly been aware of an incredible psionic backlash. He was hastily summoned to Earth since FT&T command devolved to him in the emergency. Jeran took time to assure himself that with sufficient rest his parents would recover, then he officially informed the Nine Star League of the event. He was requested to join, and ’port units of a Fleet squadron to Aurigae. In his turn, he sent for his grandmother, asking Isthia to bring the specialists she had trained to revive overstressed Talents. With Elizara’s help, he and Isthia were able to extract gently from Jeff’s taxed mind the position of the three personnel shells.
As the Fleet squadron neared the relevant spatial coordinates, Jeran and Isthia on board the flagship could “hear” nothing. Then the ship’s sensitive equipment located the three capsules.
It is possible, Isthia said, trying to be positive in the absence of any mental aura from the shells, that all three are in very deep shock. The power in Damia’s final thrust!
Damia cannot be dead. Jeran allowed himself the luxury of believing in his grandmother’s optimism. We cannot lose her! He had forced himself to accept other losses. Sodan may have been powerful, but is there a T-rating in the galaxy who didn’t feel her hit him?
“Ah!” Isthia gave a sharp gasp. I have them. And she signaled for Jeran and her team to assist, leaning into the ship’s engines to ’port the capsules aboard.
“Damia’s alive,” Jeran cried in relief, having made that his first priority. I thought I felt them all die.
“Afra lives, too, but he’s very faint. Larak . . .” and Isthia’s voice faded. Why did the focus have to snap through him?
They opened Afra’s capsule first, and sighed with pity at the lean form drawn up in the fetal position of complete withdrawal. Jeran thought his heart would break, remembering the vibrant man who had been as much a part of his life and learning as his parents.
“He’s so badly hurt, Isthia. Can we save him?” Should we . . . if he’ll be psionically numb for the rest of his life? he asked on the tightest possible band.
Isthia raised her eyebrows in a scathing rejection of that suggestion. “I’ve pulled minds back from worse than this, Jeran Gwyn-Raven. Move aside.” With a touch skilled and delicate, she put her hands on Afra’s temples. Jeran saw her eyes cloud with anxiety.
She sighed, for a brief moment depressed by her examination. “His dominant desire is death. Which is so totally unlike Afra that I shall ignore it. I don’t intend that he should succumb to death right now. However, his life force is critically low and must be carefully revived.” She gave rapid mental orders to the medics standing by so that, within seconds, Afra was receiving emergency injections and two highly skilled metamorphic practitioners began the routines that had once restored her son, Jeff, from a nadir that bordered on extinction.
Afra’ll need some subtle encouragements, Jeran, to overcome that death wish. Divorce your emotions, Isthia told him sharply. Put your fingers over mine. Help me reach him. We have to reverse that wish before it succeeds.
Jeran gave himself a stern shake and, holding his breath, placed his fingers lightly over Isthia’s at Afra’s temples.
He let his mind be guided by hers in the gentlest of probes, ignoring the mental anguish they experienced at having to touch so torn a mind. Uppermost was the thought that both Larak and Afra had shared: Sodan striking at them and Damia, exhausted, trying to block his final shaft.
He’ll kill her! He’ll kill her! was the repeated cry of terror, a curious melding of both Larak and Afra, swirling in the pain of Afra’s mind. No, Damia! Don’t try! I waited too long. No, Damia! You’ll be killed. You mustn’t. Why did I wait so long? Too long. No, Damia. Don’t try and the sequence was repeated.
Damia lives! Damia lives! Isthia accepted the fact that Afra would not care to live if he thought Damia was dead. But she was alive and he must be convinced of this. She urged Jeran to reinforce her message. He provided a baritone level to her soprano chant. Damia lives. Damia lives, Afra. Damia lives!
Damia lives? Damia lives, damialives. The response was the merest whisper of hope from an overtaxed psyche.
Isthia caught Jeran’s eyes, hope widening hers.
Yes, that’s exactly what he needed to know. Let’s reinforce it. Together they repeated their encouraging litany. Afra, Damia lives. She rests. She waits for you. Damia lives, Afra. She waits for you.
Sleep, Afra, Isthia added then with the most delicate urgency. Sleep and rest. Damia lives.
Damia lives? Damia lives? Damia lives!
With a shudder, Afra’s subconscious finally accepted that reassurance. His body relaxed from its fetal curl. For one terrifying moment, he was absolutely still. Gasping, Isthia dipped way down into the suddenly tranquil mind before she realized that Afra had merely slipped into deep sleep.
“He’s badly hurt,” Isthia admitted sadly as they watched the medics wheel Afra away to a tightly shielded room where no mental noise could intrude. “But he’ll live.” Jeran did not try to read whatever reservations she might entertain.
They opened Damia’s capsule together. She lay on her side, looking very young, but there were marks that showed the effects of that meeting of minds. She had bitt
en through her lower lip; a trickle of blood had made a scarlet line across her cheek. Her face was streaked with tears. Her fingernails had cut into her palms when she had clenched her fists. Her closed eyes looked bruised by deep and dark circles.
With great compassion, Isthia turned the girl onto her back and laid both hands lightly on Damia’s temples.
I can’t reach them. I can’t get there in time. I hurt. I’ve got to try. I burn. Oh, will I lose them both? Isthia could hear the words, a faint loop of thought in the deepest recesses of a scorched and overstretched mind.
With a sigh of relief, Isthia straightened.
She’s badly burned? Jeran asked anxiously, having waited outside Isthia’s contact but aware it had been made.
Scorched, overstretched right now, and deeply hurt. Damia’s been reduced, Isthia remarked ruefully, in the terrible way that only the very bright and very confident can be diminished.
Diminished? Jeran was both Prime and brother at that moment.
In pride and self-confidence, Isthia qualified with a sad smile. Her Talent is far too robust to suffer any permanent effect. Her ego, however, will. She’ll never forget that she underestimated Sodan’s potential danger because she became infatuated with her perception of him.
For all of that, if she hadn’t touched him first, where would we be with such a menace zeroing in from space?
That’s the Prime in you speaking, Isthia said, but her tone was complimentary. Although, let’s hope that eventually Damia can see this incident from that perspective. Right now she’ll grieve terribly because her lapse in judgment caused Larak’s death and has seriously injured Afra.
But, Isthia, once the attack on Sodan began, nothing could have saved Larak as focus-mind. Death is far kinder than being burned out. She’s not to blame for that.
Isthia shook her head sadly. She’ll never see it that way. But I devoutly hope that it never occurs to her that, in the final moment, instinct overrode reason and it was Afra she struggled to save.
Afra? What the hell? Jeran stared at her blankly before he followed her thought to its conclusion. Sodan tried to kill Afra? Wasn’t he aiming at the entire focus?
Damia Page 28
