TEXT:      Damia
       by
       Anne MccAffrey
  Of all the Rowan's children,Damia was the most brilliant,the most
  difficult,the loneliest,and the one who had inherited the greatest
  Talent.It was obvious from childhood that she was going to be
  a Prime,with all the honours,burdens and strains of that elite
  class.Her one friend was Afra-older,wiser,Talented in his own
  way,but -belonging'almost exclusively to the Rowan and the
  workings of Callisto Station.
  As Damia grew up,her Talent became almost too strong to control,
  and the solution was seperation-from her parents,from Callisto,
  from her beloved Afra.Sent to the distant planet of Deneb,to her
  strange and gifted grandmother,Damia began the training necessary
  to turn her into a Prime of extraordinary gifts-a Prime who could
  connect the minds of approaching aliens through space,some of whom
  threatened to totally destroy the worlds of the Nine Star League.
       One of the world's leading science fiction writers, Anne McCaffrey
  has won the Hugo and Nebula awards for science fiction.  Brought up in
  the U.S. and now living in Ireland, she is the creator and bestselling
  author of the unique Dragon senes.
       The Dragon Books of Anne McCaffrey can be read individually or as
  a series.  However, for greatest enjoyment the following sequence is
  recommended: DRAGONFLIGHT DRAGONQUEST DRAGONSONG DRAGONSINGER: HARPER
  OF PERN THE WHITE DRAGON DRAGONDRUMS MORETA: DRAGONLADY OF PERN
  NERILKA'S STORY DRAGONSDAWN THE RENEGADES OF PERN ALL THE WEYRS OF
  PERN
       Anne McCaffrey
       Other books by Anne McCaffrey: RESTOREE THE SHIP WHO SANG DECISION
  AT DOONA GET OFF THE UNICORN THE CRYSTAL SINGER KILLASHANDRA PEGASUS IN
  FLIGHT THE ROWAN CORGI BOOKS and published by Corgi Books DAMIA A CORGI
  BOOK : 0 552 13764 2
       Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, a division
  of Transworld Publishers Ltd PRINTING HISTORY Bantam Press edition
  published 1992
       Corgi edition published 1993
       This book is dedicated to SARA VIRGINIA JOHN SON BROOKS 'THE
  FOLDING IS EXTRA' Copyright C Anne McCaffrey 1992
       The right of Anne McCaffrey to be identified as the author of this
  work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the
  Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
       All of the characters in this book are fictitious and any
  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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  hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other
  than that in which it is published and without a similar condition
  including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
       2. This Book is sold subject to the Standard Conditions of Sale of
  Net Books and may not be re-sold in the UK below the net price fixed by
  the publishers for the book.
       Set in 10/12pt Linotype Plantin by Chippendale Type Ltd, Otley,
  West Yorkshire.
       Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd, 6163
  
  Uxbridge Road, Ealing, London W5 5SA, in Australia by Transworld
  Publishers (Australia) Pty.  Ltd, 15-25 Helles Avenue, Moorebank, NSW
  2170, and in New Zealand by Transworld Publishers (NZ) Ltd, 3 William
  Pickering Drive, Albany, Auckland.
       Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading,
  Berks.
       Afra felt his sister's mental touch and told his mother that
  Goswina had returned to Capella.  Cheswina regarded her six-year-old
  son with her ineffable serenity.
       'Thank you, afra.  You always could hear farther, and Goswina
  better, than the rest of us.  But don't intrude,' his mother added, as
  afra jiggled about in his eagerness to make contact with his beloved
  sister.  'Capella Prime will wish to debrief her on her training at
  Altair Tower.
       You may continue with your exercises.' But Goswina's excited about
  something.  Something that has to do with ME!  afra insisted, for he
  wanted to make sure that his mother heard him.
       'Now, afra,' and his mother waggled a stern finger at him, 'you've
  got a tongue AND a voice.  Use them.  No-one is to accuse this family
  of bringing up a discourteous and ill-mannered Talent.  You have your
  lessons and you are not to 'path your sister until she comes in that
  door.' afra scowled because, when Goswina came in the door, he wouldn't
  need to 'path her.
       'You won't ever be chosen for Tower duty if you cannot obey,'
  Cheswina went on.  'Please assume a cheerful face.' If afra had heard
  those admonitions once, he had heard them several thousand times.  But
  he stifled his vexation because what he wanted more than anything else
  in the world was to be in a Prime Tower, part of the vast FT&T network
  that handled communications and transportation between the star systems
  that comprised the Federation.
       His parents and his older brother and sisters were either part of
  or working towards being in that great network.
       The family were also lucky enough to live in the Tower Complex.
       As a baby, he had been lulled to sleep by the throb of the
  enormous generators with which the Prime Talent made the gestalt to
  perform her miracles of transportation.  His first mental effort at
  fourteen months had been a cheerful greeting to Capella's Prime who had
  taken the professional name of her posting.  Although she had been
  addressing the Earth Prime with her 'good morning', afra had heard her
  voice so clearly in his mind that he had responded.  His parents had
  been shocked by his impudence.
       'He was not impudent at all,' Capella had reassured them with one
  of her rare laughs.  'It was really quite charming to be greeted by a
  sweet chirping "good morning".  Quite sweet.  We will encourage such a
  strong young Talent.
       Though it would be as well if you can make him understand that he
  is not to interrupt me.' Cheswina was a T-8 telepathic sender and her
  husband, Gas Lyon, a T-7 kinetic.  Every one of their children had
  Talent but afra's was not only apparent early but was also the
  strongest, possibly even a double - telepath and teleport.  This did
  not keep his parents from being considerably embarrassed by their
  youngest son's precocity.
       So they immediately initiated gentle methods of curbing him
  without inhibiting his potential Talent.
       Either father, mother or Goswina, the eldest sibling, had to be
  sure to awaken before afra did and curb a repeat of that performance.
       For several months, this was a splendid new game for the toddler:
  to see if he could wake up first so he could chirp 'good morning' to
  the velvet voice that invaded his mind.  . . Capella.  Whoever was
  minding him that morning had to engage his attention in an alternative
  
  occupation - like eating.  For young afra loved to eat.
       Not that it showed.  Like the rest of his family, he was a healthy
  but lean baby; ectomorphic with the sort of energy levels that burn up
  calories.  Placing a msk or a piece of fruit in his hand would
  instantly divert him.  As most tots, he had a very short attention span
  and these ploys worked until he was old enough to understand that his
  'good mornings' should be limited to his immediate family.
       Goswina, a loving and caring sister, had not an ounce of meanness
  in her temperament and never found this duty a chore.  She adored her
  clever brother and he reciprocated so warmly that a strong tie was
  established between them.
       The mental exercises his Gossie used to divert her lively brother
  had a salutary effect on her own Talent and she was upgraded to a T-6
       by the time she was sixteen.  That made her eligible for the
  special training courses that Earth Prime Reidinger initiated on
  Altair.
       This was a very mixed blessing, for sixteen-year-old Goswina had
  developed such a deep attachment for a T-5, Vessily Ogdon, that both
  families had earnestly discussed a possible alliance.  However, Goswina
  was asked to put aside her personal plans for the chance to participate
  in the Altair course.  Only afra knew how painful that choice was for
  his sister.  Once Gas Lyon invoked family honour, she had complied,
  demonstrating an obedience that seemed genuine - except to her brother
  who howled loudly at Goswina's departure.
       afra missed his slender, gentle sister dreadfully.  Altair was so
  very far away that he could not maintain the light mental touch that
  reassured him through his daily trials.
       afra was not a natural conformist and trouble seemed to seek him
  out at school, and even at home.  He was not as biddable as his brother
  and sisters had been and his parents found his impetuosity and often
  'wild', or 'aggressive' behaviour a trial.
       Aware of young afra's problems, the Capella stationmaster,
  Hasardar, tactfully had the boy doing small 'jobs' for him, jobs which
  the worried parents could not take exception to as they were aimed at
  developing his potential.
       afra willingly did the 'errands', delighted to be considered - for
  once - capable of doing something properly.
       One of these errands took him to a large freighter with a packet,
  requested by the captain.  afra was agog with the prospect of actually
  meeting spacemen.  He'd seen ships come and go from Capella all his
  short life but had never actually encountered off-worlders.
       As he trotted up to the open hatch, he saw big burly space-tanned
  men, lounging within.  He also heard a babble of sound which made no
  sense at all to his ears.  His mind, however, translated the meaning.
       'This is no place for leave, boys.  Straight as dies, these folk.
       Methody believers, and you know what that means.' 'Sure, Chief, no
  hanky-panky, no funsies, no drink, no smokings.  Hey, what's coming
  here?  A pint-sized greenie!
       Don't they grow 'em a decent size?' 'Ah, it's a kid.' And one of
  the men swung down the ramp, grinning.  'Good morning,' he said in good
  Basic.
       afra stared up at him.
       'You got a package for the captain, boy?  Stationmaster said he'd
  have it hand-delivered.' afra continued to stare, extending the package
  with both hands, puzzled by the strange words and especially by the
  description of himself.
       'What does "pint-sized greenie" mean, please, sir?' afra flinched
  at the laughter from the lock and then from the angry glare the chief
  directed at his crewmen.
       'Don't be offended, laddie,' the chief said in a kind tone.  'Some
  
  spacers have no manners.  You understand more than Basic?' afra wasn't
  sure what response to make.  While he knew some people could not 'path,
  he didn't know that there were many different forms of language in the
  galaxy.
       However, as his family would expect him to give a courteous answer
  to a friendly question, he gave a nod.
       'I understand what you say,' afra replied.  'I don't understand
  "pint-sized greenie" The chief hunkered down, being conscious that it
  was wise not to offend locals, even a kid.  And a kid would be more
  likely to repeat what had been said to the stationmaster.  It was also
  smart for freighter crews to be on the best possible terms with Tower
  stationmasters.
       'It's like this, lad,' and he rolled back his sleeve, showing a
  brown-skinned arm, then he pointed to afra's hand.  'My skin is brown,
  your skin is green.  I'm a brownie,' and he ignored the hoots from his
  crew, 'and you're a greenie.
       Just a matter of what colour we got born with.  Now, "pint-sized"
  means small, and I'd be gallon-sized, 'cause I'm much bigger.  Get me?'
  'More like barrel, Chief!' one of the crew chortled, again using the
  different sounds though his mind made the comment clear to afra.
       afra cocked his head at the chief, noticing other differences
  between himself, a Capellan, and these visitors.  The man had brown
  skin, streaky grey hair and brown eyes.  He was the widest man afra had
  ever seen, with forearms twice the size of his father's, or even
  Stationmaster Hasardar.
       'Thank you for explaining to me, Chief.  It was kind of you,' afra
  said, giving a respectful bow.
       'No problem, lad.  And here's something for your trouble,' the
  chief said, reaching for afra's right hand and closing the fingers
  around a metallic object.  'Put that by for a rainy day.  If it rains
  on Capella.' afra looked at the round object, 'pathing from the chief
  that this was a half credit, a reward for delivering the package.  He
  had never seen credit coins before and he liked the feel of its edges
  in his palm.  He gleaned from the chief that a 'tip' was normal
  procedure so he bowed again.
       'Thank you, Chief.  It was kind of you.' II r 'Tell you one thing,
  they teach manners on this planet,' the chief said in a loud voice,
  trying to overwhelm the rude comments his crewmen were making about
  afra's courtesies.
       afra didn't catch the meanings behind some of the strange words.
       'Off you go, lad, before you become contaminated by this sorry lot
  of spacers.  Ain't any of you guys got some couth?  Back inside, the
  lot of you.  You've had your smoking time.' As afra trotted across the
  plascrete back to the stationmaster, he decided that he wouldn't tell
  anyone about the coin.  It had been given him in return for completing
  his errand.  It was for him, not Stationmaster Hasardar who had said
  nothing to him about collecting any sort of payment or to expect a tip.
       If Goswina had been home, he would have confided in her as a
  matter of course, but his other sisters considered him a nuisance and
  his brother, Chostel, felt that he was too old to associate with kids.
       So afra decided he didn't need to say anything about his coin.  He
  would save it, but not for a rainy day.  When it rained on Capella,
  no-one went anywhere.
       This was yet another occasion when afra found himself deprived by
  Goswina's absence.  And, now that she had returned to Capella, he
  simply had to renew contact as soon as he could.  So, despite his
  mother's stricture, he reached out his mind to his sister in the main
  Tower building.
       Not now, afra, Capella said but not unkindly as his mind linked to
  Goswina's in their conference mode.
  
       Oh, mercy, afra, not now, was the simultaneous message from a
  mortified Goswina.
       Fearful that his parents might receive official reprimands from
  the Prime herself, afra shrank away and coiled so tightly into his own
  mind that he genuinely didn't 'hear' Goswina until she opened the door
  of their quarters an hour later.
       OH, GOSSeE, afra cried, tears of joy streaming down his face, as
  he jumped into her arms.
       Theirs was not a physically demonstrative family, as much because
  they enjoyed a sufficient mental rapport that touch was redundant as
  because tactile contact between Talents allowed deeper readings,
  sometimes an inadvertent invasion of the private mind.
       Today, Goswina ignored such considerations as she hugged her young
  brother tightly.  Through that close contact, she also managed to
  convey many things such a reserved girl would find difficult to say out
  loud.
       afra caught rapid shifts through scenes of her landing on Altair,
  the forested mountains behind the Port City, the raw look of the
  Altairian Tower, the faces of her fellow students in a hectic montage,
  with one face dominating the group, rapidly scrolling through the
  school room sessions, meals, the room Goswina had shared with two
  girls, then pausing at a musical interlude which was abruptly deleted,
  overlaid with her excitement at returning to the home she had missed,
  and her Vessily.
       I missed you terribly, afra.
       More than you missed Vessily?
       As much, though not quite the same way, afra, and Goswina's gentle
  thought teased him.  But it was a splendid trip.  I met so many
  marvellous people.  And oh, afra, how you'll love the Rowan when you
  meet her.  She said that she would consider you when you have finished
  your training, because you are my brother and because we two knew our
  temperaments weren't complementary.  But I told her that you would be
  because you're so clever and understanding.  I missed you terribly,
  afra.  Just wait till you see the trees they have on Altair.  Whole
  forests of trees, darling .  . . big trees and small ones, different
  shades of green and blue and many different shapes of trunk, branch and
  leaf All of them fragrant.  Altair's not as large as Capella but it is
  a good place.  I did so well in my course that Capella said that she
  will definitely place me in this system, and, as she held afra from her
  to peer into his face, 'to work in a Capellan Tower.
       Did you 'Aloud, please, afra,' she said, hearing her mother come
  into the room.
       know that Stationmaster Hasardar gave me some special training,
  after school hours?  He said I had Tower potential, too!' He offered
  that praise as a homecoming present for her, but he didn't mention the
  credit coin aloud.  Or even in his mind.
       'How very good of Hasardar.  How clever of you, afra dear,' she
  said, releasing him from her embrace and rising to greet her mother
  more formally.  'Mother, Capella was very pleased both with my course
  of study on Altair and with the report Siglen of Altair sent her of
  me.' Cheswina smoothed her daughter's hair in a brief, loving gesture
  and smiled 'You bring honour to our family' 'afra will bring more,
  Goswina said, looking fondly down at him.
       'That remains to be seen,' Cheswina said, her expression bordering
  on the severe, for she did not believe that it was right to praise a
  child for what he or she could be expected to do.  Reward should never
  be a consideration of effort.
       However, Goswina did merit some special indulgence for having
  brought honour to the family so her favorite dishes were served at
  dinner that evening and she'd be allowed a visit from Vessily Ogdon.
  
       On returning from his Tower shift that evening, Gas Lyon smiled in
  benign approval at his daughter.  When everyone had eaten a sufficiency
  of the excellent meal, he handed her an official note.  He contained
  his pride as his overjoyed firstborn communicated to everyone at the
  table that Capella had appointed her to the staff of the southern
  Tower, one of the busier local FT&T facilities.
       That means you're going away again!  afra cried out in distress.
       Silly!  I won't be so far that we can't keep in touch all the
  time.  'Forgive me, Father, Mother,' Goswina added hastily, blushing
  for such a gross social lapse, 'but afra was so disturbed 'afra must
  learn to control his feelings,' Gas Lyon said, bending a stern gaze on
  his youngest.  'Tower staff must always contain their emotions.  To
  splash about personal reactions exhibits a woeful absence of discipline
  and an abysmal lack of courtesy and consideration.  I'll have no child
  of mine so ill-mannered.  One can never learn respect too early in
  life.' Later, dear.  Goswina shot the very private thought tightly to
  her brother, so fast her parents would not have caught it, being less
  telepathically Talented than herself.  But she had to do something to
  relieve the woeful expression on afra's face and unwind the tension of
  his small thin body.  Shrivelled by the parental disapproval, he had
  curled in on himself, arms clasped tight across his chest, head down.
       Prior to her course at Altair, she would never have dared even
  think of criticizing her parents.  She didn't entirely approve of
  Altair's social manners but she had also seen a different sort of
  society that apparently worked quite well.
       And afra was so very sensitive to his father's disapproval and,
  sometimes, very privately, Goswina thought her parents could be a
  trifle more lenient and understanding.
       After all, he was the most Talented of them all and needed extra,
  specially astute handling.
       'Now, now,' Gas Lyon said, realizing that perhaps he had been too
  severe with afra, 'I know you meant neither disrespect nor
  disobedience, afra.  Tonight is a time for rejoicing.' His soft words
  and gentle tone, as well as the shaft of love and reassurance directed
  at his son, had the desired effect on afra and he was soon smiling when
  Goswina began her almost day-by-day account of her Altairian sojourn.
       afra also 'heard' unfinished sentiments and, once, caught her
  remembered alarm.  He fervently hoped that her 'later' would come soon
  so he'd find out all those bits and pieces she left out of the public
  recital.
       'Later' was going to really be 'later' for Vessily Ogdon arrived
  at the door, on time as usual, palpably eager to see his betrothed.
       afra didn't like staying in the same room with Vessily and Goswina
  because he was acutely aware of their attachment.  Since Vessily was a
  T-5 and even older than Goswina, afra thought that he ought to know how
  to control himself.  He was amazed that his father didn't say anything
  about leaking emotions to Vessily.
       As afra retired to his room, he heard the depth of Vessily's
  discontent with Goswina's posting to the Southern Station.  But he
  heard Goswina's telepathic reassurance - and Gas Lyon who was
  chaperoning the couple, said nothing about that!  - afra was also vexed
  to hear Goswina say exactly the same things to Vessily that she'd said
  to him - only her tone was much different.
       afra puzzled over that.  How could the same words sound so
  different coming from the same mind?  Goswina loved him, but he knew
  that she also loved Vessily.  afra understood that everyone should have
  love enough to give special friends, even many special friends.
       Goswina loved him and she had a special tone for him, but she also
  loved Vessily - and hadn't wanted to leave Capella for Altair because
  of Vessily, or so she'd said out loud - and she had another special
  
  tone for Vessily.  That was very strange, and afra went to sleep
  pondering that mystery.
       Goswina kept her word to him, even if 'later' was the next morning
  at first light.  He woke the moment he felt her mind brush his.  Of
  course, she no longer slept in with him as she had when he was a baby,
  but her room was adjacent to his.  As had long been their custom, he
  put his hand up on the wall that separated them, knowing that she did
  the same thing.  Not that they needed contact but it was a friendly
  remnant of childish habit.
       What bothered you, Gossie, that you couldn't tell Father and
  Mother?  He shot her a glimpse of the scene of her panicky flight to
  the parking lot.
       Well, it wasn't anything -- Huh?  That's not what you really
  think.
       Well, one evening, we got permission to go to a concert in Altair
  Port.  She showed him a picture of them all driving off together but
  she was still concealing something.  You don't need to know every cross
  on the Ts and the dots on the Is, afra.
       Sorry!
       It's just that Altairian concerts are different from ours.  And I
  don't mean the music they played.  I mean, they have a much more
  flamboyant way of performing.
       How?  Since his encounter with the freighter chief, afra had taken
  every opportunity his duties afforded him to meet other crews, with
  their variety of skin shades and physical attributes.  He also liked
  hearing the different languages, and the odd things crews said from
  time to time, most of which he didn't exactly understand.  It was often
  hard to find someone willing to explain variations to his enquiring
  mind.  Some Talents had a way of wriggling past public shields to the
  real truths but he didn't expect to be able to do that for some years
  to come.  Now that Goswina was back, maybe she'd tell him.  But he
  wouldn't interrupt her with his questions now.
       They are.  . . far more demonstrative than we would be, and i6
       -r afra could tell that she was carefully editing the thoughts she
  let him see.  She was falling into his parents' habit of 'protecting'
  him.  He wasn't a sissy.  He was over six - nearly seven.
       No, you're not a sissy, afra, and you're a very clever nearly
  seven or Hasardar wouldn't let you run errands for him.  It was an
  adult concert, Affie, and not something you would understand or enjoy.
       afra caught her mental disgust.  It's not as ?f I'd start acting
  like a nutty Altairian, Gossie.
       Please let me see!
       Oh, don't push me around, afra.  I have absolutely no intention of
  contaminating an impressionable young mind like yours.
       I said, and Goswina's mental touch unexpectedly firmed against
  him, don't probe, or I won't tell you anything else.
       afra projected compliance because he couldn't bear for Goswina to
  shut him out and not tell him the exciting thing that was at the edge
  of her mind.
       So Goswina did tell him about her dismay at what she would only
  term a lewd public display of affection, her mind so tightly shielded
  that he couldn't catch a glimpse of what had made her leave the concert
  arena so abruptly.
       afra hadn't heard 'lewd' before but it couldn't be an acceptable
  word, considering the way she coloured it in her mind - a slimy muddy
  yellow brown.
       The music had been wonderful.  Music always is, Goswina continued,
  and then they had to spoil it.  The Rowan left with me.  I was glad
  because she was much too young to see that sort of thing, even if it is
  her native planet and she might be accustomed to such displays.  That's
  
  when I found out that she was the reason so many Talents were invited
  to go to Altair.
       You see, the Rowan is really a Prime so of course she couldn't
  leave Altair, what with the way space travel sickens Primes, soFT&T set
  up the course to introduce possible Tower crew to her, when she's old
  enough to have her own Prime Tower.
       You didn't get space sick, did you?  afra would have been
  disgusted, even with his beloved Gossie, if she had.
       Of course not, but I'm a T-6.  The sickness only affects Primes.
       All of us on the course thought the Rowan was just a T4.
       Goswina's thought brightened with delight at having been the first
  to learn the truth.  She's not much younger than I am but ever so much
  stronger.
       She's being trained in her duties by Siglen, just as our Capella
  was.
       I suppose all Primes were young once, like the Rowan, Goswina
  added thoughtfully.  She's an orphan.  All her family, everyone who
  knew her, were killed in an avalanche when she was only three years
  old.  They said that the whole planet heard her crying for help.
       Goswina did not add the other things she'd heard about how Siglen
  had behaved at that time because it wasn't proper to criticize a Prime
  for any reason whatsoever.  But the Rowan is very strong, and so
  clever, and generous, and brave.  I could never have done what she did
  when those awful boys attacked us.
       ATTACKED YOU?  There're indent gangs on Altair?  So that was what
  Goswina hadn't told the parents.  Not that afra blamed her.  They'd've
  been very upset at the insult to their daughter and there could have
  been embarrassing repercussions.  What sort of a barbaric place is
  Altair?
       Now, afra, it isn't barbaric.  It's really very - very
  sophisticated; much more worldly than Capella is with no Method to
  guide them.  And I wasn't hurt.  I was scared.  Anyway, the Rowan took
  care of them.  afra could hear something akin to righteous satisfaction
  tingeing Goswina's thoughts.  She just flicked them out of the way as
  we'd brush sandflies and without any gestalt to help her.  Then, cool
  as you please, she ordered a cab and we got back safely to the Tower
  complex.
       That's when I told her all about you.
       Me?
       Yes, dearest brother of them all, you.  Because your minds will
  match.  I just know they will.  afra heard her hand slap the wall for
  emphasis.  And she has promised me that she will see that you take the
  course at Altair too, when you're old enough.
       She will?  But I'd have to be away from you afra, dearest, Talents
  like us aren't more than a thought away.
       I couldn't think at you when you were on Altair.
       Well, I'm home now.  . . and the Southern Station is well within
  your range, brother dear.  Now, it's time for us to be up.  And for you
  to study hard so you'll be ready when the Rowan needs you.
       As afra grew up, that promise began to assume more and more
  significance - mainly as the passport off Capella and the strict,
  almost stifling, code of conduct expected of him by his parents.  His
  interactions with freighter and passenger crews, with occasional
  visitors whom Hasardar had him conduct from their personal capsules to
  the Tower, had broadened his experience of different cultures and
  systems.
       He encountered the gallon-sized brown chief on a regular basis
  over the next nine years.  Chief Damitcha liked the odd dignity of the
  'pint-sized greenie', though that description rarely crossed the chiefs
  mind after he learned afra's name.  It was Damitcha who introduced afra
  
  to the art of paper-folding, origami, which had been part of his
  ancestors' culture.
       afra had been fascinated to see Damitcha's thick fingers
  deliberately and delicately creasing, folding and producing the most
  elegant creatures, objects and flowers from coloured sheets.
       'Old fashioned sea sailors used to carve things in their off-duty
  hours,' Damitcha explained, deftly making a bird he called a heron,
  with outstretched wings, long legs and neck.  'Scrimshaw, they called
  it.  Have museums of the stuff on old Earth and I seen it once on leave
  there.  But spacemen gotta watch weight and so paper's perfect.  Beats
  the hell outa watching fractiles or such like.  Keeps my fingers supple
  for finicky board repairs, too.' When afra begged to be taught how to
  do origami foldings, Damitcha produced an instruction tape for him and
  even gave him several sheets of his special coloured papers.
       afra told Goswina about this hobby but Goswina was so involved
  with being a new Tower technician and wife that her response was more
  automatic than enthusiastic: all part of her detachment from her
  previous ties.  afra did understand that she had other claims on her
  time, that she still loved him but that working in the Tower was far
  more exciting than listening to her little brother.  Hasardar was
  handier and could be relied on for approval and amazement at what afra
  could create out of a sheet of paper.  He pinned samples of afra's
  handiwork on his bulletin board and took the manipulable ones home to
  amuse his children.
       On his next trip into Capell, Damitcha presented afra with a box
  of origami papers, all sizes and many beautiful shades and patterns.
       He brought historical tapes about Oriental arts and even a small
  paper book on Japanese brush calligraphy.
       As afra grew older, and assumed other duties, Damitcha would join
  him in Hasardar's office for chats, for meal breaks, for long evening
  discussions.  So afra learned far more details about other systems than
  were taught in his classroom.
       Damitcha retired from active service with the freighting company
  and, though he frequently sent messages to his 'pint-sized greenie' to
  which afra usually responded, the boy did not find another so
  congenial.  The curiosity that Damitcha had generated in the young afra
  would never fail and the boy continued to make far more contact with
  other cultures than his parents knew, or would consider advisable for
  their impressionable son.
       However, that same curiosity troubled afra for it made him
  uncomfortably aware that he found great interest in matters his family
  considered quite trivial or useless.  afra spent hours in his early
  teen years examining his inner self, trying to find the flaw in him
  that wanted more than he could have on Capella; that was fascinated by
  'other worldly notions'; that resented the loving supervision of his
  parents and the path they had chosen for him to follow.
       The fact that he knew they loved him burdened him in his striving
  to be different.  Their main concern was to keep the family's honour
  unsullied, which meant adhering to proven ways.  With their love,
  wisdom and (they thought) insight into the characters and abilities of
  their children, Gas Lyon and Cheswina were convinced that they knew
  what was best.  Especially for afra.
       From Goswina on down, his siblings were quite willing to have
  their lives ordered by their parents.  As minor Talents, they each
  moved serenely into secure careers in the service of FT&T and that was
  as far as any of them looked.  Goswina's happy marriage and her skills
  as a technician made her conclude that following parental example would
  also lead afra to happiness.  So she did not understand his rebellion,
  nor that he had been exposed to different standards over the years.
       Certainly his interest in 'other worldly' things extended to
  
  unusual species, like the barque cats on the liner Bucephalus.
       Damitcha had told him about these strange space-faring variants of
  Terran felines.
       'We don't have one, but next time the old Buc cradles down here,
  ask the chief - a woman named Marsha Meilo - if you can see theirs.
       They gotta new litter but - sorry lad, they're not planet beasts.
       They stay in space.' afra looked up 'barque cat' and the screen
  showed the current prize-winning sire, Garfield Per Astra, a
  magnificent beast of tawny brown with his undercoat a tan, with black
  stripes, and face markings that made him look both benign and
  exceedingly wise.  His eyes were yellow, like afra's, but that wasn't
  what endeared him to the boy as much as his air of arrogant
  independence did.
       There were many halos of the unusually marked felines, long
  histories of their pedigrees, breeding and nurture, their deftness in
  finding tiny holes in hulls and giving warning to the crew, their
  almost incredible talent for survival in space wrecks.  FIND THE BC!
       was the motto of every space salvage group.  Any vessel harbouring
  a barque cat would have BC ABOARD in huge letters in various positions
  on the hull.
       The next time the Bucephalus rocked into a Capellan cradle, afra
  deserted his immediate task and was in the group hovering by the crew
  gangway.
       'Whatcha got, kid?' a spaceman asked, noticing afra, who was
  almost dancing about in his anxiety to get someone's attention.
       'Chief Damitcha of the freighter Zanzibar gave me a message for
  your Chief Marsha Meilo.
       The crewman vacillated between annoyance and curiosity.
       'Yeah?  What's the message?' 'I'm to give it to her,' he said.
       'Oh, he did, huh?  Didn't know he knew -- What's the matter, kid?'
  For afra had just seen the barque cat who strolled indolently to the
  gangway to peer out in as supercilious a manner as the highest Methody
  preacher 'Oh, that's Treasure Island Queen,' and the crewman's pride in
  the beast was obvious.
       afra extended his hand to the cat, for they were on a level,
  Treasure on the ship and afra on the ground.  The crewman kicked his
  hand away and afra jumped back in alarm and hurt.
       'Sorry, kid, we don't like our barquie picking up any planetary
  germs.  No touchee.  Just lookee.  She is a beauty, ain't she?' and the
  crewman, rather ashamed of his defensiveness, hunkered down to pet the
  cat.
       afra, hands clasped tightly behind his back, could not tear his
  eyes off the sleek and elegant creature.  Treasure, luxuriating in the
  crewman 5 caresses, murmured her appreciation and turned her
  aristocratic face towards the wide-eyed boy.
       'Hmmmmrow!' she said, plainly addressing afra.
       'Hey, kid, you rate.  She don't usually speak to landlubbers.'
  afra listened with all his heart and heard the satisfaction of
  Treasure's mind for the caresses she was enjoying.
       Delicately she sniffed, as much in afra's direction as in general
  at the atmosphere of Capella, but he took it as a personal accolade and
  desperately wanted to be able to stroke her, to have such a lovely
  creature for his own.
       You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, afra dared
  to say.
       Mmmmmmrow!  Mmmmmrrr!
       There seemed to be no mental equivalent for that except pleasure.
       Abruptly she leaped away from the door and out of his sight.  Just
  then a group of uniformed men and women emerged and quickly the crewman
  gestured for afra to make himself scarce as he stood to attention,
  
  saluting those who filed out of the ship.
       afra mulled over that incident for several days before he asked
  Hasardar about barque cats.
       'Them?  Well, for one thing, they're not allowed planetside.
       Those spacers keep them pretty much to themselves.  Oh, they trade
  them between ships, to avoid inbreeding 'Inbreeding?' 'Too close a
  blood tie - weakens the strain, they say.' afra didn't have a chance to
  ask more questions.  He knew without asking that his parents would not
  permit him to have any kind of an animal.  Not in the Tower enclosure.
       But that didn't keep him from checking with all the bigger ships
  to see if they had barque cats.  Spacemen were only too happy to brag
  about their beasts and if afra couldn't touch, he could admire, and
  'path them.  Mostly they responded, which tickled him and actually
  improved his relations with all ships' crews.  'That yellow eyed
  greenie that the barquies talk to' became his informal designation in
  Capella Port.  His fascination with the animals helped ease his
  loneliness and he studied pedigrees, and asked questions of any barque
  cat crew, until he probably knew the lineage and distribution of the
  animals as well as any spacefarer.  His most precious treasure was a
  packet of holographs of various dignified barquies given him by their
  proud owners.
       But, as afra grew older and his Talent strengthened, he became
  less tolerant of the parochial attitudes of his parents despite his
  love for them.  Reared as he had been to restrain his emotions, he
  mentally chafed against the loving bonds and the parental assumption
  that he would be delighted to take a place - more exalted than theirs
  as a T-4 which they did not resent - in Capella Tower.
       By his fifteenth year, he had begun to find ways of sliding away
  from his family's supervision - first mentally when he attended the
  Capella training sessions and met Talents from nearby systems.  Then,
  physically, when he would clandestinely join his student friends in the
  few innocent and mild diversions available on his Methodistic planet:
  diversions his peers regarded as kid stuff.  Then, psychologically,
  when he had the chance to add more adult tapes and disks to those
  Damitcha had given him.  He learned vicariously what 'diversions' could
  he had on other planets.  He began to appreciate just how
  unsophisticated Capella was, how narrow its moral code, how much more
  diverse and rich other lifestyles were.
       He knew, as all Talents did, that the Rowan had left Altair to
  become Prime on the new FT&T installation on Callisto, Jupiter's moon.
       He heard, for he made certain that he did, of all the personnel
  shifts and changes required to suit the Rowan.  Older members of the
  Capella team criticized her for such vacillation.
       'Much too young to be made a Prime.  That needs a mature, stable,
  responsible personality.  What is FT&T coming to?' was the consensus.
       No-one mentioned what was so obvious to afra: that there were far
  too few Prime Talents to wait until the Rowan was 'old' enough whenever
  that would be - to accede to a Prime's duties.
       afra was also perversely excited by such reports of hiring and
  firing.  That sort of thing never happened on Capella.
       Once drafted to the Tower, that's where a Talent stayed - until he
  or she retired after a suitable length of service.
       Young afra, now an apprentice in Capella's Tower, was in a
  position to learn that the Rowan had a powerful thrust, never dumped
  capsules into cradles, hadn't damaged cargo or passengers, and
  expedited both in- and out-system traffic, despite the handicap of
  great Jupiter occluding Callisto at irregular intervals.
       Of all the Talents surrounding the young afra, only Hasardar
  seemed to appreciate his restless disquiet.  Yet afra could not bring
  himself to apply even to him for advice on how to break out of the
  
  stultifying future that had been arranged for him.
       When he gained manly status at sixteen, he felt it was time to
  remind Goswina about the Rowan's promise.
       'Oh, afra dear, you are only sixteen,' and though afra could not
  doubt that she still loved him, he felt that she regarded him as little
  more than a child.  Certainly he was no longer as important a love for
  her.  But a mother should favour her sons above a brother.  Which,
  sadly, he had to accept, knowing more of human relationships than he
  had ten years before.
       'Callisto's one of the most important stations in the Federation,'
  Goswina went on, her thought backing up a tone that said she didn't
  feel he should complain about his obvious future.  'Besides, now that
  the Rowan has her own Tower, they don't give the courses at Altair any
  more.' 'But you've heard how often staff gets changed at Callisto.  And
  you said that I'd complement her.  You must remember that, Goswina!
       Maybe it's me she's looking for.' Goswina gently smiled at her
  brother's fervour.  'Now, dear, I hear that Ementish will retire in two
  years.  You'd do very well in that posting.  In the meantime, I'll see
  if you can't work at one of the southern subsidiary links.  You'd be
  young to be on your own in some of those isolated waystations, but
  you'd be getting such good practice at catching and sending.
       'Sending drones?' afra was contemptuous.  He'd been catching
  drones at Hasardar's bequest for two years.  The novelty had long since
  worn off.  For his dear Goswina to recommend such a posting was a blow
  to his self-esteem.
       He was a T-4, 'path and 'port.  He could do better than that for
  himself.
       'You did rather let the family down, you know, Affie,' she went
  on, sweetly chiding.  'Father expected you to get highest honours, not
  just a mere First ---' 'Mere First?' afra was appalled for he had
  worked very hard to achieve that standard.  No student in his year had
  been given a highest honours degree and he had been one of only three
  Firsts.  But, once again, he sensed that her deeper thoughts were
  distracted by what scholastic achievements her young sons were likely
  to make.  'Thanks,' afra said, trying not to sound bitter and, before
  she could ask him to mind his nephews, excused himself from her neatly
  kept house.
       So he began to look at the other job opportunities for T-4s.  As
  all his training, all his background had been to prepare him for the
  Tower, he was woefully short of the requirements for other sorts of
  assignments and would have to go through an apprentice year to refocus
  his Talent.  Besides which, he wanted to get off Capella.
       He toyed with the idea of asking Capella's help: she was always
  pleasant to him when he encountered her in the Complex gardens or in
  the leisure facilities.  But Capella might think him ungrateful,
  wanting to leave his native planet, and his request would most
  certainly embarrass his family.
       His chance came when he heard that the Rowan had fired yet another
  T-4 from Callisto Station.  It took every bit of credit he had in the
  meagre personal account he had started with Damitcha's coin to courier
  his profile to Callisto in the mailbag.  He had spent almost a full day
  to compose the accompanying note, and several hours before he was
  satisfied with the slanting lines of his calligraphy, much influenced
  by Damitcha's book.  The note was brief enough, mentioning only that
  his sister Goswina remembered the Rowan most fondly from the course at
  Altair and would the Rowan consider his application to Callisto Tower.
       He endured suspense greater than when he had awaited his test
  results and he'd thought that period had been nearly insupportable.  He
  figured that he couldn't expect an answer for several days, despite the
  speed with which FT&T mail packets were flipped about the galaxy.
  
       Therefore, he was totally surprised when Hasardar called him on
  the vid.
       'You've lucked out, lad,' Hasardar said, waving a red transport
  chit, the kind that meant priority handling.
       'Soon's you can throw some things together, you're to find a
  capsule to fit your long bones.' 'A capsule?  Where'm I being sent?'
  'Callisto, you lucky dog.  The Rowan's looking for a T-4
       and you're to get a trial.' afra stared at Hasardar, momentarily
  paralysed by news he had candidly never thought to receive.
       'You're to go to Callisto, afra?' his mother demanded in a feeble
  tone, as stunned as he was.
       Having had no inkling as to the nature of the stationmaster's
  call, afra had not activated a privacy setting so his parents had heard
  every word.
       'Yes, indeed, Cheswina,' Hasardar repeated, rather surprised by
  the Lyon family's muted reaction to their son's great good fortune,
  'afra's been ordered to Callisto.' 'But how would Callisto have known
  of afra?' Gas asked, staring at his son as if the young man had changed
  shape.
       afra affected a shrug, keeping a very tight control on his
  thoughts even though he knew his father couldn't, as well as wouldn't,
  stoop to probing.
       'Maybe the Rowan Prime remembered her promise to Goswina,' afra
  said, delighted that his voice didn't crack with excitement.  'Which is
  very good of her, you must admit.  A promise made a decade ago.  Who'd
  expect a Prime to remember?' He knew he was babbling as much from
  jubilation as a sudden fright that, in surprise, his parents might deny
  him the right to go.
       'A Prime is exactly the person who would remember,' his father
  told him reproachfully.  'Our family is indeed honoured.  But didn't I
  hear that you were to be assigned to a substation?  I know you're being
  considered as a replacement for Ementish in our Tower?' There was a
  wistful emphasis on the possessive pronoun.
       'Father, I can hardly refuse to go to Callisto, can I?' afra said,
  pretending a reluctant obedience to a Prime directive, but he could
  scarcely shout out his inner joy when his parents were so distressed at
  his news.  'I must gather travel necessities.' 'Come when you're ready,
  afra.  You can be despatched any time in the next hour,' Hasardar said.
       'It is only an interview,' he added tactfully and disconnected.
       Cheswina was trying hard to control her dismay at the prospect of
  her youngest child's abrupt departure.  She did not feel that afra was
  ready to meet the world on his own, though she had started looking for
  a suitable wife for him.
       There were plenty of girls who'd look favourably on her tall thin
  son because he was T-4.
       Gas Lyon rose from the breakfast table.  'I am deeply concerned,
  afra, about your being sent to such an unstable Tower situation.' 'It
  is just an interview,' afra said, reinforcing his aura of dutiful
  compliance.
       'I have heard,' Gas Lyon continued, both expression and mind
  radiating an anxiety that even a T-1O would have sensed,-'that the
  Rowan is a very difficult Prime to work with.  Her station personnel
  are constantly being changed.  You would be foolish to risk
  'Humiliation?' and afra hooked the unspoken word out of Gas Lyon's
  mind.  'Father, there would be no shame, or blame, if the Rowan did not
  find me acceptable.' afra felt every fibre of his being denying his
  words, every ounce of his strength shielding his true thoughts from his
  distraught parents.  'There would, however, I feel, be an implied
  insult if I didn't at least appear for this interview.  I will pack a
  few things --.' Indeed there was little in his room that he could not
  
  leave behind - with the exception of his halos of barque cats, his
  origami flock, his supply of paper and Damitcha's book.  -- and report
  as requested to the Rowan on Callisto.  It is so generous of her to
  remember her promise to Goswina.' Before his control on his real
  feelings weakened, afra strode from the room.  As he tossed a change of
  clothing, Tower shoes, halos, origamis and the book into a carisak, he
  probed deftly at his parents.  His father was clearly stunned and most
  perturbed, uncomplimentarily concerned that his youngest could handle
  the courtesies involved.  His mother's mind was running about in
  circles; would afra present himself properly, would he be restrained
  and mannerly, would this Rowan person appreciate that he came from a
  good family and had been raised to the high standards demanded of Tower
  personnel, would he afra closed the sack and returned to say farewell
  to his parents.  This moment was far harder for him than he -realized
  especially when he wished so fervently that he would not be back in the
  few days his parents felt he'd be gone.
       -'I shall bring honour on the family name,' he said to his father,
  lightly touching Gas Lyon's chest over his heart.  'Mother, I shall be
  extremely well-behaved,' and he caressed her cheek softly.
       His throat suddenly closed and he felt an unexpected burning
  behind his eyes.  He hadn't anticipated such a reaction when he had
  wanted so desperately for so long to leave home.  Much too abruptly for
  courtesy, he flung himself out of the house and strode as fast as his
  long legs would take him to the personnel launch cradles of the
  station.
       He'd seen the procedure often enough to know exactly what to do.
       The personnel carrier was comfortable enough; certainly, no
  different from any of the drills or the few short distances he'd been
  teleported.
       A T- 10 he knew checked him, grinned as he closed and locked the
  cover, slapped it in casual farewell and only then did afra remember
  that he hadn't contacted Goswina.
       Gossie afra!  You have a genius for picking the most awkward
  moments - Gossie, I'm going to Callist afra, Capella's firm mental
  voice interrupted him then, on the count of three .  . . I wish you
  good luck, afra.
       The next moment he knew he was being 'ported across the incredible
  spatial distance to Callisto.  That didn't take as long as he had
  somehow assumed it would.  He was aware of the 'portation, the
  sensation of disorientation that he knew he was expected to feel.
       Small wonder Primes, being so sensitive, had problems even on
  passenger liners.  He was certainly aware when the changeover was made,
  when Capella released his capsule into the Rowan's control.
       afra?  Did you tell your sister that the Rowan kept her promise?
       The Rowan's mental tone, so different to Capella's, to anyone
  else's he had ever encountered in his lifetime, chimed silverly in his
  mind.  The contact had a brilliance, a vivacity, and a resonance which
  immediately enthralled him.
       I told her I was coming to Callisto.
       Well, you're here.  Come to the Tower.  You are welcome, afra.  A
  silvery laugh shivered in his mind.  You know, I think Goswina was
  right.  We'll see.
       The cover was unlocked and a rather anxious looking man, wearing
  stationmaster's tabs on his collar, extended a hand.
       'afra?  Brian Ackerman.' The man's anxiety began to fade as they
  clasped hands.  'Capella grows 'em long, doesn't it?' he said, grinning
  as afra got to his feet, standing centimetres taller than the stockier
  stationmaster.
       'The Rowan can play games but don't let 'em get to you, huh?' he
  added in the tight low tones that suggested to afra that Brian had his
  
  mental shields in place to deliver that brief advice.
       afra nodded soberly and followed the stationmaster to the Tower.
       It was only then that he noticed, and swallowed against his
  surprise, that Callisto Tower was a domed facility.  In fact, a
  combination of domes plus the big ship launch area with cradles that
  ranged from the single he'd been landed in to the immense complex metal
  affairs that accommodated large passenger liners or naval vessels.
       Above them loomed Jupiter.  afra controlled the instinct to hunch
  away from the giant planet.  No doubt he would get accustomed to its
  dominating presence.
       He also found himself breathing shallowly, and controlled that
  reaction as well: there was plenty of air on this moon.
       'You get used to it,' Brian Ackerman said with a grin.
       'Is it that obvious?' afra asked.
       Brian grinned.  'Everyone feels the old man and, sometimes, the
  whole alien feel' - he made a sweep of his arm to include the domes
  'can really get to the planet bred.' They had reached the facility by
  then, a Tower more by grace than fact for there was only the one raised
  section that could be termed a tower.  The administrative building was
  compact, three storeyed, the only windows the clear plexiglas that
  wrapped around the tower portion, giving the Prime three hundred and
  sixty degrees of visibility.
       Lights under the fascia boards of the roof beamed down on the
  plantings, counterfeiting sunlight enough to encourage growth.
       Luminous Jupiter's light did not support earth vegetation.  To
  afra's surprise, he saw a small copse of trees at the back of the
  terrain-hugging residence off to the right of the Tower complex.
       'The Rowan's,' Brian said, noticing his glance, and then palmed
  the door open.  'She lives here.  Primes don't travel much, you know,
  but she's good about sending us downside on leave Inside the main room,
  consoles and work tables were placed along the walls, neat enough now
  as personnel were apparently closing down operations.  There was a buzz
  of friendly chat and considerable interest in Ackerman's companion.
       afra caught mental buzz that identified him as the Capellan T-4.
       No longer a pint-sized greenie, afra thought very quietly and
  grinned.
       If he suited the Rowan, he might even be able to see old Damitcha
  who had retired downside to Kyoto.
       Vague reassurances were aimed in his direction, some of them
  wistful, some of them pessimistic about his chances but there were
  smiles enough to make him feel welcome.
       'You were the last shipment in today,' Brian said.
       'Coffee?' 'Coffee?' afra was surprised.  That was a caffeinated
  substance which was, of course, unavailable on Capella.
       Something to do with the expense of it.  'I wouldn't mind a cup.'
  He fished that phrase out of Brian's mind 'D'you like it black, white,
  sweetened?' 'How do you like it?' 'Never had any?' 'No,' and afra
  smiled ruefully 'Well, try it black and see if you like it.  Then we
  can add milk and sweetener to your taste.
       afra was trying not to probe around for the Prime.  There were so
  many people milling about, some of them flustered with the day's tasks,
  some hoping to leave for home pretty soon, that he wondered if she were
  down here.  No-one matched the vivid mental picture Goswina had given
  him so long ago.  Then he realized that the Rowan would be ten years
  older and more mature than that mischievous girl.
       Just as Brian handed him a mug with an opaque black liquid, he
  knew the Rowan was in the room.  He turned slightly to his left,
  towards the beverage dispenser which Brian had just left.  Three
  people, a man and two women, were serving themselves.  afra's attention
  fell on the slenderer female figure, a mane of unexpectedly silver hair
  
  falling to her shoulders although her face was young, and oddly
  attractive though not in a classic style of beauty.
       He felt the first spurt - and ruthlessly suppressed that sense of
  strong affinity.
       Although the girl wasn't very tall and had a pale, rather than
  slightly greenish skin tone, she had the lean look of a Capellan.  But
  there was no doubt in his mind that she was the Rowan.
       Full marks to you, Goswina's brother afra, she said and, audibly
  excusing herself from her companions, she jerked her head towards the
  steps to the Tower level.  If you'll join me?
       Her very casual manner was quite a change from Capella's
  formality.
       I had my craw full of protocol and elaborate convention on Altair,
  afra.  I run a Tower, not a tea party.  I also don't usually 'path
  conversations.  For Goswina's brother I'll make an exception today.
       He followed her up the winding metal steps, a bit surprised that
  she didn't have a ramp as Capella did.
       'You'll find I'm not at all like Capella, or Siglen, or any of the
  other Primes you might have met.
       'Capella's the only one I've ever met.
       They were in the Tower room now, with her conformable couch, the
  various monitors and consoles that were standard furniture for a
  Prime's domain.  Great Jupiter was visible, and the stark moonscape
  beyond theFT&T domes.  The Rowan gestured for him to take the seat by
  the auxiliary console.  Then she leaned back against the outer wall and
  cocked her head.  He felt no contact from her mind but, unless he was
  completely mistaken, there was a bond growing between them.  He hoped
  so for he had never met anyone like her before - so radiant, so vital,
  so vivid.  Strength was an almost visible aura about her.  And his
  father had always maintained that Primes contained themselves?
       'I'd take you for Goswina's brother.  You've the look of her.
       Sort of.' She smiled, an expression that only increased his
  attraction for her.  'What did they say when you got my message?' 'They
  were surprised.  Then my father said that a Prime would remember a
  promise.
       'Ah!' Her grin was mischievous.  'So your family didn't know you
  had applied to me directly?' afra shook his head, unable, however, to
  break eye contact.  So he gave a rueful shrug and attempted a
  self-deprecating smile.
       'Aren't you supposed to take up a position at Capella Tower?'
  'When Ementish retires.' Her grey eyes danced.  'And that fills you
  with so much elation that you had to give me first refusal?' 'Capella
  is a good planet ---' 'Goody good, I'd've said .
       afra cocked an eyebrow at her qualification.  'When we took the
  Tower course, I met Talents from other systems.  He shrugged again, not
  willing to belittle his home world.
       'And you wanted to see more of the galaxy?' 'One doesn't see much
  of the galaxy as a T-4 in a Tower but I thought that it might be .  . .
       challenging to spend some time elsewhere.' She gave him a curious
  look.
       'What are those odd shapes in your carisak?' It was the last
  question he expected of her but he also realized that the Rowan would
  be unpredictable.
       'Origami.  The ancient art of paper folding.' Not at all certain
  he should act brashly, he 'ported his favorite swan - in a silvery
  white paper - into his hand and offered it to her.
       With a wondering smile on her face, she took it from him, turning
  the bird this way and that, delicately opening its wings.
       'How charming!  And you just fold paper into that shape.' 'What's
  your favorite colour?' he asked.
  
       'Red.  Crimson red!' He extracted a red sheet from his supply and,
  when he had it in his hands, he rapidly folded a flower which he
  offered her with a little bow.
       'Well, that's not a mental exercise at all, is it?' she said,
  examining the flower.  'Flip, flop and you've got a small masterpiece.
       Is that what people do on Capella for entertainment?' -afra shook
  his head.  'A freighter chief named Damitcha taught me - while Goswina
  was on Altair.  I missed her, you see.  Origami helped.' The Rowan's
  expression altered to one of compassionate apology - and he felt the
  lightest mental touch, reinforcing It.
       'She missed you, too, afra.  I heard all about you.' 'And you
  remembered your promise.' 'Not quite, afra,' she said, propelling
  herself towards her chair and whirling around to seat herself.
       'Because there's no course on Altair any more and you're already
  trained.  So let's see if Goswina was right, that our minds will
  complement each other in the running of this Tower!' She let him hear
  what she then said.  Reidinger, I've found me another T4.  afra of
  Capella.  He folds paper!
       Which is at least original.  And he keeps halos of barque cats.
       So she'd seen those, too, in her mental sorting of his belongings.
       ROWAN!
       afra winced as the bellow singed his mind edges.  The Rowan
  grinned mischievously at him and signalled that he wasn't to mind the
  noisiness.
       Well, he can't be any worse than the one who was certain that
  Jupiter would fall on her.  Or that absolute dark from Betelgeuse who
  couldn't take the least bit of teasing.  Much less that martinet you
  thought was just the sort to steady me while I was learning my job!
       No, this time, Reidinger, I get to pick one.  And that's that!
       Then she winked at afra.  'I had an illegal barque cat once.  I
  named him Rascal and he was but the ungrateful feline deserted me on
  the liner that brought me here.' She gave a little shrug and a wry
  grin.  'Not that I blamed him the way I carried on.' 'They hear us, you
  know,' afra said, thinking that a safe enough remark.
       She looked surprised.  'I suspected Rascal did.  We enjoyed a
  friendly empathy but has one spoken to you?' 'Hmmmmm-rowwww!' The Rowan
  threw back her head and laughed with delight.
       'You're one up on me then, afra.' 'Not for long, I think,' he
  replied, pure relief at surviving these initial moments, jolting the
  uncharacteristic retort from mind to mouth.
       She laughed again, idly swinging the chair from side to side.
       'Shall we keep score?' 'How much can I lose before you fire me out
  of here?' He didn't believe it was himself answering a Prime like this.
       'Well, I just don't know, afra.  The problem hasn't come up
  before, she said, winking.  'The others have been such blockheads, they
  couldn't have capped a phrase if I'd handed them the hat!  And,' she
  waggled a finger at him, 'if you hold your own against Reidinger when
  he vets you, you'll do yourself a favour there, too.  Enough of this!
       I'll show you your quarters.' She slid gracefully to her feet and
  beckoned him to follow.  'We're off for the next six hours, you know,
  so there's time for you to settle in before the station's operational
  again.  Then we'll just see how good Goswina's little brother afra is!'
  by two conformable chairs and a rather battered low table.
       Callisto personnel had better quarters than afra expected for a
  moon installation.  He was frequently told that Callisto had been
  state-of-the-art when it was constructed eight years ago.  Every new
  safeguard device since then was immediately incorporated into
  Callisto's dome.  FT&T was not risking its Callisto Prime, and her
  station crew benefited.
       Married personnel had quarters with their own garden and
  
  recreational area under their secondary dome.  Single staff had two
  room apartments plus a large dining and recreational lounge.  A
  well-fitted gymnasium centre used by everyone occupied another
  secondary dome, reached by a short tunnel, though the locks on both
  ends were standing open.  The Tower facility, small capsule cradles
  plus the generators, underground fuel tanks, main water storage was
  mainly underground with access in a third small dome: the passenger and
  naval vessel size cradles under a fourth with airlocks and auxiliary
  tunnels to the main facilities.
       The Rowan's private residence with its small copse and garden, off
  to one side of the main complex, was under a fifth while the main dome
  offered primary shielding to all.  Emergency upright shelters were
  strategically situated in case of a major strike penetrating the first
  and second domes and each living unit automatically sealed and had
  emergency oxygen supplies for twenty-four hours - the maximum time
  estimated for help to arrive from other stations in the system.
       afra found his apartment more than adequate, even to an imitation
  fire on a hearth in the lounge room, flanked To one side of the mantel
  was a complicated orological device that displayed Earth time and
  Callisto's time in terms of revolutions about its primary, and a second
  orrery depicting Callisto's orbit around immense Jupiter as well as the
  erratic orbits of the other moons.  If he read it correctly, he had
  another five hours and fifteen minutes before he should report back to
  the Tower.
       Although there were cupboards, shelving for tape, vids,
  gamescreens, and far more closets than he needed for his one pitiful
  carisak, there was plenty of space for other furniture, suggesting he
  could make his own choices of additional pieces.
       The ubiquitous communications desk was exceedingly well appointed
  with a patently brand new console and auxiliaries.  When he turned it
  on, an introductory message filled the screen, inviting him to initiate
  personal codes and install any programs.  He was informed that he had a
  monthly limit of free calls to his home system, that he could order
  necessities from Earth on the weekly supply drones at no cost or
  immediately at a special rate for FT&T employees.  Facetiously keying a
  query on his credit balance, he gasped in surprise at the amount of
  draw he was permitted for an out-of-system transfer, the allowance
  provided for redecorating and furnishing his quarters, and how to
  obtain downside authorization and credit facilities for FT&T personnel.
       'Another matter no-one ever explained to me,' he murmured.  'Or
  maybe the parents expected to manage my credit for me, too.
       He placed the barque cat halos on one shelf above the console and
  his flock of origamis on the next, fussing over their placement.  He
  leaned the calligraphy book against the side of the third shelf and
  snorted.  Well, he suspected that he'd find plenty to fill out those
  shelves.
       He investigated the bathroom, noticing the warning of daily
  personal water allotment, peeked into the tiny refreshment cabinet
  which included many exotic choices for a Capellan Methody lad, and went
  on into the sleeping room.  The bed was as firm as he liked it and big
  enough for several bodies the size of his.  That opened up another
  vista for him, heretofore scrupulously unmentioned, even if his parents
  had been considering the stabilizing influence of a nice girl for him.
       He grinned.  Earth was not that far away and Brian Ackerman had
  mentioned that downside trips were possible.  Tempting!
       Then he noticed the second orological display.
       'They don't risk your forgetting the time around here, do they?'
  Even in this privacy, he felt a trifle silly talking to himself.  'I
  need some music.' 'If you will name your preferences, these can be
  supplied on a select or random basis,' said a velvet alto which could
  
  be either male or female.
       Delighted to have a voice address in-room system, afra rattled off
  a list of his favorites and the soft string instrumental opus began the
  moment he paused to decide what else he'd like to have on tap.
       'Thank you.' 'Courtesy is not required.' 'It was where I was
  reared,' afra replied bluntly.
       'Is a response required?' 'It would be appreciated.  I promised my
  parents to remember my manners.' Then he covered his mouth against a
  laugh.  All those drills on courtesy and he had a v.a. system to use
  them on?  Even Goswina wouldn't be amused by the irony.
       'Thank you,' the alto voice responded.
       'You're welcome,' afra said.
       Then he noticed the time he'd been wasting.  He dumped the
  remainder of the carisak's contents on the bed and, taking his kit,
  clean clothes and station shoes, went to the bathroom for a quick
  shower before his first experience of duty on Callisto.
       Fortunately for his performance that day, afra could handle all
  Tower procedures with routine efficiency, almost without thinking about
  the intricacies required, but he had never worked at even half the pace
  required of Callisto personnel.
       We are the main forwarding facility, the Rowan sent him -halfway
  through the hectic period.  We handle more traffic -than any other
  Tower.  You're doing fine.  Don't fret.  I don't think we'll wear you
  down today.
       Huh!  afra restricted comment to that one challenging monosyllable
  and kept right on working.  It was exhilarating, to say the least, for
  his duties as the Rowan's second were to be sure of the orderly flow of
  destination placements, weights of cargo whether animate or inanimate,
  and special instructions from the tertiary rank.
       Cargo-handlers (7s and 8s of kinetic Talent) who took travel
  documents from cargo pods of all sizes, single and double personnel
  capsules, and the various larger transit vessels, 'lifted' them into
  the Tower for sorting according to priority.  lOs scurried about the
  landing field making certain all relays arrived in good condition, and
  always checking animate cargos.  Inside the Tower, 6s and 5s assigned
  priorities and found destination coordinates.
       Brian Ackerman made sure there were no delays in those duties and
  established that everything afra, in turn, passed up to the Rowan was
  in order, and kept the flow smooth -to the Prime.
       On a busy day, and Callisto was always busy, afra, as the T-4, was
  also required to reduce the burden on the Prime by expediting any
  inanimate cargo to reserve her capability for heavier, delicate and
  animate transfers.
       afra could gestalt with the generations, albeit without the same
  range and strength as the Rowan.  He had always secretly felt that he
  had more range than he'd ever been permitted to use on Capella - if
  only because he felt he could.  afra was also too well disciplined a
  Talent to be foolishly overconfident.  But, working with the Rowan, he
  became aware of a sense of extended resources and deeper strengths
  which he had never experienced working with any other Talent.  It was
  as if the Rowan added a new dimension to his Talent.
       And that, my dear Afra, is exactly how it should feel between
  Prime and her backup, the Rowan said in between shifting two heavy
  freighters.  If it isn't there to begin with, it won't come, not for
  all the wishing in the world.
       That was enough to give afra a second wind for - the pace was
  beginning to get to him.  Inhaling deeply, he carried on.
       When the last drone had been spun out to its destination and the
  generator gauges on his board dropped down to zero, afra was too
  expended momentarily to move.  The muscles along his back ached and he
  
  had a mild throbbing at his temples.  Then he grinned to himself.  He'd
  survived.
       He hadn't made a single error - that he could think of.  He felt
  someone standing beside him and craning his head to the right, saw the
  Rowan grinning at him.  Lightly she touched his shoulder, just enough
  for him to sense a mental flavour of deep green and mintiness from her.
       'We did good work today.' Then one of her arched black eyebrows
  lifted sardonically, 'That is, if you can keep up this sort of pace.
       'Try me,' afra said, taking up the challenge.  'Just try me.
       'You just bet I will,' but her grin got broader and her eyes
  twinkled.  'C'mon, I owe you a cup of coffee.  Anyone want to go
  downside?  We're in occlusion.' chorus of 'I do' and waving hands
  answered that A offer.
       'Grab what you need and find a capsule,' the Rowan said.  'I won't
  send you down yet, afra.  But plan on next full occlusion.  Reidinger
  wants to interview you.
       Oh,' when she felt him tense, 'don't worry about him.
       I,' and she jerked her thumb at her chest, 'say who works in my
  Tower.' Lightly she climbed back up into the Tower and, although the
  generator gauges did not so much as flicker, afra could see the
  capsules arrowing away from Callisto in Earth's direction.
       You've seven to catch down there, Reidinger, she said.
       THEY'RE NOT SCHEDULED, was the roar from the Earth Prime.
       Let your apprentices catch.  My crew need the downside time.
       So, how did that Capellan manage?  Reidinger added and his words
  echoed in afra's mind, confusing the Capellan until he realized that
  the Rowan was backfiring the conversation.  Capella would never have
  done that, afra thought, astonished, and held his breath for her reply.
       He held up well today.  I'll give him a three-month trial.
       Not before I've seen him, you won't!
       Sure thing, and the Rowan's tone was not only saucy but very
  confident.
       Most of the Tower personnel disappeared when the Rowan made her
  transportation offer.  Only Brian Ackerman remained, discussing a few
  matters quietly with Joe Toglia.  afra continued to sit where he was.
       He felt drained and even the few steps to the beverage dispenser
  seemed too far but he could certainly use a caffeine boost.
       Then he saw one cup move under the spout, the dark liquid splash
  in and move aside for a second cup to be filled with sugar and milk
  added.  As the cups made their way to his station, the Rowan came down
  the stairs again.
       'Thanks,' he said with a wry grin of appreciation as she
  approached.  She caught the back of a chair and, hauling it behind her,
  sat down beside him.  He lifted his cup and she touched hers to it in
  the traditional fashion.  'Thanks a lot, Rowan She gave him a sideways
  glance.  'Couple of things we got to straighten between us right away,
  afra.  Just let me know when you need a boost and tell me when you've
  foozied.  I prefer to correct as soon as possible.  Understand that and
  -we could make a good team.
       afra nodded his agreement, mentally too tired to project -after
  all the exercise he'd had the past six hours.  She continued to sit and
  sip at her coffee, the silence between -them comfortable.  In fact,
  afra did not remember being so comfortable with anyone else before
  except with Goswina when he was a boy.  And before, he added deep in
  his mind, Goswina went to Aitair.  By the time they had finished their
  drinks, he felt somewhat restored.  The Rowan recognized it, too, her
  grey eyes sympathetic.
       'Take a long nap, now, afra.  Let your brain idle,' she said,
  rising and replacing the chair.  Then she left the Tower.
       afra took her advice.  Nor was that the only time he did so.
  
       He was in the Tower for five weeks before Reidinger contacted him
  directly, though not in the bull roar he invariably used in his
  exchanges with the Rowan.  At that, the strength of Reidinger's
  powerful touch direct to his mind was sufficient to dismay afra.  He
  had never encountered such a dense mind before.  Capella had been firm
  and strong but nothing compared to Peter Reidinger, the third of that
  name to be Earth Prime.  The Rowan was very strong, with hints of a
  substance equal to Reidinger's but never displayed.  But afra was now
  familiar enough with the Rowan to be comfortable, if still in awe.
       Reidinger was different.  He was the most powerful man in Federal
  Teleportation and Telepathic.  And on his approval, no matter what the
  Rowan had said, depended afra's continued appointment to Callisto
  Tower.  However, afra managed a creditable, he thought, response, calm,
  unflustered, and above all, mannerly.  His parents would have been
  proud of him.
       Atta boy, afra, the Rowan said when Reidinger's presence had
  withdrawn.  He loves to dominate.  Has most of FT&T scared witless
  saves him a lot of trouble to have instantaneous obedience but it can
  be inhibiting.  You just carry on as you did and don't let him fluster
  you.  Remember, and here the Rowan allowed a wicked chuckle to weave
  into her tone, he doesn't scare me and if I want you, I'll have you.
       Tell you what, afra.  Before he can bellow at you - and he will
  present him with one of your origamis.  . . say a bull in full bellow!
       A scarlet bull.  Take the wind out of his sails.
       Distract him and you'll have the upper hand.
       Are you sure the upper hand is good for a lowly T4
       from Capella?
       The Rowan projected an even more malicious grin.
       Sweet-talking words is for a woman: standing your ground is a male
  prerogative.
       In retrospect, it was not Reidinger who awed afra in point of
  fact, but the sheer size of the Blundell building, surrounded by the
  immense cargo and passenger terminals, cradles and auxiliary
  structures.  afra stood by the personnel capsule in which the Rowan had
  sent him from Callisto and gawked.  TheFT&T complex was larger than the
  capital of Capella.  Beyond it stretched the commercial and residential
  towers of the largest single metropolis of the Central Worlds, receding
  into a distance his eyes could not adequately measure.
       He was, however, aware of air tinged with an unknown odour which
  his mind told him must be 'brine' since theFT&T complex bordered an
  ocean.
       'afra of Callisto Station?' He whirled and saw a youth in the
  uniform of an FT&T apprentice, a stocky lad with oddly flecked green
  eyes, dark hair and a fresh complexion.
       'Yes,' and he echoed the acknowledgement telepathically, testing
  the messenger.
       The boy grinned and held up his hand in the formal greeting
  between Talents.  'Gollee Gren.  I'm supposed to be a T-4.
       'On escort duty?' afra smiled back, remembering his service in the
  same capacity on Capella.
       'When no-one else is available,' Gollee said, not the least bit
  disconcerted by such duties.  'This way.  You've got to clear security
  and that takes time.
       Even when it's obvious who I am?
       Gollee shrugged, his grin droll.  'Don't be offended.
       They even go through the rigmarole for visiting Primes.' 'Don't
  lay it on too thick, Gollee.  Primes don't visit.' 'Well, you know what
  I mean.  Even T-2s get the treatment.  No-one gets into the Great God
  Reidinger without clearance.' Gollee had gestured towards the airy
  shell of concrete and plasglas that formed the entrance to the huge
  
  Blundell FT&T Agency Headquarters.
       It did take time to clear security, scanners, retina search,
  personal interviews - though it was clear they had afra's dossier on
  screen as he was interviewed.  afra was tempted to remark that a
  telepathic check from any T-3 or 2
       would allay any suspicions, but the attitudes of the T-8s
  processing him suggested he'd better not interrupt the process with an
  impertinence.  The security guards did not have his height but
  outweighed him by many kilos.  They were especially concerned about his
  origami and subjected it to so many tests that afra was alarmed that
  they'd ruin the little gift.
       'Surely you realize that it's only folded paper?  Here!' He tore a
  sheet from the pad on the desk and with practised skill, folded a
  replica.  'See?' The guards 'saw' but were palpably unimpressed with
  his dexterity, though Gollee was.  Eventually they had to concede that
  it posed no threat.
       Finally the security badge was grudgingly handed over.
       With a mental sigh of relief, Gollee led him towards the bank of
  grav lifts.
       Gollee punched an intricate code, his fingers flashing so fast
  afra's eyes could not follow nor was he able, in that instant, to read
  Gollee's suddenly shielded mind.
       They're even stricter about that, Gollee said in an apologetic
  tone.  I've only just been assigned to guide duty and they really do
  mind-burn anyone who disobeys or bends the drill.
       'They would have to, of course, Prime Reidinger being so important
  to Central Worlds,' he added aloud and motioned for afra to step with
  him into the programmed shaft.  'How long have you been doing that
  paper-folding?
       You made it look so easy.
       The upward motion was unusually rapid for a grav shaft.
       'Basically origami is easy.  Once you get the hang of it.
       'Where'd you learn?  Is it a Capellan thing?' 'No, it originates
  from a place called Japan.
       'Oh, in the Pacific Ocean somewhere.' 'So I understand.' Then,
  suddenly, a narrow aperture opened into which the current pulled them.
       The access snapped shut behind them.  Gollee grinned at afra's
  reaction.
       'No way you can get into the Prime's quarters without the right
  clearance.  The entire building is shielded and sealed especially this
  part.' 'I don't think I'd like to live like that.' 'We never will.
       We're not Primes.' A second, more generous opening appeared and
  remained long enough for afra and Gollee to step out into the lobby
  which was elegantly decorated in soft greens and comfortable seating.
       Fractiles were displayed on a corner screen and soft music fell
  pleasantly on the ear.  Gollee made for the door - the least ornate of
  several opening on to the lobby - to his left.
       'Stand square,' Gollee murmured as they reached the door which
  then slid into the wall.  They walked across a second lobby and to the
  centre door in its wall.  'You're on your own from here but I'll be
  waiting to guide you back.
       Good luck.' His expression suggested that afra needed all he could
  command.
       afra squared his shoulders and eyed the solid wood panels and
  remembered the Rowan's advice.  Would security have informed Prime
  Reidinger about a red paper bull and spoiled his gambit?  The door slid
  open to admit him into the spacious suite occupied by Peter Reidinger.
       'Come in, come in,' and the powerful mental voice was just as
  powerful and intimidating in its audible mode as its owner was
  physically impressive.
  
       'Thought you might like this, sir,' afra said, advancing quickly
  toward the semi-circular desk behind which Reidinger sat.  It was a
  case of moving swiftly or having his knees knock treacherously.  He was
  glad that his hand didn't shake as he leaned across the wide desk and
  placed the delicate red bull in front of Earth Prime.
       Surprised by both approach and gift, Reidinger regarded the little
  figure.  Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.
       'A bull by all that's holy!  A bull!  Horns, snout and .  ' With
  one long and surprisingly well-shaped finger, Reidinger prodded the
  bull to a side view, 'and balls!' He guffawed again.  'That
  white-haired bug-eyed Altairian loon suggest it?' 'She's not bug-eyed,'
  afra replied, indignant at such a description of the Rowan whom he
  considered rather beautiful in an unusual way.  And when Reidinger
  regarded him in amused surprise, 'And no loon either.' The Rowan had
  said he must stand up to Reidinger.  He wouldn't have done so for his
  own sake but he certainly would for hers.
       Reidinger smiled enigmatically, leaned back in his conformable
  chair, and steepled his fingers.  afra did not like the knowing way
  Reidinger eyed him and stiffened, tightening his shields - in case it
  would do him any good in the presence of this man.
       'You were raised on Capella, afra Lyon,' Reidinger said, his face
  suddenly expressionless, his hooded eyes inscrutable.  'Which is noted
  for its adherence to the manners other worlds ignore.  Manners which
  are not ignored in my Tower, I might add.' afra inclined his head at
  this tacit reassurance of his mental privacy.
       'The Rowan did suggest a red bull,' he said then, with a slight
  smile, aware now that Reidinger certainly displayed bullish
  characteristics.
       With index finger and thumb, Reidinger picked the bull up by one
  horn and examined it closely.  'Origami!' he said suddenly.  'I've
  heard of it but not actually seen examples.
       Show me how you did this!' 'Paper?' Reidinger opened drawers,
  frowning more deeply as he discovered nothing but paper's technological
  replacements.
       'Paper!' Suddenly pads, flowered and pastel stationery, and large
  sheets of transparent plastic, littered the pristine surface of
  Reidinger's desk.  'Pick.' Testing the various weights, afra found one
  that would crease well, thin enough to fold easily but not tear.  He
  squared it off and folded one corner away from him to the top, running
  a finger to form the first crease.  Reidinger's eyes never left his
  hands until he deposited a small pale blue cow beside the horned bull.
       'And an udder, by all that's holy!' Reidinger slapped both hands
  down flat on his desk, the breeze blowing the little cow over and
  sending the bull backwards.  Tenderly, Reidinger righted the blue cow
  and drew the bull back to its original position.  'Where'd you learn
  how?' 'The chief on a freighter that regularly cradled at Capella.
       He's retired now and lives in Kyoto, Japan, in the PacI know where
  it is.  Been there yet?' Reidinger cocked his head at afra.
       'No, sir.
       Reidinger widened his eyes.  'Don't you want to?' 'Yes, sir, when
  I I Now afra faltered.  Not quite brash enough despite the apparent
  success of this interview to commit himself to future plans.
       Reidinger leaned back again, eyeing him speculatively.
       Then he gave a bark of laughter, shifting his weight so that the
  chair assumed an upright position.
       'If you've managed to endure five weeks with that white haired,'
  and Reidinger grinned unrepentantly, 'grey eyed --- bird-like
  Altairian, I suspect you'll stay the distance.
       In fact .  . .' Then Reidinger caught himself up, cancelling that
  start with a flick of his fingers.  He stood, a massive figure,
  
  big-boned and muscular, his eyes on a level with afra's despite the
  Capellan's unusual height.  He extended his hand, palm upwards, across
  the desk to afra in a clear command for tactile contact.
       It was most unusual but afra responded without hesitation though
  he could not stifle his gasp at the shock of rippling power and how
  much Reidinger learned of him in that split second's contact.
       My little loon's lonely in her Tower, afra Lyon of Capella And
  Reidinger's tone was as gentle as the hint in the words.
       afra was overcome with confusion.  None of the exhaustive homilies
  on etiquette from his family covered this contingency.
       'Be her friend, too, afra,' Reidinger added in a brisk,
  business-like tone as if he were recommending a particular brand of
  technology so that afra almost wondered if he'd mistaken that quick
  mental message.  'Now, get out of here and let me get back to work.' He
  settled back into his chair and swung it to the consoles that were
  ranked behind his desk.  'Gren's to take you into the city,' he added
  without looking around.  'You won't survive comfortably on Callisto
  with a bed, two sagging chairs and a battered table.  Spend some of the
  money FT&T's paying you on yourself for a change.' Respectfully, afra
  bowed and, turning around, left the room.  In the lobby, Gren sprang to
  his feet, his whole body expressing concern and interest.  His face
  broke into a smile.
       'You survived?' 'The bull did it!' Gren's smile broadened.
       'Clever that.  Ooops.
       In alarm, afra watched as Gren's eyes suddenly crossed and, as
  suddenly, refocused.  Gren shook his head and swallowed.  'I wish he
  wouldn't do that to me,' but then he looked at afra and his grin
  returned.  'I'm under orders, no less, to take you anywhere in the city
  you want to go.' He winked and afra caught a tinge of sheer sensuality
  from Gren which made him blink.  Gren was his age but had obviously not
  had the strictures of Method to inhibit physical experiences.  'You've
  got a two-day leave of absence.  So,' and he gave an impudent bow,
  'what's your pleasure, T-4 afra?' 'Mercantile, I think,' afra said,
  gratefully seizing that opportunity.  'And something to eat.'
  'Stomach's settled, huh?' Gollee's knowing look was sympathetic.
       They retraced their way, Gollee informing afra that his security
  clearance was valid for his lifetime.  Gollee took him to the T- 10
  clerk who stored such badges and then down to the ground floor where he
  ordered transport for them.
       afra's first contact with the metropolis remained a series of
  brilliant impressions: the staggering choice available in the furniture
  showrooms (he surprised himself by choosing simple things, reminiscent
  of homely Capellan counterparts), linens in plain shades, rugs in
  geometric designs, rather plebeian lamps (from the look on Gollee's
  face) and two lovely Asian vases filled with flowers held in stasis
  forever at their peak, book tapes by the gross (titles he'd only heard
  of) and two paintings, both antique but pleasing to him.  (Gollee tried
  to steer him towards modern artists but afra found them too frantic in
  design, material and colour.) In clothing, he allowed Gollee to guide
  him, for the youth's own dress was quietly elegant and well made.
       For someone who had never had more than three tower jump suits and
  one good outfit, afra enjoyed buying apparel that subtly diminished his
  alien complexion and accentuated his broad shoulders and erect carriage
  while imparting a stylish bulk to his lean frame.  He liked the look of
  some of the trendy boots and had a pair fashioned, while he and Gollee
  watched, in the size, colour and style of his choice.
       When Gollee realized that this was a major shopping effort, he
  called theFT&T cargomaster and arranged for a pod and cradle number to
  which all afra's purchases could be sent, and transported back to
  Callisto on the next shipment, or whenever afra came to the end of his
  
  credit.
       Then, clad in a new outfit of dark green, soft leatherene boots
  and a fashionable tunic and trouser combination, afra invited Gollee to
  take him to a mid-range eating place where they would replenish lost
  energy.
       'I know just the place,' Gollee announced, with another of his
  reckless winks.  Shortly they were seated at a table in an eating house
  with a pleasant ambience.  There was soft music, subdued lighting,
  excellent appointments and a discreet menu which appeared in the top of
  their table as soon as they were seated.
       The selection was literally other-worldly for it listed dishes
  from every one of the Central Worlds.  Gollee appeared to be far more
  sophisticated than his years for he rattled off a description of items
  which afra had never heard of.  afra tried not to let his ignorance or
  confusion show.  Then Gren held up a hand to beckon an attendant.
       As the man came in answer to the summons, Gren looked earnestly at
  afra.
       'I know some of the specialties of this restaurant that I think
  you might like.' 'We-ell.' Gren's self-assurance and the good natured
  way in which he had steered afra throughout the day easily convinced
  afra to accede.  He gave a rueful smile.
       'I haven't had much experience with off-world dining.
       The waiter regarded afra in surprise while Gollee's encouraging
  smile became very worldly indeed.
       'One man's homeworld is another's tourist spot.  My friend is in
  from Capella.  How about serving us a platter of dainties that'd tempt
  him to appreciate Terran cuisine?' The attendant seemed reluctant.  'Is
  Luciano on today?' 'Luciano?' That did impress the man.
       'The very same.' Gollee nodded pleasantly, as if discussing menus
  with Luciano was a habit.  'Would you tell him that the G-man is
  showing a friend of his boss about this also and we need to consult.'
  The waiter raised his eyebrows.  'G-man?  I've heard about you.' He
  gave a hitch to the white apron tied about his loins.  'I'll tell him
  you're in again.' Luciano himself appeared between the platter of
  dainties and the soup.  He gave afra a friendly nod as Gollee
  introduced him.
       At that moment, afra had a mouthful of an unexpectedly peppery
  savoury and just caught himself resorting to telepathy to answer.  He
  flapped his hands, first indicating his busy mouth and then giving the
  concerned chef the 'OK' sign 'Spicy?  Not spicy enough?  Too spicy?'
  Luciano asked with professional concern.
       'Too spicy, I'd say,' Gollee suggested with a laugh.  'I'm
  accustomed to your brand of seasoning but afra must think he's being
  poisoned.  Look at his face and how his eyes are watering.' The arch
  look on Luciano's face startled afra so much that he ventured to
  splutter around his mouthful: 'No!  No!
       'itS great.  I like .  . . spices.
       Luciano was instantly mollified.  'Ah, a man with educated
  tastes.' 'Not only that, Luciano,' Gren said, grinning with sheer
  malice, 'he got the al' man by the balls and had him laughing.' Gren
  shot the astounded afra a conspiratorial wink, 'And that's no bull, my
  friend.' 'You did that?' Clearly afra had ascended ranks in Luciano's
  estimation.  'To the great man?' And the fiery Italian gestured in the
  direction of the distant Blundell complex.
       afra washed the rest of his mouthful down with water -so that he
  could remedy this slightly skewed version of the morning's business.
       'It was just a short interview ' he began.
       'With Prime Reidinger, which he survived unscathed,' Gren said,
  nodding his head up and down, his eyes wide with admiration.  'afra
  made him a gift and got him to laugh.' 'The great man laughed?' Luciano
  
  awarded afra a respectful glance.
       'And,' Gollee paused significantly, 'Reidinger immediately gave
  him a two-day leave.  I'm to see this tourist doesn't get into trouble
  his first time on Earth.' 'Ah, how wise of you to bring him here to
  eat, Gollee,' Luciano said, beaming with approval.  'And you have a
  formidable guide, afra,' he said, meaning to reassure, 'for this one
  knows the very best places to go for whatever pleasures you might
  desire.' Luciano winked, setting one thick index finger to the side of
  his nose.  'You're -in the best hands with this one.  Have no fear.  No
  worries.  Gollee will see you truly enjoy your first visit to this al'
  Earth.' afra was startled, not only by the Italian's remark but also by
  the underlying nuances which were exceedingly sensual.
       'You bet,' Gollee responded, grinning with an anticipation which
  afra sensed was as sensual as Luciano's.
       'Best way ever devised by the kindly gods to relieve the pressures
  to which man' - and it didn't take much Talent for afra to guess that
  Gollee made regular use of that relief -'is exposed.  What with one
  thing and another, afra's had a tense and pressured day.  Don't you
  worry, afra.  I know just the place.' 'And you will need to eat
  properly to enjoy yourself to the fullest,' Luciano said, rubbing his
  hands together briskly.
       He extended one towards afra politely in reassurance.  'I will
  make sure that your energy level is sufficient to sustain you.' In
  order to mask his agitation, afra hastily bent over the appetizer
  platter, pretending to concentrate on his next selection.  He certainly
  couldn't let Gollee see how much the innuendoes had disturbed him.  He
  knew that Terran customs concerning sexual relations were considerably
  more relaxed than Capella's but to discuss such a topic over a meal, a
  meal which was going to be designed to stimulate and support the
  activity, was a shock.  Yet both Gollee and Luciano seemed to consider
  it the normal conclusion to a stressful day.
       'And I have a very special wine 'We're underage,' afra protested
  feebly.
       'Of course, I know,' and Luciano spread his arms in a gesture of
  complete understanding.  'We have a very good stock of grape juice.'
  And he cocked a wink at Gollee who grinned broadly back at him.
       When the 'grape juice' was presented - in ordinary water glasses
  afra realized that it was unlike any fruit juice he had ever tasted,
  filling his mouth with a rich tartness and expanding in the most
  pleasant way to the back of his throat and into his stomach.  But, as
  he had also never tasted wine, he was unaware of what had actually been
  served.
       Gradually, as the meal progressed and he and Gollee ate through
  the various delicious portions presented to them, he noticed that he
  was visibly relaxing.  And, where at first the thought of losing his
  virginity had troubled his conscience, he began to see that if both
  Gollee, who was his age, and Luciano who was quite mature, considered a
  visit to a pleasure house an appropriate part of the day's
  conviviality, he ought not - out of courtesy - object to his host's
  plans for him.  Then, too, Reidinger had assigned Gollee as his guide
  and Gollee had mentioned that he often did escort visitors.  Surely it
  would be churlish of afra to affect prudery.  afra flushed suddenly at
  the memory of Reidinger's 'pathed comment.  Surely .  . . He put that
  thought sternly from him.  Perhaps it would be the better part of
  discretion to relieve his tensions here on Earth so that he could
  return to Callisto with no lingering stress.
       So, when the meal was finished and the last glass of grape juice
  drained, afra had no compunctions about falling in with the next item
  on Gollee's hospitable and helpful agenda.  When afra's guide led him
  to a large, well-maintained building in a discreetly park-like suburb,
  
  he was no longer the least bit apprehensive.  The ambience of the
  interior was welcoming and Gollee was greeted warmly, afra as well.  He
  didn't even cavil when asked to undergo the obligatory physical scan
  and permitted a blood sample to be taken from his earlobe.  He didn't
  even blush when required to place his ID disk in the processing slot so
  that his last anti-fertility jab could be noted.  But then, Gollee was
  chatting away with the proprietor during these preliminaries so afra
  could hardly protest a routine which was not at all intrusive, but
  mutually protective.
       The choosing of a partner was also mutual, not that afra noticed,
  but he was rather surprised when five attractive women approached him,
  smiling agreeably, and conversation was initiated.  When the Coonie
  wandered into the lounge and right up to afra, he was charmed.
       'This can't be a barque cat!' he exclaimed.
       'No, indeed, it can't,' laughed the tallest of the five girls who
  wore dark curly hair in a close crop to her well-shaped skull.  She had
  unusually pale blue eyes which fascinated afra for he'd never seen the
  like.  'This is a Coonie cat: the nearest we surface dwellers have to
  barquies.  They're not quite as intelligent,' at which point the Coonie
  growled a protest, delighting afra, 'but they've qualities of their
  own.
       Amos, this is afra.  afra, meet Amos.' To the Capellan's surprise,
  the Coonie immediately jumped in his lap and, standing up on his hind
  legs, put his paws on afra's jaw and sniffed his mouth.
       'You've made a friend!' the girl said, genuinely impressed.  'Amos
  has standards.' afra wasn't certain how to react until he saw the
  approval in Gollee's expression.  And when Amos jumped down again and
  wandered out of the room, Kama of the pale blue eyes, moved just close
  enough to afra so that their legs touched.
       Somehow there was a transition from the pleasant lounge and verbal
  sparring with Kama seated so enticingly close, to a private room.  When
  it became apparent to her that afra wasn't at all sure how to proceed
  once they were alone, she became quite supportive.
       'I'm your first?  Well, the important thing is to do what comes
  naturally,' she said, gently massaging the tense muscles along his
  shoulders.  'My first time was special for me.  I could do no less for
  you, especially,' she added with a throaty chuckle, 'when Amos approved
  of you.' afra's nerves made the first attempt more of a disaster than a
  release.  Kama gave him the most tender of smiles and suggested that
  they just relax side by side and become more accustomed to each other.
       She also kept running her hands about his body with feathery
  delicate touches so that very shortly he was ready to make a second
  attempt.
       Not only was that eminently successful for both of them but afra
  was totally aware that her ecstasy was as genuine as his.  That spurred
  him on to further efforts with Kama impressed by his stamina as well as
  his ingenuity.
       When they woke a languorous time later with the room still dark,
  afra shyly asked if her cooperation was limited by time or deed.
       'Not with you, my dear,' Kama replied and energetically pulled him
  to her, 'not ever with you!'    When he returned to Callisto, he was
  both refreshed and exhausted, and stumbled into his quarters, falling
  over the packages that littered the lounge, and even the bedroom.
       The orrery warned him he had only five hours before he was on duty
  again.  He told himself to wake up in four so he could wash and find
  something more appropriate than the glad rags he shucked any which way
  as he made for his bed.  He had also shucked a great many inhibitions
  though it actually took some time for him to determine which ones.
       During that work period, he discovered just what a temper the
  Rowan had.  He was so aghast at a PRIME in a tantrum that he was beyond
  
  surprise.  Familiarity with Callisto Tower allowed him to react
  automatically to the minor crisis, soothing the Rowan and flicking the
  required placement into her lap in the Tower.  Then he initiated the
  defence he had effectively used to blot boredom and proceeded with the
  transfers in his usual calm and imperturbable fashion.
       Only when the Tower closed down hours later, did he realize that
  everyone else's nerves were frazzled.
       'How do you do that, afra?' Brian asked him when the Rowan had
  stormed off to her own quarters, raw emotions swirling after her.
       'Do what?' afra asked, looking up from the bird he was folding.
       His hands and fingers were as deft as usual.
       'Ignore her when she's broadcasting like that?' afra looked up
  with a grin.  'It certainly puts us on our toes.' There was no way he
  would admit that he had been stunned by her temperamental display.  He
  had also been more fascinated than disturbed by it.
       Brian gulped.  'Is that why she does it?' afra shrugged, opening
  the little blue bird's wings.
       'She's the Prime.  She can do what she pleases.
       Brian frowned.  'She always does,' he said sourly, and i went
  back to sort out the mess of flimsies, pencil files and wayflippies
  that littered his desk.  'At least it was all cargo.' Busy with
  unpacking his new possessions, afra missed the first tentative knock on
  the door to his quarters.  But a mental presence then impinged on his
  awareness so he heard the second rap.
       'Come,' he called out, 'lifting' two cartons away from the door so
  that it could swing open.
       It did, slowly, and he was astonished to see the Rowan peeking
  around the door, as if unsure of her welcome.
       'Come in, come in,' he said, 'whisking' wrappings and styro
  packing pellets into an empty box and closing its flaps.
       The Rowan slid in and closed the door behind her, regarding him
  with grey eyes wide and worried.
       'What's wrong?' Her colour was wrong and her manner a dramatic
  contrast from the virago who had stormed out of the Tower a scant hour
  past.
       'I want to apologize to you, afra,' she said in a muted voice.
       'She's a lonely lonely girl.' afra quickly hid this recall of
  Reidinger's unvoiced assessment.
       'Because I can take downside leave and you can't?' He couldn't
  feel her reading him nor would he breach Talent ethics by attempting to
  read her - in a remorseful mood or not.
       'I think that was at the bottom of it,' she said and sighed deeply
  as she sank into one of the huge lounge pillows that he had just
  unpacked.  Then she shook her head savagely: 'No, it wasn't.  I must be
  honest with you if we're to continue as a viable team.' She locked her
  grey eyes on his yellow gaze.  'You've lost a certain tension.  I
  can't.' She held up her hand when he opened his mouth.  'Reidinger's
  approved of you, you know.' 'I didn't.' She gave a little shrug that
  was more a twist of her shoulders than a lift.  'You wouldn't have been
  returned here if he hadn't.' 'I thought Primes made their own choices .
       . . and afra grinned at her.
       She managed a weak smile but her body lost much of its tension.
       'I didn't even have to argue with him.' 'He liked the bull!' There
  was a genuine smile on the Rowan's narrow face now.  She craned her
  neck up to look at him and he courteously dropped to a sitting position
  on the new table he had assembled.
       'He liked the touch of square balls and that, she pointed her
  finger at him, 'was your idea!' 'But it was your idea to distract him
  with an origami.' Her grin broadened.  'But you still had to take the
  initiative and you did.' afra cocked his head at her.  'Were you
  
  listening?' Eyes wide with denial, she shook her head vigorously, her
  loose and slightly damp hair clinging to her cheek until she pulled it
  away and tossed the strands back.  'Not me.
       I suppose if I really needed to, I could get into Reidinger's
  lair.  But I would certainly have to have a very good excuse.
       I see you put your downtime to good use,' she added, changing the
  subject as she looked about her with interest in his purchases.
       afra managed to control a rush of blood to his face, thinking of
  how he had spent some of that time.  'Yes, well,' and he 'lifted' over
  an as yet unopened parcel, 'I didn't bring much with me, you know 'I do
  'And I seem to have all kinds of allowances for the transfer so .  . .'
  He used his strong hands to fracture the seal and brought out the lamp,
  crafted like one of his origami herons in a delicate ceramic.  'I
  couldn't resist this .  . .' He held it up and she responded with
  generous compliments.
       'What else did you get?  Besides' - and her smile was mischievous
  -'reams of origami papers?' She helped him unpack the rest of his
  purchases and approved of the disposition of furniture and furnishings.
       'Would you care for something to drink or eat?' he asked her,
  finally recognizing the onset of hunger and thirst in himself now that
  the day's demands had eased.
       'No, not tonight, I think, afra.  If you would be kind enough to
  join me tomorrow evening, I would be glad of your company.' She threw
  back her head, making eye contact.  'I'm a good cook.' The Rowan was
  subdued the next morning but her work was steady and her manner much
  improved over the day before.  Still, by the end of the shift, afra
  steeled himself against the Rowan reneging on dinner.
       He was positively startled when she asked: 'Is six too early?'
  afra shook his head.  'No, not at all.' His eyes lit appreciatively.
       'Can I bring anything?' The Rowan gave him a deep smile.  'Some
  origami paper, as I know I won't be robbing you.' With a wad of various
  colours and sizes of paper, afra paused nervously outside her quarters.
       He took a deep breath and pressed his hand against the door plate.
       Come, the Rowan said and the door slid open.
       afra took one step inside and went no further as he took in the
  Rowan's spacious quarters.  He had been more than pleased with his
  rooms but this - this was palatial!
       Of course, she was a Prime and less than this sort of luxury would
  have been insulting.  Nevertheless, his eye was drawn here and there by
  the clever disposition of sculpture, paintings and the style of the
  furnishings.  She had simple but extremely elegant taste.
       And, judging by the subtle aroma that drifted across the lounge
  area, that extended to her cooking.  He took a deep breath.
       'Smells great!' 'Tantalizing, huh?' the Rowan called, ducking to
  peer at him from the kitchen hatch.  'It ought to taste even better
  than it smells,' she added and beckoned him to join her.
       She had three pots simmering on the hob.  She pulled a spoonful
  from one and turned towards afra.
       'Taste?' afra self-consciously bent down to sip from the proffered
  spoon.  Mischievously the Rowan drew the spoon back, slowly enough that
  afra at first didn't catch on to her ploy.  He made to grab her wrist
  but pulled back, shocking that he would ever accidentally touch a
  Talent, especially a Prime, without invitation.
       The Rowan caught both look and feeling.  'So serious!' she noted
  sadly.  'Do young Capellans ever have fun?' afra felt his cheeks redden
  as memory sprung unbidden.  The Rowan's smile fell and she forced the
  spoon into his hand.
       'I've never done it before, Rowan,' afra blurted out in apology,
  both for his dalliance and the broadcast of it in her company.  'I - it
  . . .' he struggled for composure, 'I mean, I had dinner with Gollee
  
  Gren, he's a T-4, my age.  They seemed, I mean - they acted as if
  that's what everyone does on Earth.  Gollee - Luciano - and I really
  did feel stressful.  I do feel much less taut today.  I - I hope I
  worked well-' A suddenly magical smile pulled at the Rowan's lips.  'I
  shall also hope you performed well last night.' Her smile deepened as
  he gasped in shock at her reply.  'Well, I hope so for your sake, Afra.
       And hers.' She turned back to the stove and stirred one pot
  vigorously.  'First times are special.' She cocked her head at him.  'I
  was eighteen and he was special, too.' With an abrupt frick of her
  hand, she turned off the heat and began ladling the food into serving
  bowls.  She gestured to Afra to take two and led the way to the dining
  room with the other two.
       Seated, she explained the dishes.  'Sort of a smorgasbord of
  Chinese food - ginger beef, chicken cashew, kung pao chicken and-' she
  crinkled her nose at the last dish, finishing conspiratorily,
  '-something frozen from the BX.' 'And you did this since the generators
  shut down,' Afra protested, amazed that a Prime would go to such effort
  for a T-4.
       The Rowan dismissed that consideration with a wave.
       'Minutes!  Lusena .  . .' Her voice trailed off 'A friend?' Afra
  asked to end the uneasy silence that filled the room.
       'The only mother I remember,' the Rowan replied.  She tipped her
  head in a shrug.  'And more than a mother.
       Have you ever lost someone close to you?' Afra shook his head,
  wishing for something to divert her sad shift of mood.  'No.  But I
  cried for nights when my sister-' He broke off too late and regarded
  the Rowan sheepishly.  'I was only six and she and I always enjoyed a
  special rapport.  I forgave you taking her from me when she said that
  you'd save a place for me.' The Rowan grinned.  'Goswina called up the
  image of such a charming little boy.  And she was so anxious not to
  sully family honour because we both knew we could not work together.  I
  did sense that your family would have been so pleased had we come to
  terms.' Her grin turned mischievous again.  'I'd always wanted a little
  brother.  You seemed perfect for the role.' 'Green skin
  notwithstanding?' Rowan laughed.  'Skin's only the outer layer, Afra.'
  She reached up to ruffle his hair.  Caught off guard by such an
  intimate gesture, Afra nearly ducked away but then submitted meekly to
  the fondling: quite different to Kama's.  'Sorry to maul you about,
  Afra.  I realize that Capellans are too Methody to indulge but I don't
  think you're as Methody as you were.' She cocked a knowing eyebrow at
  him and he managed to suppress a blush, if only to thwart her
  intention.  'Rebellious yet collected, controlled, studious,
  clever-fingered, quick-minded, slyly humorous, openly amusing.  The
  many faceted Afra.' Abruptly she altered mood again.  'I'm glad that
  Goswina mentioned you.  We work well together.' Then she compressed her
  lips, scowling until he looked at her, wondering what he had done
  wrong.  Her grey eyes pierced him.
       'Afra, mostly I need a friend.' She preempted his hasty
  assurances.  'I can't leave Callisto.  I can never conduct my own
  search for a mate.  I have to wait to see what Reidinger finds to send
  me.' She grimaced, quite distorting her beauty.  Then, as she flicked
  her long silver hair to her back, she added, 'That I have to accept as
  part and parcel of being a Prime but I have to have one friend.' She
  regarded him steadily.
       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 marvellous 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 behaviour?  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.
       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 relief 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 increasingly to spending most of the station down-time 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 in an attempt to provide her with someone with whom she
  could share her life.  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 7' knew that she could not
  requite his abiding love for her.
       Unconsciously, he sought alternative 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 was.  If, he reasoned, the
  Rowan could escape Callisto Station and 'bring Mohammed 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 phobia 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 paralysing 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 and palmed open
  its door, he took her hand and pumped her energy levels back up.  He
  was careful to get his shields back up 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.  Yaw!  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.
       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 commsystem to rouse them again.  No luck.
  
       For a long time Afra stood at the door, fists clenched, breathing
  deeply as he considered the impropriety of the next logical act.
       Finally, as softly as he could, he 'pathed to the two forms
  inside.
       I do beg your pardons!
       A series of emotions and feelings washed over him: restfulness,
  satiation Rowan!  You're broadcasting -- He caught snippets of her
  rousing Jeff, his tired response as he told her it was his day off and
  her gentle admonition that yesterday had been his day off.
       She's right!  Afra called desperately, adding by way of caution,
  Reidinger doesn't know you're here Why not?  was Jeff s half-amused
  response.
       He's not .  . . Afra faltered, better tell them later.  He's in a
  very touchy mood.  As Afra expected, the Rowan, always very diligent,
  was ready to get to work but, to his surprise, Jeff held her back, all
  ready to rebel for another day off.
       With all respect, Rowan, Raven, he remarked, falling back on the
  courtesy his parents had drilled into him, we managed well enough
  yesterday but there's a passenger carrier coming in that requires the
  Rowan's gentle touch.
       Even that polite statement was received rebelliously by Jeff Raven
  who insisted on a half-hour hold while he and the Rowan broke their
  fast.  When they'd eaten, they didn't exactly race to the Tower where,
  reluctantly, he returned to his responsibilities on Deneb.  Afra's mood
  was mixed as he tried to be understanding of their need for each other
  and control his resentment of being unthinkingly abused.
       But his silent dedication and that of the rest of the staff were
  well repaid in the Rowan's gentle smile, easy manner and efficient work
  throughout the week.  Afra was disconcerted that he had to pace himself
  and the others gingerly to allow them to rebuild the stamina they had
  squandered in their support of the Rowan's day of rest.
       So it came as somewhat of a surprise when the Rowan, on the fifth
  day after Raven's joyful appearance, psychically screamed.  JEFF RAVEN!
       What's the matter, Rowan?
       He's gone.  His touch is gone!  Instantly Afra rushed up the
  stairs to her Tower.  Her panic had reached down through Afra to Brian
  Ackerman and Bill Power who followed the Capellan into the Tower.
       We'll link!  Afra told the frightened Rowan.
       She opened to them, Afra marshalling the others in a mental
  pyramid with her as the apex and calling up the full power of the
  station's six generators.  After a horrifically long moment, a panicked
  Rowan, terror-stricken, turned to him.  'He isn't there!  Surely he's
  heard us!' Afra had never expected that he would have to be the
  comforter of a bereaved Rowan.  He had survived the stress of her
  meeting Jeff Raven, falling instantly in love with the man's
  charismatic personality: he had accepted that he would remain on the
  outside of that relationship in the role of supportive friend,
  steadfast companion.  But how could he possibly cope with a bereft and
  doubly desperate woman who had lost her soul's mate?  The Rowan needed
  his aid, now.  He extinguished his fear, took the initiative and
  reached for her hands.
       'Breathe more slowly, Rowan,' he ordered her in tones he forced to
  be calm.  'There can be many reasons .
       Rowan?
       Afra squeezed her hands reassuringly at the faint call: 'You see,
  I told you .  The Rowan jerked her hands out of his.  'That's not Jeff!
       Yes?
       Come at once!  Jeff needs you!
       Afra saw her determined expression and caught her arm as she
  started out of her chair.  He could not imagine her trying the jump to
  
  Deneb after her black terror in viewing the Earth.  'Now, wait a
  moment, Rowan.
       'You heard!' She returned in resolute tones.  'He needs me!  I'm
  going!' I want a wide open mind from everyone on Station!  she added
  mentally, circumventing Afra.  Then she was not there, in the Tower,
  but settling in the launch.
       Where's my linkage, Afra?
       Afra's hands were tightly, painfully clenched to his sides.  Must
  I lose you, too?  The painful whimper came from the depths of his soul.
       He realized that if he did not refuse her, if he provided her the
  jump power to Deneb and she died, he would have as good as killed her
  with his bare hands.
       Afra, do it now!  the Rowan shouted.  If Jeff needs me, I must go!
       Do it before I realize what I'm doing!
       Rowan, you can't attempt .  . . The thought jerked out of him.
       Don't argue, Afra.  Help me!  If I've been called, I must go!
       Afra turned slowly in the high lonely Tower to gaze down at the
  sealed capsule and his beloved friend inside.
       I'll be waiting for her at the usual point.  . . came that faint
  firm mind-tone.  Afra recognized its essential femininity, its
  assurance of the transfer and its over-riding anxiety for Jeff Raven.
       That confident assurance decided him, though logic informed him
  that Jeff's was the only powerful mind Deneb had so far produced.  As
  he released his fists and assembled the psychic power of the station,
  the Rowan gripped his psyche strongly, bringing him tightly into the
  merge.
       It was as if she was convinced that if she held him so tightly he
  could not resist or alter it.  She was wrong.  Afra allowed himself a
  moment's amazement to realize that he could resist her, could stop this
  transfer.
       Then the coordinates were in her mind and she pressed against the
  generators and, with his sudden willing cooperation, was gone.
       Long after the generators wound down to silence, Afra Lyon stood
  in the lonely high Tower of the Rowan, tears streaking his face as he
  worried and wondered and prayed as he had never done before that the
  Rowan was safe, that she could help her beloved and that he had not
  made the wrong decision in sending her to Deneb VIII.
       His tears had dried, his fears had seeped away, and he had somehow
  fallen into the Rowan's chair when he heard a soft step behind him.
       'Afra?' It was Brian Ackerman.  He came around to stand in front
  of him and then gripped his shoulder to make him attentive.  'Can you
  hear her?' 8o Afra drew a deep breath, gently flicked off the
  stationmaster's grip and stood up.  He shook his head.  'No, I can't.'
  Ackerman winced and closed his eyes for a moment against what must now
  be done.  'You'll have to tell Reidinger.' He spoke carefully, weighing
  the impact on the tall Capellan.
       I know.  The voice of Earth Prime startled them both.
       To Afra only, he said, I owe you a great debt, bold Lyon.
       And a myriad of images followed that thought: Reidinger knew that
  Afra had run the station the day Jeff Raven came through; he knew of
  Afra's valiant efforts to cure the Rowan of her claustrophobia; he
  guessed Afra's role in maintaining the balance of her sanity; guessed
  his role and power in the Rowan's trip to Deneb.  Sadly the Earth Prime
  added, I may have to draw deeper into your debt.  And Reidinger shared
  the fear that Jeff Raven would not live, offering Afra the position of
  the Rowan 5 comforter and Jeff Raven's surrogate.  You have always
  loved her, I know, Reidinger added with flashes of sexual intensity
  Angrily, Afra shook his head.  You cannot even begin to understand!
       And Afra found himself locked tight against a powerful mind, a
  mind which could have picked clean his darkest secrets.  No, my friend,
  
  I do.  In my fashion, and Afra perceived a sincere fatherly interest,
  more tender than ever imagined, locked deep within Reidinger's gruff
  exterior, I love her too!
       Afra sensed a change in Reidinger's thinking.  But you, my
  impetuous friend, I fear for you.  It was one thing to be little
  brother to the virgin queen and attentive courtier to the royal couple.
       But some alternative might be needed to anchor her sanity.  You
  are there and already have her trust and appreciation Although Afra had
  always known how ruthless Reidinger could be in the care and
  maintenance of FT&T and his precious Primes, this half-formed
  suggestion made him more amused than indignant.  Especially as they
  didn't even know for certain that contingency plans were needed.
       There could be any number of reasons why Jeff Raven had been
  unavailable to the Rowan: though it was rather difficult to find a
  logical one.
       With all respect, sir, we don't need to go into that just yet, I
  think.
       You know something I don't?  Reidinger seemed to leap on him.
       No, but I refuse to be negative.  Especially where the Rowan's
  concerned.
       Do you know how valuable that girl is?
       ToFT&T?
       Don't roar at me, Capellan Lyon!
       Then abruptly his mind-tone altered to one of immense and
  incredulous belief.  She did it.  She pulled him back, though I can
  sense only the most delicate of flickers.  She knows she's saved his
  life.
       A wave of relief that was close to orgiastic surged through Afra
  at that report.  He had to grip the arms of the chair to keep his
  balance, so intense was his sense of reprieve from disaster.  He knew
  that Reidinger shared his reaction.
       Thank God, if you believe in one, for that mercy.
       I do, I will.  My gratitude for sharing the news.  You will keep
  us informed of the conditions on Deneb?
       Of course!  Reidinger said reassuringly.  By way of parting, he
  shot, And Afra, I'll want you to retest when all this is over.  You
  can't be merely T4 with all the shenanigans you've enacted lately.  T-3
       at the least so I'm upgrading you.  And paying you accordingly,
  starting today.  He chuckled.  We'll argue over back pay later.
       Afra started to protest the unexpected, and possibly undeserved
  promotion.  But to argue with Earth Prime?
       Reidinger's laugh cut through that thought.
       Please!  Argue!  You need the practice!  Then, including Ackerman
  back in his conversation, Reidinger added, I think it best that we all
  pretend I don't know where the Rowan is.  Afra was perplexed by that.
       Let's just say that I've got games of my own to play, young Lyon.
       Until I tell you, the Rowan is not to know we talked.  If she
  contacts you, behave accordingly.  And then he was gone.
       Brian and Afra exchanged surprised looks.  'Well, you know he
  likes to play his games, Afra,' Brian said first.
       Afra nodded, brows furrowed.  'We will tell the others that he
  doesn't know and we'll continue as we did when they had their day off.'
  Two days later the Rowan contacted him late at night.
       Afra was surprised that he could receive her, even with the
  gestalt of her generators over that distance.  Maybe he was
  legitimately a T-3.  He didn't mention that as he carefully made a note
  of the supplies she requested.
       I may have to break them into smaller parcels than usual, Rowan,
  he said when he examined the complete list.
       That's all right.  The generator here can't handle too much, the
  
  Rowan replied forgivingly, then added, How are you holding up?  I don't
  know how long I'll have to stay here on Deneb to be sure Jeff s going
  to recover completely from his shrapnel wounds.
       Bet he'll watch where he steps from now on.
       Does Reidinger know where I am?
       Afra chuckled.  We're doing well enough.  Generator three has
  magically developed a glitch which has reduced 'your' ability to handle
  heavy traffic.
       Oh, Afra!  Thank you!  Across the light-years, Afra felt the
  gentle caress of a grateful friend.  He thanked Reidinger's God for
  deliverance from a less appealing role.
          In another few days, Afra heard from Reidinger; the contact
  announced by a deep chuckle echoing in his mind.
       I singed her ears off, Afra!  But she gave as good as she got and
  begged me to send you a couple of T-2s.  Reidinger's 'voice' took on a
  different tone.  Who do you want?
       Afra shrugged.  If it's all the same with you, we're doing well
  enough just now.  Just keep our loads like this and we'll manage.
       Reidinger snorted.  I just finished telling her I wouldn't have
  her burnt out catching cargo unaided, do you think I'm fool enough to
  burn out her best man?
       Afra was not aware that Reidinger was broadcasting until Brian
  Ackerman turned to him with a grin of agreement.
       Sadly, Reidinger added, I myself am too busy to handle the
  increased load of Callisto so I'm sending you a pair of T-2s.
       I'm sure you'll treat them well.
       How's the Rowan, Reidinger?  Brian asked, boosting himself off
  Afra.
       Don't you ever tell her, Reidinger returned with that incredible
  tenderness that so surprised the two stationers, but I think she's
  doing just fine!  He paused.  Oh, and by the way, do you want to switch
  brands of whisky this year?
       Brian Ackerman's eyes widened in amazement; it was well-known that
  when he used to threaten to resign from Callisto Station on a yearly
  basis, he was bribed to remain with a case of his favorite tipple but
  it never once occurred to him that Earth Prime knew that!
       Uk, no, I've gotten rather used to the Paddy's now, Brian managed
  to respond.  Beside him, Afra doubled over in a laughing fit.
       Torshan and Saggoner duly arrived and the Tower staff, worked just
  slightly ragged in keeping with a cunning plan laid down by Brian and
  carried through by Afra, were more than pleased to have their aid.
       Although there were several teething troubles, the calm
  togetherness of the loving pair of T-2s and Afra's demanding
  performance standards soon had the station operating at nearly peak
  efficiency within the week.
       The routine was set in the next week and by the third week the
  station personnel had nearly forgotten life under the Rowan.  It was
  shattered when a personal capsule arrived unheralded in a cradle.
       Belay that!  Afra called to a cargo handler who nearly crushed it
  with the capsule scheduled for that cradle.  Afra was hot with anger at
  the near catastrophe.  Who the hell put that capsule- he began and then
  touched the mind inside it.  ROWAN!
       Pandemonium broke out as the rest of the station heard his mental
  shout.  Suddenly everyone 'ported in around her, patting her, talking
  to her, hugging her.  The Rowan turned bright red in the face of such
  open affection.  Afra sent a personal message on a tight beam to
  Torshan and Saggoner to explain the sudden disruption of his usually
  orderly station.  They accepted his explanation calmly, saying that
  they would work around the celebration.
       The next day's work, due to the Rowan's return, progressed with an
  
  incredible ease.  Afra had forgotten how effortlessly she handled even
  the heaviest loads.
       Once the work was finished, Afra was contacted by the Rowan.
       I need to talk to Reidinger, she told him, almost daring him to
  challenge her.
       Is that wise?  Afra replied, fretting that, somehow, she had
  discovered Reidinger's duplicity.
       He can't be that bad!  she responded, adding that Reidinger had no
  call to be angry over her absence.
       Afra responded diplomatically but somewhat defensively on behalf
  of Reidinger.
       He gained a lot more than I risked, she told him.
       Afra examined her carefully, noting the faint augmentation to her
  aura.  His eyes narrowed.  Was she putting on weight?  No, at least not
  without good cause.  I know, he responded warmly.  Did the Rowan know
  her condition?
       Probably not since she'd had other concerns to divert her from
  noticing a physiological change.
       I'd like to surprise the old geezer, she continued.
       Geezer?  Afra spluttered, thinking that she was due for a few
  surprises herself, especially as she'd never been able to meet
  Reidinger face to face.
       You've contacts at Earth Prime Headquarters.  Can one of them
  sneak me in without having to announce my arrival?
       The question startled him so he continued to banter with her while
  thinking furiously under tight shields.  First he'd have to warn
  Reidinger, and then Gollee, but he did assure the Rowan that he knew
  someone who might do him a favour.  He begged a few minutes to arrange
  matters.
       Reidinger?  Afra called in the tightest telepathic shaft he could
  manage.
       Who'?  was the gruff response.  This better be good.
       Hurriedly, Afra explained.
       And it was good enough for he could 'hear' Reidinger's grin quite
  plainly.  Excellent!  I have to talk to her anyway and it'll be better
  if she thinks she's got me at a disadvantage.
       Here's what we do Afra absorbed the instructions with a growing
  sense of betrayal.  Reidinger perceived that and broke off.  Afra, you
  know that I want the best for her.  She needs a father figure, someone
  to rebel against.  And I need her spirited, rebellious.  We all do.
       Privately, Afra remained unconvinced but he couldn't quarrel with
  Reidinger.  And it might just have a beneficial effect on the Rowan's
  growing recklessness.  Now that she could travel without ill effect,
  who knew to what lengths she might take her new freedom?
       Thank you, Reidinger said, I'll tell Gren.
       Afra turned his attention back to the Rowan.  Well, Gollee's
  agreed to my especial request to escort my anonymous young friend as
  far as he's able but security has to be placated.
       He'll meet you at the landing field entrance.
       Reidinger must have been listening discreetly to Afra's answer,
  for Afra caught him swearing.  Keerist!  Security!
       I'll have to warn them or my security beams'll fry her when she
  jumps in!
       Afra turned hastily to call out to the Rowan but she was already
  gone.  Angrily, he growled, Reidinger!
       Like gold dust, lad, Earth's Prime Talent called back gently.
       I'll treat her like she was my own blood.  Uh-oh!
       She's here!  Reidinger faded out, and came back with: I meant to
  tell you - will tell you later Afra did not hear from Reidinger until
  the next morning as he was finishing his usual skimpy breakfast.
  
       'Altair?' Afra shouted aloud when Reidinger told him of his
  assignment for the Rowan.  HOW COULD YOU?
       I had to!  Reidinger retorted sharply.  Afra, who had spent years
  learning to read emotion, caught an undertone of pain in Earth Prime's
  voice.  It was the pain of command, the malaise that comes from having
  made too many disagreeable decisions; also, very deep, was the pain of
  a person who was just plain old.  Afra hastily accessed his data
  console's readout on Reidinger - he was approaching his one hundred and
  tenth birthday.
       Afra considered telling Reidinger of the real reason for his anger
  at the Rowan's reassignment but decided against it: the Rowan and Jeff
  Raven had the right of making that disclosure.  Besides, Afra chided
  himself, he was not sure that the Rowan was pregnant.  Nor that the
  child would be a boy and very talented.
       Besides, Reidinger added in a very small tone, I had to free you
  and Ackerman to perform a very special mission.
       Don't you think Callisto's been disrupted enough without removing
  us?  Afra returned tartly.  He frowned at himself, both annoyed and
  amazed that he could react to the man who was, for all intents and
  purposes, Federal Telepath and Teleport.
       I wouldn't dream of moving either of you!  Reidinger responded.
       However, I have to think of the future beyond me and, frankly,
  while Jeff Raven's a good man, he does not have the skills required to
  run a Prime station.  I want youAfra was ahead of him.  Me?  To teach
  the Rowan's husband?  Has it occurred to you that the man might not
  even want me around his wife?  Let alone himself and his children?
       It has, Reidinger responded sadly.  And I think it would be the
  greatest of catastrophes.
       Afra spluttered, spreading his hands in dismay.  While he would be
  deeply saddened, he could not see how his personal feelings would
  amount to a catastrophe.
       Reidinger made it clear to him.  What good are they to me if they
  can only work together?  Do you honestly think that the Rowan would
  choose a man so petty?  Come, you know she almost chose Stop!  Afra
  called, eyes closed painfully.  The Rowan is my friend and more.  I
  love her like a sister.  If her happiness requires that I step out of
  her life, then not you, nor theFT&T nor anyone will stop me!
       So you'll run away at the slightest possible excuse, will you?
       Reidinger hurled in response.  Green by colour, green by nature,
  is that it, Capellan?  Are you afraid to look upon their love?  Do you
  love her so little that you cannot welcome her husband with open arms?
       I never said that!  Afra returned heatedly, yellow eyes flaring.
       I will gladly work with Jeff Raven.  He's a remarkable man and he
  well suits the Rowan.  But you must understand, there are secrets,
  things the Rowan and I have shared that that may make it very difficult
  for him to work with me.
       Give it a try, then, Reidinger said.  If it doesn't work out,
  we'll try something else.  But don't prejudge the man already have,
  Afra returned with a grin.  She's chosen him which makes him special.
       Besides which, the man has such a way with him, he can charm
  anyone.
       Reidinger's response was laughter.  As he charmed even Earth
  Prime?  Afra was astonished that Reidinger grasped that hidden
  qualification.  I have always thought that you were a wise perceptive
  lion.  Just think of this assignment as another way in which you help
  the Rowan - as well as FT&T The interview was over, Reidinger's mind
  faded out but not without a final warmth and an ill-concealed ache.
       The interview left Afra mentally drained and emotionally confused.
       He had liked what he saw of Jeff Raven and could not but rejoice
  that the Rowan had finally met her mate.  It gave him hopes that
  
  perhaps someday he too could be so happy.  But he had not lied to
  Reidinger when he fretted that his brotherly intimacy with the Rowan
  could prove a source of friction between himself and Jeff Raven.
       Brian Ackerman buzzed his commlink.  'Afra, where's the Rowan?' In
  response, Afra downed his breakfast, tossed the container towards the
  dishwasher and jumped to the Control Room.  Brian started irritably
  with Afra's arrival.
       'Her replacement's due in soon, Brian.  Better let everyone know.'
  'Replacement?' Ackerman echoed in his confusion.
       A newly painted personal capsule appeared in the nearest cradle.
       Afra?
       Here, Afra responded, sending a mental image.  And Jeff Raven
  appeared in the room.
       'I'm sorry we didn't have time to talk the last time I was here,'
  Jeff Raven said to him, extending a hand, his wide smile as charismatic
  as ever.  His face still bore the marks of his recent near-fatal
  accident, but the vigour of the man was restored.  'But I guess we'll
  have plenty of time now to correct that.' Bracing himself, Afra took
  the hand and returned the firm grip with one of his own.  Feeling the
  generous surge of gratitude and respect before the clasp was broken,
  Afra could reply with complete honesty.  'I look forward to it.' Jeff
  turned around the room nodding at those he knew and smiling at those he
  did not.
       'If you haven't guessed yet,' Afra said to the Tower at large,
  'this is Jeff Raven who's here to replace the Rowan.
       She's been upgraded to a whole planet, her native Altair.' He did
  not have to tell them that Siglen was no more.
       'Afra,' Jeff called politely, 'a word with you.' Afra approached
  and Jeff looked around the room critically.
       'Let's talk in the Tower.
       When they entered, Jeff looked around it.  'At least there are two
  couches,' he remarked cryptically.  Then he looked at the Capellan.
       'If we're going to work together, there's something we must clear
  u' Afra raised a hand, forestalling him, having already prepared for
  the worst.  'I can leave.  Reidinger'll get you a replacement easily.
       There's a very good T-4 at Blundell, Gollee Gren: you may even
  have met him.  You two'd probably work quite well together-' Hold on!
       Jeff Raven broke through his apologetic dissembling.  He regarded
  Afra searchingly for several moments.  Then he grabbed him, hugged him
  tightly, thumping him on the back with sturdy fists.  Thank you!  Afra
  was confused.  Thank you for her sanity, for her happiness, for
  everything!  I couldn't exactly convey all of that downstairs when we
  shook hands --- not with everyone wide open for input -'Wh-what?' 'I
  think she would have gone insane if not for you, Afra Lyon,' Jeff said
  aloud.  'You weathered her rantings and 9' ravings, her tantrums, her
  fears and always you were there to give her the support she needed.' He
  paused, drew another breath, 'While I was convalescing on Deneb, she
  was forever talking of family - even if mine is a bit overwhelming in
  the close quarters we had to share - but, whenever she thinks of
  family, your face comes to her mind.' Jeff grabbed Afra's forearm,
  reinforcing what he was saying.  Then he shook his head, giving one of
  his lopsided grins.  'Look, Afra, you are her family, but when we make
  our union formal, would you do me the honour of standing to my right as
  my best man?' Afra took an involuntary step backwards as the words sank
  in.  He slipped out of Raven's grasp.  He swallowed, found words.
       'I guess I've been over-reacting but I've been afraid that you
  might resent my relationship with the Rowan.' He bowed deeply.  'I see
  that I was unutterably at fault.' He straightened, nodding to Jeff
  Raven's tight smile.
       'You must understand that .  . . over the years here well, we've
  
  become attached .  . . not really involved, but emotionally attached in
  a special way.  I know she regarded me as the brother she never had.'
  Hesitantly he licked his lips.  'To be perfectly honest, Raven, had you
  not appeared, I was perfectly willing-' Jeff held up a hand.  'I know,'
  he said softly, 'and I thank you.' Seeing Afra's puzzled look, his
  expression turned rueful.  'Your hesitation only confirms what we both
  know now - she was never the right person for you.  I don't know how I
  got so lucky.  I devoutly hope that one day you will know the intensity
  of the bond we share.' His smile altered to one of sadness.
       'Unfortunately, not many of my relations survived and all my
  remaining sisters and older cousins are already committed so you can't
  marry into my family.' Jeff shifted his position and drew a breath.
       'Sometimes I babble too much, or so my mother tells me.  I'll give
  you a chance to answer me: are you willing, as brother by bond, to
  stand with me when I exchange vows with the Rowan?' A slight grin
  played across Afra's face but he bowed again, deeply.  'The greatest
  honour that you - both could bestow on me.' 'Then why the grin?' 'Well,
  you are planning on uniting soon, aren't you?' Jells answer was
  preempted by Ackerman's call.
       Afra!
       We've got cargo to move or we'll be backlogged for a week!
       'That was really why I asked you up here,' Jeff said.  Afra was
  confused until Jeff added, 'I've never run a station before.  I want
  you to know that whatever you say, I'll do.
       I consider myself your pupil.' With a wink, he added, 'I'm under
  orders from herself to trust you completely.
       I believe her exact words were: "Do what Afra says and don't mess
  up!"
       When Afra looked sceptical, Jeff gave him a pleading look.  'Very
  well, Jeff, as we're under her orders.' Afra made for the door 'Where
  are you going?' 'To the Control Room,' Afra explained.  'Only the Rowan
  works up here.
       'I'll get lonely,' Jeff responded in mock serious tones.  He waved
  a hand at the second chair that had been installed for the duration of
  Torshan and Saggoner's Primacy.  'Why not stay here with me?  There're
  two feeds and it'll be easier.' 'My consoles at the Control Room are
  programmed for my particular duties,' Afra explained.
       'I'll learn the running of a station quicker the sooner I
  understand your duties as well as my own,' Jeff responded.
       He waved Afra to come back to the centre of the room.
       'Do what you can now and we'll have the technicians rig up more
  consoles here.' Afra was reluctant.  'Wouldn't it be more efficient to
  have the Prime and all the station crew in one room?' Afra's eyes
  bugged out, Raven was practically quoting him!  'The Rowan never
  thought so.' Afra temporized.
       'Hmm,' Jeff mused, 'probably safer for the rest of you, given her
  volatile nature.' He cast a telling glance at Afra.
       'And you would never think to argue with her.  But my dear love is
  not here now and she said to listen to you in all things.  So tell me,
  Afra of Capella, what do you think of consolidating the station's
  operations?' A slow smile spread across Afra's face.  Ackerman,
  initiate the Epsilon Plan!
       Are you serious?  Ackerman 5 response was incredulous with
  excitement.
       Please, was Jeff Raven's response.  If it is a plan to consolidate
  operations, I can think of nothing more dear to my heart.
       Immediately!  And Ackerman was gone, bustling off to set up a plan
  he and Afra had lusted over for many years.
       Epsilon is the Greek symbol used to calculate efficiency, Afra
  said in reply to Jeff's unspoken question.  He tapped a console.  You
  
  have just ingratiated yourself for ever to Brian by making his dearest
  wish come true.
       'The first cargo is a freighter, Prime,' Afra said aloud.
       'The data is on your number two console.' Within a week an
  ecstatic Ackerman reported a 20 per cent increase in the station's
  throughput.  Afra noticed that the Callisto crew were eager to aid Jeff
  Raven in any way at all.  His easy manner, willingness to cut
  administrivia to its least parts, and his relationship with the Rowan
  all served to cement their devotion to him.
       Jeff took a break at the sixth day to visit the Rowan at her
  Altairian Tower.
       'Will you be arranging for the ceremony?' Afra asked with studied
  nonchalance as Jeff prepared to leave.
       'There's no rush,' Jeff replied absently.  Afra grew silent.
       Ready!  Jeff called.
       Then he was gone and the generators wound down while the off shift
  crew raced to perform the little maintenance that was necessary.
       Afra was rather pleased, two days later, when Raven returned with
  an incredulous look on his face.
       'You knew!' he accused Afra.  'You knew and you didn't even tell
  me!' His eyes narrowed.  'How did you know?' 'I've been her friend for
  eight years, Jeff,' Afra responded evenly, not showing a trace of the
  smugness he felt.  'There's a slight variation in her that I was able
  to perceive.' 'Who else knows?' Afra shook his head.  'No-one.' He
  looked apologetic.  'I would have told you but, after all, it isn't
  precisely the sort of information one lobs off the way one launches
  cargo.
       'But she didn't even know, until last week, or so she told me.
       And she told me as soon as she suspected.' Jeff gave him a
  scrutinizing look, leaving unvoiced his amazement that Afra should know
  such an intimate fact.
       Afra was by that time well enough attuned to Jeff Raven that he
  held up his hands in protest.  'An intimate fact, yes, but I've had to
  become very much aware of the Rowan on both the mental and physical
  levels for the last eight years.  I'm delighted that the perception is
  verified.' He said that last with some stiffness of manner.
       Jeff sighed and nodded.  'Sorry.  I think I know my mate
  intimately but I also know, and accept, that there are many levels of
  intimacy, my good friend!' His grin dissolved Afra's coolness.
       'Are you glad it's a boy?' Jeff stared at him, astounded.  'I
  didn't know -' and he shook his head in bemusement, 'and I don't think
  the Rowan does either that our child is male.  I never realized that
  you're a precog, too.
       Afra shrugged.  'I'm not, but the child is a boy.  Or did you want
  a daughter?  I could be wrong.
       Jeff gave Afra a slow grin.  'I haven't yet learned to cope with
  my lovely Rowan.  I'll hope you're right.  I'll need more time before I
  have to deal with a miniature Rowan.  Though it could be fun.  How
  about you?  Game for a repeat?' Afra grinned back.  'I don't see as I
  have the option.  I'm in too deep to change.' At that Jeff chuckled,
  throwing an arm around the tall Capellan's bony shoulders.  'So what
  happened here while I was away, eh, Afra?' Afra!  Raven called at the
  beginning of his third week as Callisto Prime, there's a T4 here!
       Afra popped up to the rearranged Tower.  He still had misgivings
  over the appearance of the revamped Tower.
       Wires ran all over the place and were a potential danger to the
  unwary but Ackerman cheerfully assured him that was to allow the Tower
  to be rearranged to the Rowan's old style if suddenly required.
       'We'll have the new ducts laid in the next downshift,' the
  stationmaster added.
  
       'Ah,' Afra was unruffled, 'Jeff Raven, meet Gollee Gren, T-4.
       Jeff nodded politely to Gollee who seemed to have lost his usually
  glib tongue in the presence of a man who was becoming a living legend.
       'Glad to meet you,' he said absently, turning back to the
  Capellan.  He very pointedly raised an eyebrow at Afra.
       'You're not going to be here for the rest of your life, Jeff,'
  Afra began diplomatically.  'At which point you will probably want to
  know that you can work with another T-4.  Besides, Gollee needs the
  training.' Afra grinned maliciously when Gollee opened his mouth to
  protest, a response not lost on Jeff Raven.
       'I see,' Jeff said noncommittally but it was obvious to Afra how
  little he liked the notion.
       Afra sighed.  'The best way to prove you've learned something is
  to teach.' Jeff eyed him thoughtfully.  'The Rowan never mentioned this
  aspect of your personality.' 'The Rowan never asked me to train her,
  either,' Afra replied with a saccharine smirk.  He wasn't sure which
  reaction pleased him more: Jeff's or Gollee's.  He stepped away from
  the second couch.  'I'll be within call here if either of you need me,'
  he added with an overly courteous bow to both as he waved a reluctant
  Gren to take the seat and tapped a display.  'First launch is
  Earthward, Reidinger to catch As he had hoped, Gren's mischievous
  stance matched Jeff Raven's 'homeboy' nature perfectly.  By the end of
  the day the two were working the station's cargo effortlessly.
       During the next several months, life at Callisto Station devolved
  into steady easy routine with Gren and other Talents arriving at
  scheduled times to work with the Denebian to broaden his ability to
  handle gestalt with different personalities.  Afra and Ackerman noted
  that Jeff worked best with Gren, a report which Reidinger received with
  a grunt.
       I've been hoping to find a use for that one!  Reidinger exclaimed.
       What, met someone you can't handle?  Afra asked, amused.
       I seem to have a problem with T4s and -35, Reidinger replied
  imperturbably.  It'd worry me except there're so many of them I can
  fire 'em when I please.
       Afra refused to rise to the bait.
       The Rowan's return to Callisto Station five months later as a
  visit turned into a permanent reassignment the instant Reidinger
  learned that she was pregnant.  Reidinger singed Afra's mental 'ears'
  when he admitted that he had known of the pregnancy.  Well, f I can't
  trust you, I'll have to set up my own spy.
       Afra was genuinely pleased to have the Rowan back at Callisto.
       While he had enjoyed working with Jeff Raven, he had to admit to
  himself that perversely he found greater comfort in his link with the
  unpredictable Rowan.
       'Oh, by the way, Afra, the Rowan's been pestering me to ask you
  something,' Jeff said abruptly one evening as the station closed down.
       'Oh, what?' 'If you'll stand as l.p. to our son?' 'ElI Pee?' 'Yes,
  loco parentis.  Admittedly it's a Denebian custom but, considering the
  hazards on my planet,' and Jeff's grin was rueful, 'it ensures that
  someone whom the parents of a child trust will oversee its upbringing.
       The Rowan liked the idea as being much more personal than being
  made Ward of the Planet.  We'd both be glad if you would be willing to
  stand in an l.p. capacity for our child.' Afra was deeply touched and
  it was several seconds before he could speak.  'Nothing is going to
  happen to you!' Jeff silenced him with a gesture.  'We certainly don't
  plan on it but-' 'And you've a planet full of relatives ' afra hedged.
       'They're there, of course, but it's the Talent aspect of our child
  that we both want to sustain, Afra, and no-one on Deneb's got much
  Talent training.  I know you are critical of the way you were reared on
  Capella, but I can say with objectivity that you've a large advantage
  
  in such training over me.  And, besides, the Rowan and I agreed on you,
  Afra.' Jeff's blue eyes were frank.  He quirked his head, his
  characteristic smile beginning to tug at his mouth.  'What do I tell
  her?' Afra smiled a soft sad smile.  'Tell her that I would be a bad
  choice: if something happened to either of you I would surely be dead
  beforehand.' Jeff laughed.  'Don't be morbid.  You're not precogging
  again, are you?' When Afra vigorously denied that, he was audibly
  relieved.  'Besides, I've firsthand experience of how good an
  instructor you are, you know.' Afra bowed deeply, once more falling
  back on ingrained courtesies to respond.  'Jeff Raven, please tell your
  lovely wife that I am deeply honoured and will be glad to serve in loco
  parentis to any children of yours and to the best of my ability.' Jeff
  gave him a curt satisfied nod and a hearty clout on the shoulder.  The
  Denebian never learned the non-tactile etiquette of Talents but
  somehow, such familiarity from Jeff never offended.  'Good!  It's
  settled, then.  Now, tell me, what do you know of babies?' It turned
  out that Afra knew quite a lot about babies, having dealt with his
  sister's children on several occasions and having even minded the
  Ackerman kids when Brian and his wife needed a night off.
       At the end of their chat, Jeff sighed deeply.  'You will let me
  know if the Rowan's keeping something from me, won't you?' 'Are you
  going somewhere?' Afra asked, startled.
       'Yes, hadn't you heard?' Jeff's attitude was ingenuous surprise.
       'Apparently Reidinger's decided to get his own back by making me a
  sort of roving Prime.' He drew up to his full height and made a mock
  bow.
       Afra laughed.  'Remember when the Rowan told you Reidinger'd take
  it out of your hide?' Jeff shrugged, his expression comical.  'For a
  worthy cause.' Then he winked, his expression turning slightly
  malicious.  'He might as well make use of my ability to travel.  I'm
  the only Prime who can zip about as it pleases me.' 'Why don't you
  challenge Reidinger to travel now we all know that Siglen imposed the
  neurosis?' Jeff gave Afra a long hard look, his eyes sparkling with
  mischief.  'I really should, shouldn't I?  The old sly geezer.
       He'd probably growl something about teaching old dogs new tricks.'
  'I think,' Afra said in a slow thoughtful tone, 'that I'm just as glad
  Reidinger can't.  His mental bark is bad enough!
       I'd hate to know he could 'port wherever he wished and chew me out
  face to face.' Jeff cocked one eyebrow and grinned with deliberate
  malice.  'Oh, well, you could always bull your way through.
       Afra blinked, gawped and then burst out laughing at Jeff's sly
  reminder.
       'And he still has both bull and cow on his desk,' Jeff added.  'I
  think if you had to, you'd give as good as you got.  Another reason why
  we want you as l.p.
       for our son.  Say, you can't, by any chance, hear the baby, can
  you?' 'No.' Afra's response was definite and a little bit sad.
       The birth of Jeran Raven was a cause for joyous celebration
  throughout Callisto Station and beyond.  Everyone under the domes heard
  the healthy mental cry of the baby as it was born and the communal
  welcome added to the gentle ambience from the three adults present at
  the delivery.
       Attentive Primes also heard it; Afra had to carefully supervise
  the removal of kilos and kilos of rare flowers, sent by an ecstatic
  Peter Reidinger, from the Gwyn-Raven quarters.  The arrival of floral
  offerings almost undid the careful schedule Afra and Brian had worked
  out to keep Callisto operating with a reduced workload while their
  Prime had limited capability.
       afra was working late, catching up on the rescheduling when the
  door buzzer to his quarters rang.  'Come!' He rose and strode to greet
  
  his guest at the door.  It was Jeff's mother, Isthia Raven.  Afra had
  seen her about the station during the last days of the Rowan's
  confinement but had purposely not intruded upon her.
       'You have not come to see the child, Afra Lyon,' Isthia began
  immediately.
       'I've been busy and had no wish to disturb him or his parents .  .
       .' Afra hesitated slightly, not certain how to address this
  blue-eyed lady with a cap of crisp black curls.
       'You may certainly call me Isthia.' Afra inclined his head.
       'Rowan told me about you, how closely you work together.' She
  looked at him keenly.  'Are you afraid of newborns, then?' Afra
  laughed.
       'Hardly.  When would it be convenient for me to come?  Rowan seems
  to need a lot of rest these days.' 'She does, but you are always
  welcome.
       Come this afternoon and get it over with.' 'I scarcely consider it
  an obligation to be "got over Afra said.
       Isthia gave him another of her searching looks.  'No, I don't
  think you would.  But you are down as loco parentis and you haven't so
  much as cast an eyeball over my grandson.  Yet you and the Rowan have
  been very close.' 'Not,' and Afra felt it advisable to reassure her on
  that score, as close as she and Jeff, if that is what you're worried
  about.' Isthia regarded him with wide-eyed surprise.  'I'm not the
  least worried about it now that we've met for it is quite plain to me
  that you are an honourable person.
       '00 Afra gave a slightly impudent bow which she dismissed with an
  irritated wave.  'Are all Capellans so inhibited?' 'All Capellans are
  raised to be courteous under any conditions.
       Isthia gave a bark of laughter.  'Good shot.  We Denebians tend to
  speak our minds.' 'I'd noticed.  It makes a nice change.' 'Well, I can
  see why the Rowan and Jeff rely so much on you.  I just wanted to be
  certain myself that you'd be suitable as a default parent.' 'Is that
  what all this is about?' 'Of course,' Isthia replied stoutly.  'I like
  a man who doesn't balk at taking difficult paths or walking tightropes.
       But you could be easier on yourself now and then.' Mildly
  surprised at the line this conversation was taking, Afra looked at her
  quizzically.
       'Don't try that on me, young man,' Isthia commanded, eyes
  twinkling to remove the sting.  'You must come to Deneb some time.  Let
  your mind rest from your very strenuous labours.' 'It would be my
  pleasure.  Yours must be a fascinating world to develop such amazing
  Talents.' 'Develop Talent?  Oh, I suppose so.
       Afra was nonplussed by her casual dismissal.  He sensed that she
  had considerable Talent herself though Jeff had never mentioned that
  she'd been tested.  If her attitude was indicative of the general
  population, it was no wonder Jeff and Rowan worried about Jeran's
  potential Talent.
       'Come to think on it,' and Isthia's expression altered suddenly to
  that curious blankness that Afra had been taught heralded a
  precognitive episode, 'you will come to Deneb .  . .' She hesitated as
  her eyes, suddenly clouded, rested unseeing on his face.  A chill
  raised gooseflesh on his arms.  ' -. . to rest your mind and renew
  life.' Abruptly she shook her head, eyes clearly blue again.  'Did I go
  off just then?' 'I didn't notice anything,' Afra said smoothly, as much
  because of her earlier dismissal of Talent, as because her clairvoyancy
  genuinely had startled him.  He felt uncomfortable with such cryptic
  talk.  'May I offer you refreshment ?' 'That would be very pleasant.
       You don't happen to have tea, do you?' she asked wistfully.
       'China or Indian?' 'Indian,' she said, a hopeful smile on her
  face.
  
       'Earl Grey or Darjeeling?' 'Darjeeling,' she replied with happy
  relief.  'Marvellous institution, tea.  A man who serves tea is certain
  to be an asset to the Raven clan.' 'I beg pardon?' 'Well, you did agree
  to stand in loco parentis for Jeran, so you are, in effect, bound to
  the Raven clan.' Afra was puzzled but caused the kettle to boil before
  he looked back at Jeff Raven's indomitable mother.  'If this is some
  form of ritual bonding .  . .' Some pioneer planets had revived rather
  barbaric customs.
       'No, no ritual.  Just acknowledgement of fact,' Isthia responded.
       The kettle whistled.
       Tea-making, on the other hand, did require certain minor rituals
  which Afra dutifully observed, patently to Isthia Raven's delight.  And
  for the rest of the visit they exchanged pleasantries.
       Afra found himself waxing effusive in the presence of this
  remarkable woman and was genuinely unhappy when she took her leave.
       'Oh, we'll talk again, Afra, she warned him.  Be certain of it!
       'And when are you coming to visit your new responsibility?  Not to
  mention his mother.  She's fretting that her maternity is repulsive to
  y) Never!  The response flew out of Afra before he could control the
  impulse.
       Isthia merely smiled.  'She'll be glad to hear that.
       Jeff Raven insisted on helping Afra and the Callisto Station
  whenever he was available while the Rowan was on maternity leave.
       However, she became quite agitated when he protested her return to
  the Tower a scant ten days after her labour.
       Arrgh!  It was my body that strained, not my mind!  she said in a
  fine fume over his protests.  Men!
       However, with Jeran not yet established on a regular sleeping
  cycle, the Rowan was apt to tire easily or be forgetful.  It was a
  'memorable' period, as Isthia later commented.  Afra and Isthia spent
  much time together, volunteering for baby detail, merely chatting or
  playing bridge with the Ackermans, a game which both Afra and Isthia
  had missed sorely in the past.
       Jeff was surprised when Reidinger summoned him to Earth for a
  conference.
       'Why can't he just 'path me?' Raven complained to Afra when the
  formal message was received.
       'I suspect he has his reasons,' Afra responded soothingly,
  expression carefully neutral.  'Do be sure to say hello to Gollee when
  you're down there.' 'And Luciano!  Ye gods!  What food!' Jeff licked
  his lips in anticipation.  'Be certain, I will!' Hours later he
  returned.  You knew!  Jeff swore at him.
       Reidinger is one hundred and ten, you've been trained on Tower
  procedures, you work like a maniac, you know every Prime there is, I
  thought it rather obvious.  It was just a question of timing, was
  Afra's phlegmatic reply.
       You didn't tell her, did you?  Jeff asked with some alarm.
       Of course not!  There are certain surprises that must be
  personally delivered, Afra replied in a pointed reminder to the
  knowledge of the Rowan's pregnancy.
       'Good!  I can't wait to see her face!' And Jeff jumped to the
  Rowan's quarters to spread the glad word.
       Brian Ackerman had watched the whole exchange from a considerate
  distance but his curiosity overwhelmed him when Raven departed.
       'What was that all about?' he asked.  Afra shrugged
  noncommittally.  'Good news?' Earth Prime!  The mental seepage from the
  Rowan's mental exultation vibrated through every mind on the station.
       'You could say that,' Afra said with a slight smirk.  Then he
  added thoughtfully, 'You know, the Rowan usually shields and we've not
  had much "noise" from young Master Jeran but he sleeps most of the
  
  time.  But hadn't we better get the bright boys working on a way to
  shield infantile babble emanating from the Rowan's place?' Ackerman
  took on an abstracted look which turned puzzled.  'He's not loud enough
  to worry about.  Oh, yes, she's not likely to stop with just one, is
  she?  I remember her telling me she wanted a large family.  Of course,
  she may change her mind.  My wife did but, yeah, maybe we ought to look
  into the problem before it becomes one.' Ackerman jotted a quick note
  down on his ever-present pad.
       Six months and two days later, late one night as Afra was just
  about to give up on an intricate origami dinosaur he had been trying to
  create for young Jeran, his buzzer beeped.
       'Come!' he called, half-irritated, half-relieved at the
  distraction.
       It was Brian Ackerman.  Afra greeted him with a ready smile.
       'You're here to tell me they've got the mental shielding
  prepared?' Afra asked suavely as he passed a cup of soothing tea to the
  greying Ackerman.
       Ackerman looked startled.  'No, I was saving that for tomorrow,'
  he allowed with a groan.  'Jeff Raven asked me to drop by.' 'Whatever
  for?' 'Well, he should be-' The door chime interrupted him.
       Jeff Raven apologized profusely to the two men for such a late
  night meeting.  'It's the only time I can be sure she isn't listening
  in.
       'Why?' Afra asked carefully.
       Jeff raised an eyebrow.  'Well, I've something to ask you and it's
  difficult to leave her what with the way she's been acting lately.
       She's asleep right now with Jeran on her lap.' 'So?' Afra refused
  to be drawn.  'The way she's been acting and her sleepiness are
  perfectly normal, you know.' Jeff gave Afra a second keen glance.  'I
  wasn't talking about .  -- Oh, no!  It's much too soon.
       'That isn't why you're here?' Afra asked, annoyed with himself for
  assuming the reason for Jeff's visit.
       'Not exactly but I'll take the bad with good.  Well, is she or
  isn't she?  And cut that guff about there being some things that are
  announced privately!' 'Well --- But Afra felt Jeff reach for the
  truth.
       'One day I'm going to throttle my mother.' 'Isthia?' Brian asked,
  apprehensively for he respected the woman and knew that Jeff did.
       'My mother's been filling my wife with some nonsense about sibling
  bonding.  It was why Mother insisted on freshening every year.' Jeff
  did not approve of either theory or practice.  'Is it a boy or girl,
  Afra?' 'A girl.' 'So she figured out how to achieve that, too?'
  Conflicting emotions of exasperation and respect crossed Jeff's mobile
  face.  Then his expression altered to worry.  'What I came to discuss
  with you is a very private 'path I had from my mother.  She wants me to
  come to Deneb to check out an unusual happening.  She thought she felt
  something, a presence.
       'Wasn't the Rowan fretting about some malign presence just before
  she gave birth to Jeran?' Afra enquired.
       Jeff nodded.  'She, my mother and Elizara.  Mother thinks she's
  experienced the same phenomenon again.' Jeff shook his head.  'I got no
  glimmer.' 'How can we help?' Brian asked.
       'I don't know,' Jeff replied worriedly.  'But I felt I'd better
  put you on the alert.  My mother's not one to cry "wolf" even if she
  hasn't fine-tuned her Talent yet.  Only women on Deneb have caught the
  trace of whatever it is.
       Considering the Rowan's sensitivity, she might just get another
  jolt from it.  That's why Isthia warned me.  To let me know.  We all
  know that that woman of mine can go off half-cocked from time to time
  and pregnant women are notorious for it.' The other two men exchanged
  
  looks so pained that Jeff Raven laughed.  'Just restrain her from doing
  something impetuous right now - especially now - but I've got to get
  back to work.' 'You'll be on Earth, won't you?' Ackerman wondered.
       'Maybe.  It's hard to tell.  I've been doing a lot of hopping
  about in my role as their apparent.' He looked gratefully at the
  Capellan.  'It was most shrewd of you to have me work with Gollee Gren
  before this was announced, we make a great team.' Ackerman nodded
  knowledgeably.  'He doesn't talk much but he hears a lot, this Capellan
  Lyon of ours.' Jeff slapped his knees and rose from the couch.  'So, do
  I have your word?' io6
       'Certainly,' Ackerman said affably, rising also.
       Afra was more hesitant.  'There are some secrets best left with
  their owners.
       Jeff inclined his head in respect of the sentiment.  'I'll trust
  your judgement, Afra.' Jeff's presentiment was accurate.  Barely a week
  had passed before the Rowan presented herself to her second-in command
  and the stationmaster, requiring teleportage to Deneb.
       Ackerman took the lead.  'Now, look, Rowan, Mauli will do anything
  you ask but I'm damned if Afra and I will take the responsibility for
  you two, and Jeran, baring off to Deneb without at least checking with
  Jeff.' Despite the Rowan's threats, the two were adamant that she check
  with her husband first.  In a huff the Rowan did so.  Brian Ackerman
  wondered if he'd been set up for a quick game of 'good cop, bad cop'
  when Raven, dutifully informed, acceded to her request.  He caught a
  hint of amusement beneath the Capellan's cool exterior.
       'Why'd she take Mauli and not Mick as well?' Brian grumbled as the
  generators wound down from the kick they had imparted to push the Rowan
  and crew out to Deneb.
       'Mauli's female, Afra said, adding when Brian almost snarled at
  him, 'remember that Jeff said the trace Isthia heard was only audible
  to women.  And it may well be that Mauli's unique echo ability will
  give the Rowan greater range in hearing whatever it is that's
  traceable.' 'A sex-linked calling?' Ackerman was dubious.
       'It is possible,' Afra replied, adding subliminal images of
  maternal instincts.
       'Like Jeff said, Isthia doesn't call "wolf".' Brian wasn't too
  happy.
       Afra shook his head.  'No.  I'd be happier if it was a wolf.' He
  turned away, heading off toward his quarters.
       'Where are you going?' Ackerman wanted to know.
       'To rest,' Afra called over his shoulder.  'I rather think we'll
  need it.' He was right.  The next day the Rowan was back but Jeff Raven
  was off cajoling and collecting Fleet scouts to assess the threat that
  the Rowan, Mauli and the other sensitive women on the planet had
  'heard' approaching Deneb.  Jeff, risking his life in a little scout
  vessel, made a visual contact with the alien spaceship.  That was
  sufficient for the Rowan to put Callisto Station on Yellow Alert.  With
  his urging and the support of Mick and Brian Ackerman, Afra
  unconditionally informed the Rowan that he would be watching and
  listening if she would take a much needed rest.
       Several hours later, Jeff Raven's explosive mental WOW!
       went through the station like a bolt of lightning.  Afra and
  Ackerman discreetly listened in on the ensuing conversation with the
  Rowan who had been roused by the cry.  Jeff could now report that what
  the Rowan had named 'Leviathan' - the huge and very alien ship carved
  out of an immense asteroid - was on direct course to Deneb and that the
  intent of its 'Many' mind was nothing less than the conquest of Deneb
  VIII and perhaps as much as the destruction of the human species
  altogether.
       Afra interjected a comment once in the telepathic conversation,
  
  not only to make a well-intentioned point but also to assure himself
  that he could 'reach' Jeff at that distance.
       The Rowan quite rightly insisted on going out to the threatened
  planet where she could focus and merge all local Talents should such a
  measure be needed.  Afra left unspoken his concerns for Jeran; such a
  psychic storm would have untold ill-effects on the young mind.  The
  Rowan apparently had no fear for herself at all.  Afra need not have
  worried: Reidinger absolutely prohibited it, reminding the Rowan of the
  dangers, pointing out that her quarters were the only ones currently
  shielded against psionic backlash (Brian had managed that without even
  telling Afra).  So Afra exercised his right to be in loco parentis for
  Jeran much sooner than he ever expected to.
       Young though Jeran was, his mind responded to Afra's and he was
  quite content to sit in the Capellan's lap watching origami birds and
  fish and animals appear.
       When Jeran advanced from clapping and laughing with delight to
  reaching out with unskilful grasp to gain possession of the fragile
  creations, Afra patiently taught him how to use just his forefinger and
  thumb to hold the origami.  And when Jeran fell asleep in his arms,
  Afra found that trustfulness particularly appealing.  He regretted
  having to transfer the soft warm body to its crib.
       The stress which the rest of the Tower personnel had so skilfully
  controlled with the Rowan present rose significantly as they allowed
  their concern over the severity of the onslaught to leak into the open.
       A tray containing cups of steaming liquid appeared in the Control
  Room.  Afra sniffed enquiringly and smelled only the best of coffees
  and teas, superior in quality and freshness to any available on the
  station.
       Compliments of Luciano!  Gollee Gren said, a chuckle of delight at
  his surprise in his 'pathing.  As long as I can and you need, there'll
  be non-stop refreshments at Callisto Station!
       The broad band statement was answered from everyone on the station
  with a welling of profound gratitude.
       The refreshments were devoured and Gren had to make replenishments
  twelve times during the course of the vigil as this time Callisto,
  Earth, Betelgeuse, Altair, Procyon and Capella all stood ready to
  support beleaguered Deneb.
       Reidinger's orders came up electronically at light speed rather
  than instantaneously via telepathy.  Afra discerned why as soon as he
  read them.  He approved of Reidinger's plan but it was dangerous to
  split the Talented forces in the path of the enemy.  It was a gamble.
       Afra worked diligently to ensure that the staff of Callisto
  Station was properly briefed and rested.  Even so, the tension built
  acutely as the events around Deneb were relayed throughout the Nine
  Star League.
       'Hey, that thing has slowed.' Jeff's voice, relayed
  telepathically, was linked over the station's commsystem.  It's going
  to go into orbit around Deneb !' 'Why?' That was the voice of Isthia
  Raven, being echoed again by the comm telepath.  'I will not believe
  its intentions are pacific!' Afra heartily agreed.  The Leviathan had
  passed through ten Welcome & Identify beacons, breached the mine field
  laid out beyond Deneb's heliopause and sent out destroyers to engage
  the Fleet.
       'No, certainly not in that orbit, was Jeff Raven's droll response.
       'Just far enough away for its missiles to be effective and too far
  for any retaliation from the ground - if we had any missiles of any
  kind.
       Ruddy bitches are going to pound the hell out of us again!' No,
  they're not!  Everyone in the Control Room started when Reidinger's
  emphatic tones burst forth.  Angharad Gwin-Raven, the A focus is yours.
  
       Gather it!  Jeff Raven, collect the B focus.  Prepare!
       Afra!  The mental 'voice' of Jeff Raven contacted him with a firm
  grip as he contacted the male minds that were his strike force.  The
  Rowan would be gathering every female Talent in her focus.
       Here, Afra responded calmly, letting 'go' of his mind at Jeff's
  touch.
       Good!  Raven returned with a sense of relief.  I cannot get ''I
  Gren to respond at this distance.  Jeff's voice held a note of tension
  in it.
       Don't worry, Afra hastily assured him and simultaneously sent out
  mental alerts to Gren and Ackerman who were standing by.  We've built a
  pyramid, with you at the apex.
       Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, Afra felt the lesser
  Talents of the solar system aligning themselves behind himself, Gollee
  and Ackerman.  He was aware of a mental engorgement, passing through
  him to Jeff, as if he himself had swelled to the size of a small moon.
       Callisto and Earth are with you, Afra sent, passing forward a
  mental baton which was the combined will of all the male Talents that
  Earth, Callisto and all the planets of the solar system could muster.
       Betelgeuse joins the Prime.
       Procyon is on line.
       Capellan men send greetings and are ready for the merge.
       Altair here.
       And far out at Deneb, Jeff Raven found himself the centre of a
  maelstrom of power.  The timing was perfect, for as the Rowan-focus had
  finished pulverizing the minds of the 'Many', it was time for the
  Raven-focus to shove Leviathan to its doom.
       NOW!  Jeff Raven called and every kinetic male Talent was united
  in full gestalt with all available generators in the Nine Star League
  to divert Leviathan to a new trajectory straight to the huge star that
  was hot Deneb.
       That's what we should have done with the first attackers, the
  Raven-merge said.
       We did warn them!  The Rowan-merge replied.
       And then, job completed, energies spent, the two foci of massed
  minds fell apart to their constituent pieces.
       Collectively the personnel at Callisto Station gave an exhausted
  groan, many falling over at their posts, sapped of all energy.  The
  generators, suddenly freed of their load, whirled up to over speed and
  circuit breakers tripped them out.
       Jeff Afra managed to find enough energy to call.  He was not sure
  he heard a reply, like a man shouting across a windy field.  Reidinger,
  the generators have all dropped out.  We're all shagged here, but
  nothing that a day's rest won't cure.
       I'll tell him, Gollee Gren sent back with overtones of a yawn.
       'Keerist!  I don't want to do that again!' Brian Ackerman swore.
       Afra toggled the all-call on the station commsystem.
       'Get to bed, people, rest.  We're shutting down for the next
  twenty-four hours.  Maintenance crew, work it out so that the
  generators are ready to go on-line by then.' Brian looked over at him
  and grinned.  'Afra Lyon!
       I think that's the first time you've ever made a command
  decision!' Afra was too tired to respond.
       The Defence of the Denebian Penetration, as that act of alien
  aggression came to be called in the popular press, was the last act of
  FT&T under the auspices of Peter Reidinger.
       The stress had been almost too much for him and Jeff Raven's
  stellar performance had opened any door that had previously remained
  closed to the Denebian's good nature and steady charm.
       'Not,' Reidinger growled, 'that I won't keep an eye on you!' That
  
  problem, however, was not the least one to be considered with the
  successful defence.  The one that concerned Afra the most was one that
  caused him considerable anxiety because he didn't know if he was
  misinterpreting some very odd remarks Jeran was making.  And it was
  some weeks before he finally figured out where the toddler's
  observations came from and arranged to meet with Raven to discuss it.
       'You're tense and your shields are wobbly,' Jeff said as soon as
  he met Afra in his office - once Reidinger's lair on Earth.  'What is
  wrong?' 'It's your daughter.' Jeff's eyes widened.  Afra went on
  quickly, 'With all the energies flowing through the Rowan during the
  Defence, I think your daughter has been affected.' 'How bad?' Jeff
  asked, face gone pale.
       'Oh, not bad!' Afra replied, sounding very positive.  'It's just
  just that I've heard Jeran talking to her.
       'Already?' Jeff was astonished.  He sent a quick tight band to his
  mother.
       Yes, was Isthia's considered opinion, I'd say Afra is right.
       I wasn't too sure of it when Angharad was still on Deneb but if
  Afra's noticed the phenomenon, I accept his opinion.  How is it
  manifested?
       On rather an infantile level, Afra said wryly, but there is a
  mental contact between the two children.  Jeran doesn't quite
  understand what's fretting her but he knows she's not happy 'in there'.
       He doesn't know how to answer.  How could he?
       Afra added.
       Jeff was thoughtful.  The baby's reacting to the stress the Rowan
  felt?  So we have to tell him what to tell her, carefully censored for
  a foetal mind?  Afra nodded.
       I can see why you didn't want to upset Angharad.  She exhausted
  most of her reserves in the Merge.  I wouldn't want her stressed right
  now.
       Jeff's grin was rueful.  'Yes, it could be disconcerting to have
  your toddler suddenly tell you that your daughter's unhappy where she
  is.
       'I have a suggestion,' Afra went on, 'which I've already discussed
  with Elizara as the Rowan's obstetrical adviser.
       Jeran's merely repeating the baby's anxiety.  Let's have him "4
       make a physical contact.  At a moment when the Rowan is distracted
  and won't either inadvertently curb the link or physically prevent it.'
  It should work, Isthia remarked when he had finished.
       Though I've never heard of a sibling talking to a foetus.  Could
  we please have Elizara in on this conference?
       When the practitioner joined them, she suggested that while
  foetuses were not normally aware at this stage of gestation, she'd rule
  nothing out in the case of Angharad Gwyn-Raven.
       There was a tremendous amount of raw power coursing through the
  Rowan's mind, strong as that is, Elizara said thoughtfully.  After all,
  I was part of it.  I didn't think of such a side-effect but there
  certainly could be a leakage into the physical.  An unborn child would
  assuredly be vulnerable in this trimester and could become charged.
       Isthia's tone reflected her concern.  I feel that Afra's
  suggestion should be implemented as soon as possible and, preferably,
  without Angharad's knowledge.
       Indeed, especially without her awareness, Elizara agreed.
       'It might not be a bad time for an official acknowledgement of
  your union,' Afra suggested subtly.
       'Official?' Jeff made a face.
       Yes, Jeff Raven!  Marry the girl!  Isthia shot back across the
  stars.
       It hardly seems necessary to go through an official
  
  acknowledgement at this late date, Mother!
       To you but not to her.  The force of Isthia's reply rocked Jeff
  back in his seat.  He turned to Afra, a slow grin forming.  'Still
  willing to be best man?' Jeff wanted Deneb, Reidinger wanted Earth and
  the Rowan got Callisto as the site of the wedding.  Jeff had to give in
  to the political overtones of this, the first union of two Primes.
       'Much though I hate it, it's a great chance to cement certain
  alliances firmly with the Gwyn-Raven dynasty' Reidinger had fought
  bitterly to have the brief ceremony held on Earth.  And, indeed, the
  Rowan was sorely tempted.  But that would have allowed FT&T too free a
  hand with invitations, whereas limiting guests to space available in
  the Tower Compound restricted the numbers to a manageable quantity.
       She also didn't want just anyone 'porting in on them on what ought
  to be a private and personal occasion.  Fortunately, Rowan had more
  cooperation than she expected.  It took the best efforts of Jeff,
  Isthia, Afra, and Elizara to soothe Reidinger's vociferous protests.
       Elizara might have had a private word with her great-grandfather
  because, suddenly, he subsided in his efforts to get the Rowan to
  Earth.  Afra told the Rowan that it was only because he had promised
  Reidinger that every angle of the ceremony would be taped 'I know it
  doesn't matter on Earth,' Isthia had said as a final argument, 'but
  some purists might fault a bride who is not only pregnant but has a
  child old enough to be ring-bearer.
       Afra instantly assumed the task of instructing the 'ringbearer'
  With a gentle but firm pressure, he also told Jeran that he could
  reassure his sister and how to send such a mental message.
       'You tell her that she's quite safe now, and that you'll protect
  her, too.' With brows knitted in concentration, Jeran repeated that
  message, taking some comfort in it himself Like I take care of the
  origami?  he asked.  Afra had hunkered down to his level so child and
  man were nearly on the same level.
       'As gently as you take care of the origami,' Afra said, and
  reinforced that message mentally.  Jeran's brow cleared and he beamed
  at Afra, his mind as tranquil as it was determined to perform his two
  tasks perfectly.
       The ceremony was simple but poignant.  Because the 'old man'
  Reidinger - could not be present to give her away, Gollee Gren, as his
  representative, lent his physical presence while Reidinger did the
  talking.
       'As usual,' Gollee had said with a malicious smile.
       Reidinger might not have been there in person but his inescapable
  mental presence was felt by all who were.
       Mauli, Elizara, Rakella, Besseva, Torshan and Captain Lodjyn of
  the scout that had carried Jeff on his close reconnoitre of the
  Leviathan, all were happy to be the Rowan '5
       attendant-witnesses.  Afra felt quite nervous in his place of
  honour as groom's man and he had a right to be.  He had assiduously
  studied and performed all the traditional duties of best man, relieving
  the bride and groom of most worries in preparing for the event.
       Ackerman headed the groom's men who included Bill Powers, Chief
  Medic Asaph and Admiral Tomiakin.
       Jeff paused dramatically when it came time to say 'I do', a
  twinkle in his eyes until he had the Rowan glaring fiercely at him in
  alarm.
       Reidinger broke the tableau, swearing sotto voce 'It's a bit late
  now for cold feet!  If you don't marry her, I will!' Jeff paused long
  enough to give the old Earth Prime a hefty mental buffet, then turned
  back to the Rowan.  The adjudicator coughed delicately, repeating 'Do
  you wish to form a permanent union with this woman?' 'I most certainly
  do!' Jeff said in a clear firm voice that carried throughout the dome.
  
       'And you, Angharad Gwyn, do you wish to form a permanent union
  with this man?' The Rowan cocked a head at Jeff but could not bring
  herself to drag the scene out.  'With all my heart, I do.' Just at that
  moment, as Jeff and Angharad bent to seal the ceremony with a kiss,
  Jeran slipped from Isthia's loose hand and rushed to cling to his
  mother, hand upraised.
       Good boy!  Isthia sent to the youngster in a tight shield.
       Talk to her, say hello to your sister!
       Elizara gave an approving wink, then cocked her head as if
  listening.  Eyes widening in astonishment, she nodded.  She caught
  Afra's rapt expression, traced it to the eldest Rowan child and raised
  her eyebrow provocatively at him.  Afra acknowledged it with the merest
  flick of an eyebrow.
       Jeff and Angharad, locked in a kiss made more special by the
  moment, knew nothing of the tight psychic interchange.
       The navy had a special surprise as they made their way to the
  reception, a double line of uniformed men forming a bridge of steel
  with their archaic, polished swords.
       Elizara caught up with Afra at the reception.  'It worked, you
  know.' 'Yes, I thought I felt her accept Jeran.
       'Nevertheless an in utero link is most remarkable.  It's been just
  a concept.
       'Till now.' Afra grinned.  'My sister tried some sort of pre-natal
  reassurance but she would never admit to me just how successful she
  was.  Do you think it will comfort the child now?' 'I felt her relax,'
  Elizara said, smiling tenderly, then added more briskly, 'Let's hope
  the Rowan never realizes how dangerous that merge might have been for
  her daughter.  She'd never forgive herself.  At least,' and Elizara's
  smile turned mischievous.  'At least today she had her mind on other
  matters and may never realize what was achieved.' She gave a girlish
  giggle which surprised Afra who had always found the practitioner the
  model of decorum.  Then a thought distracted her.  'Now all we have to
  worry about is the effect on the two children!' 'They'll surely be
  closer than usual,' Afra replied.
       'Which will please the Rowan, I know, but what about future
  siblings?  We can't be sure we can mind-bond every child the Rowan
  has.' 'Why would we need to?  The circumstances are unlikely to be
  repeated,' Afra said blithely and gave a diffident shrug.
       One final surprise crowned the event, at least from the Rowan's
  viewpoint.  The liner which had brought so many notables to Callisto
  for the ceremony had been the same one which had transported her from
  Altair to Jupiter's moon.  It wasn't until Jeff had carried his
  officially acknowledged mate back to their quarters, that the
  significance became apparent.
       'WHAT is that?' Jeff demanded, pointing to a large spotted furry
  lump in the middle of their bed.
       The lump stirred, extended limbs, yawned widely, showing long
  white fangs, and then deigned to regard the intruders with vivid eyes.
       'Rascal?  Rascal!' the Rowan cried, her voice incredulous, her
  expression joyful.
       'It's some rascal all right,' Jeff replied tartly, 'and it'll get
  out of my bed immediately.  I have other plans 'You don't understand,
  Jeff, it's Rascal, my barque cat!' And the Rowan plunked herself down,
  reaching out to tickle the chin of the beautiful beast.  'Oh, Rascal,
  you've come back to me.' 'Mmmmrrrow!' said Rascal conversationally.  He
  then graciously accepted her homage.
       'Come, Jeff, pet him.  Make him feel welcome.' 'Frankly, I don't
  wish to make-' 'Jeff Raven!' And the Rowan gave him a thoroughly
  indignant glance.  'Barque cats are special.  We're honoured -by his
  presence.
  
       'We are?' To keep peace on such an important night, Jeff did as
  the Rowan asked.  Then she did as he asked and Rascal learned to find
  somewhere else, safer, to spend his nights.
       Her face displaying a look of surprise and disappointment, Damia's
  baby legs gave out from underneath her and she plopped on to her
  dry-padded bottom.  For a moment she considered crying but the
  disdainful look from Rascal assured her that he would provide no
  sympathy.  Now why had she been standing, anyway?  she mused.  Year-old
  Damia's thoughts were not coherent for any great length of time and she
  often found herself wondering what she had been thinking of moments
  before.  Missing.  Something was missing.  A faint shadow of the frown
  she had seen her mother use so effectively - her mother!  That was it!
       No mother nearby!
       Damia pushed off the ground and stood, wobbling to survey her
  realm.  She tottered slightly as she turned her head.  Aside from the
  towering form of Rascal, Damia sighted no other living form.  No ankles
  or warm kneecaps --entered her view.  Determinedly she raised a foot to
  step forward only to lose her balance with an inelegant wobble and
  return unceremoniously to the floor.
       Well!  She had the Rowan's indignant tone down pat but still
  hadn't managed to convince her mouth to form more than 'gab'.  On all
  fours she crawled towards the doorway.
       --Rascal deftly interposed his elegantly marked body, whiskered
  nose stopping just short of her own.  Had she been older she would have
  recognized the barque cat's expression as identical to the old British
  Bobby's: "ella, 'ella, 'ella!  Where do we think we're going then?'
  However, it was obvious that the cat stood between her and her
  objective.  She backpedalled and worked her way around the cat only to
  have it deftly interpose itself between her and the door again.  Damia
  gave a squeal of indignation, dropped her head, and butted against the
  barque cat.  The cat out-massed her; she wound up slipping on the
  carpet.  Damia continued pushing for several seconds before she
  realized that she was making no progress.
       She backed up and took stock of the situation.  She determined to
  stand up in the hopes of outrunning Rascal, especially as the barque
  cat stood conveniently close to provide a prop to raise herself up.
       Pleased with her solution, she reached forward for the cat but
  Rascal refused to cooperate, sagging out from under her hand.
       It was too much, Damia adjusted her squeal of rage upward into an
  interminable bawl.  Her aggravation was such that she failed to notice
  the approach of ankles.
       'Damia?' A tenor voice murmured.  'Shh!  Your mother's having a
  nap!' A mental image brushed her mind of her mother curled up on the
  bed, covered by a blanket much like the one that usually covered her.
       Nap?  Mothers no nap!  Damia does!  she thought.
       Astonishment rippled at her, followed closely by sardonic humour.
       Tired mothers nap.
       Damia not nap now.  Damia play now.  The other mind registered
  reluctance.  Damia persisted.  Please?
       Not so loud, child, the other mind chided gently.  You'll wake
  your mother up.  There was a gentle concern in the other's voice.
       Who you?
       Afra.
       A face descended into view.  Damia squiggled backwards on her
  bottom and regarded it.  Blond hair, blond eyebrows, green skin, yellow
  eyes blinked at her, lips upturned in a smile.  Afra, she thought to
  herself, fixing the face and the name together in her mind, adding them
  to the others she knew: mother, father, jer, cer, tanya, grandmother.
       Afra sensed curiosity from the baby.  At her age, coherent thought
  was intermittent and, as she had yet to talk, not vocalized but he
  
  'touched' more in her mind than he expected.
       'It's been a rough day at work for your mother and me, Afra told
  her soothingly.  'We ran extra shifts to get the local defence net into
  place.  Your father's stuck down on Earth tonight.' He laughed.  'So I
  came over to see if I could lend a helping hand.' A light tan Coonie
  with dark brown face markings crossed in between them, casting a
  critical eye towards Damia.  Haughtily it decided that Damia was
  neither threat nor food and turned to Afra with a chatter of sound.
       Afra reached down and gave it a friendly pet.  Damia absorbed this
  and reached a hand out.  Unlike the rascally Rascal, this large furry
  thing bent into her feeble efforts.  Encouraged, Damia continued as the
  Coonie swaggered back and forth, demandingly.  The first raccoon-type
  beast had been a gift from Kama to Afra, to give him something to care
  for on Callisto.  Others had admired the creature and, obtaining
  permission from the Rowan to import 'a few' more, several families in
  the compound now enjoyed their endearing antics.  Rascal
  condescendingly tolerated their presence in his established haunts,
  like the Gwyn-Raven house.
       'Ringle likes you,' Afra told her, then sighed.  'Now what should
  I do with you, minxlette?  Your mother really needs the rest.' He
  turned his head towards the doorway.  He looked back to her again with
  a smile.  'How about you and I play together for a bit?' Damia greeted
  the suggestion with a delighted burble and held up her chubby arms to
  this new playmate.
       'She's much more articulate than either Jeran or Cera at the same
  age,' Afra told the Rowan one night two months later as he passed an
  evening in the Gwyn-Raven quarters.  The two older children were
  happily doodling crayon scrawls on a large piece of paper spread across
  the floor.  Damia was asleep, cradled in his lap.
       'Articulate?  She won't talk for another six months!' 'But I can
  isolate definite concepts in her mind and hear sounds that are almost
  words,' Afra replied equably.  'You know, like the shorthand speech
  Jeran and Cera have developed, not quite standard Basic but certainly
  real communication.
       The Rowan placed a hand lightly on his shoulder and chuckled.
       'This child of mine has bewitched you, Afra.' She shook her head.
       'When she starts to talk, even baby talk, I'll know.' The Rowan
  frowned, wrinkled her nose with a dismayed sniff.  'Sorry, I didn't
  catch her in time and you've just been anointed.' Afra looked down at
  the sleeping form, whose face took on the drowsy smile of a baby who
  has relieved an uncomfortable hydrostatic pressure.
       'Won't be the first time.' The Rowan laughed, shaking her head.
       'You should be having children of your own, Afra.' He cocked his
  head at her.  'In my own time.' 'But you'd make such a marvellous
  father.
       You shouldn't be limited to l.ping.  Just look at how Damia
  succumbs to your charm,' and the Rowan indicated her sleeping daughter.
       'I can't get her to do that.  You didn't "encourage" this nap, did
  you?' she said in a half-accusatory voice.
       'Heavens, no,' Afra replied, raising his hands to protest his
  innocence.  Everyone in the Tower had been made aware of how the Rowan
  felt about any subtle mental control of her children.  They were to
  grow up as normally as possible, with no mental tamperings, until
  Talent manifested itself in the due course of their development.  That
  all three children were potentially high Talents had been established
  at their births but the Rowan didn't want their abilities forced, as
  hers had been.
       The Rowan gave him a suspicious glare.
       'Honest, Rowan!' Candidly Afra thought that a little adroit mental
  control might minimize the problems she'd been having with Damia but
  
  she was the parent.  And Damia was definitely cut from a different
  mould than her older brother and sister.  'You saw yourself how Rascal
  and the Coonies wore her out playing.' The Rowan had to admit that.
       'Will they survive her, I wonder?' 'They survived Jeran and Cera.
       Actually, I think they have more fun with Damia.  She's more
  inventive.' She had laughed as much at Damia chasing barque cat and
  Coonies as Afra had.  Damia had been so intent on catching one or the
  other and all had eluded her until she'd collapsed in fatigue.  Now the
  Rowan snorted in amusement at the recollection.
       'Shhhh!  You'll wake her.' He peered down at the beautiful face of
  the sleeping child.
       Jeff Raven 'ported himself into the room.  Afra looked up in
  greeting while the Rowan gave him a frosty glare.
       The Rowan had definite views about Talent protocol.
       'Use the door!' the Rowan said, reproving him.
       'That would've roused the baby,' Jeff replied, unrebuked.  'She is
  asleep, isn't she?' When Afra nodded, he let out a sigh of relief.
       'This one's worse than the other two, All: she has the uncanniest
  knack for waking up only on those nights we're shagged.' Jeff looked at
  his lifemate.  'Let's take a breather after this one?  OK, love?
       We need sleep.' The Rowan shook her head -vigorously.  'I want a
  big family, Jeff.  I know what it's like to be lonely.' Jeff scowled in
  pretend horror.  'What?  Greedy?  Three bonuses aren't enough?' FT&T
  substantially rewarded Talents who produced offspring, in hopes of
  increasing the numbers of the Talented throughout the League.
       Afra absorbed their repartee like a moth circling a candle: eager
  for the warmth but fearful of the flame.
       Within this circle, he enjoyed family life - however vicariously
  and coveted these evenings, secure in the affection of both the Rowan
  and Jeff: the sort of family life that he had never had, never imagined
  was possible.
       Jeran and Cera paused long enough in their mildly competitive
  application of colour to blank paper to smile at their father.  He
  patted them affectionately, for Jeff had no trouble being demonstrative
  with his children.  Then he became the host, offering to top up glasses
  before he poured one for himself and settled next to the Rowan on the
  circular couch.
       'Has David calmed his Administration down?' Rowan asked.
       Jeff gave a shrug.  'I sincerely hope so.  Van Hygan and that
  ordnance fellow proved - to me, at least - that the factories are
  working overtime to turn out the components, that the Fleet is
  scheduled to move as soon as they have sufficient units, so it's only a
  matter of time before Betelgeuse, too, is securely ringed with early
  warning devices.' 'Which leaves Altair, Capella, and all the systems in
  between still struggling?' 'That's it,' Jeff said with a sigh, and he
  sipped his wine.
       'Not that there's been a peep on any DEW unit.' His knee started
  jiggling, an indication of inner anxiety.  The Rowan laid a hand on it
  and Jeff gave her a sheepish grin, instantly covering her hand with
  his.
       Afra looked away, suffering a pang of jealousy for the bonding
  between his two best friends.  Yet, if after long lonely years and
  vicissitudes, these two had found each other, perhaps he shouldn't give
  up hope.  Kama had certainly indicated often enough her willingness to
  be more than bedmate and sometime confidante.  He liked her, but his
  affection for her was a dull gleam beside the radiance that suffused
  Jeff and the Rowan.  He stared down at Damia's small face, trying to
  imagine the features older, the mind mature.  Detachedly he wondered
  what her life would be like, who she would marry, which Tower she would
  run (for he was certain she had Prime potential), whether he would have
  
  the joy of bouncing her babies on his knee.  Would she be a handful
  like her mother or would she take after her father and he a biddable
  child like Cera and Jeran?  Afra was willing to bet the former - with
  suitable individualized embellishments - but he was now deftly
  accustomed to handling the Rowan's outbursts with a carefully
  controlled silence.  But here now was this wondrous baby, just
  beginning her life and she was sleeping on his lap!  Afra marvelled
  that any soul could be so trusting of him.  As he had told both Jeran
  and Cera, when they had been babies sleeping on his lap, I love you,
  little darling!
       'Afra!' The Rowan's voice broke his reverie.  For a moment he
  feared that she had 'heard' him but he gathered by her tone that,
  instead, she had been trying to gain his attention.  She was standing,
  hands reaching down towards baby Damia.  'I'll take her.  It's time she
  was properly put to bed.' Afra was reluctant to yield her.  'If you
  pick her up, she'll wake,' he said.  'Then goodness knows how long
  it'll be before you get her to sleep again with her batteries partly
  charged.' The Rowan wearily conceded his point.
       'Just this once, 'port her to bed.' The Rowan's expression altered
  and anger clouded her eyes.
       'Mra, you know .  --' 'I think Afra's right.  Or have you
  forgotten how long it took you last night -'She had a touch of colic,'
  the Rowan said by way of excuse.
       'She doesn't tonight, and she's asleep,' Afra said.  'We've a
  heavy schedule tomorrow.  She's so soundly asleep she won't even know
  she's been shifted.' The Rowan hesitated, torn between stated ethic and
  opportunity 'Just this once?' And Jeff added his encouragement: the
  warm look in his eyes and the slightly sensual curve to his smile
  suggested to Afra, as well as to the Rowan, what plans her husband had
  in mind for her.  'And, appreciating your scruples in the matter, my
  love, I'll 'port her.' She wavered lust long enough and suddenly the
  warm weight of the sleeping child was lifted from Afra's lap as Jeff
  took advantage of her hesitation.
       'I'd better make sure .  . .' the Rowan said and hurried from the
  room but, as Jeff and Afra grinned at each other, neither heard any
  loud protest from the 'ported sleeper.
       Jeff clapped his hands together, attracting the attention of the
  older two.  'C'mon, put your crayons away.
       Bedtime.' Without protest, Jeran and Cera broke off their activity
  and began to stuff their colours back into the box.  They were already
  dressed in their nightclothes and each with solemn expression held out
  a hand to their father to be led away to their cots.
       'Say good night to Afra.' "Night, Afra,' the two chorused
  dutifully.
       'Sleep well, Jeran, Cera,' he replied politely.
       'Thanks, Unk,' Jeff said with a grin as he led his children off.
       Afra finished his wine, somewhat regretting the absence of Damia
  on his lap.  She was a great leg warmer.  Sighing, he rose and made his
  way back to his own quarters.  He treasured these evenings for they
  anchored his soul and countered the depression he often felt for not
  being able to establish a similarly satisfying 'marriage of true minds'
  for himself.
       Over the years he had consoled himself with being the brother the
  Rowan had lost in that avalanche, keeping philia and eros separate.  He
  had also come to recognize the unexpected reward of his upbringing on a
  Methody world, despite its legacy of emotional control and detachment.
       Although he had learned to break out of the rigid undemonstrative
  demeanour that his parents had instilled in him and could, on occasion,
  express his emotions, that early training kept his unrequited love for
  the lonely Rowan separate from his affection for Angharad GwynRaven.
  
       The tense atmosphere of the busiest Tower in the League was no
  place for a person to act like a pressure vessel.  So, with Kama for
  his sexual needs, the Rowan for his intellectual comfort and Gollee
  Gren for his still irrepressibly rebellious nature, Afra managed to
  keep himself balanced.
       Afra could tell by the way the Rowan walked into the Tower that
  she'd had another bad night with Damia who was teething.  With Jeff on
  his annual Tower Inspections throughout the Nine Star League, the Rowan
  was having a spate of unrelieved childcare.  Some of her personnel,
  Afra included, devoutly hoped that this would certainly delay, if not
  deter her, from considering a fourth pregnancy, which was on her
  agenda, if not on Jeff's.  The Rowan's first priority ought to be a
  smooth-functioning Callisto Tower.
       'Bad night?' Afra asked sympathetically.
       The Rowan rolled her eyes.  'The other two weren't like her at
  all,' she said, a hint of despair in her voice.
       'My firstborn was like her,' Brian Ackerman added, handing the
  Rowan the sheaf of flimsies for the morning's outgoing traffic.  'One
  night I caught myself holding Borrie at arm's length and screaming at
  him to shut up.' Brian scratched behind his left ear, embarrassed to
  relate that reaction.  'She'll grow out of it, Rowan.  You'll see.'
  'But when?' The Rowan's tone was both wistful and rueful.  'Will I last
  long enough?' 'Ah, it seems a long time when you have to go through
  it,' Brian said with the encouraging, slightly patronizing smile that
  the survivor will give the victim.  'But it won't be long now.' 'Why
  don't you have Tanya cope with her tonight?' Afra asked.  The very
  competent T-8 who managed the pre-school creche had established a good
  rapport with Damia who napped quite easily when required to do so under
  her care.  One of the other mothers had suggested, within Afra's
  hearing, that perhaps the Rowan, being so highstrung, was unconsciously
  stimulating her daughter into these wakeful nights.
       The Rowan rolled her eyes expressively.  'I couldn't do that,
  Afra.  Tanya has to cope with her all day long.  I can't ask her to
  take night-duty as well.' 'Ask,' suggested Afra.  'She can only say no
  'I don't wish to make her feel she has to because I can't cope.' There
  was a slightly hysterical edge to the Rowan's voice.
       'What about a pukha?' Afra suggested.
       The Rowan stared as if she couldn't believe her ears.
       'My daughter is perfectly normal.  She is not the least bit
  traumatized.' 'I didn't mean to imply she was,' Afra said at his
  calmest because he could see the dangerous glint in her eyes.  'But
  pukhas do soothe the restless child.?
       'She's teething, I said.' 'Gotta better idea,' Brian said, hoping
  to divert the brewing of a Rowan-storm.  'We don't have any live
  traffic this ( morning.  Nothing Afra and me can't handle.' Somewhat
  gingerly, he took the Rowan by the arm and turned her back towards the
  Tower door.  'Also, right now Damia' 5
       Tanya's responsibility, all legit, no favours required.  So, you
  go get yourself six good hours of sacktime until the outer system stuff
  comes through.  Right?' Almost magically, the fury went out of the
  Rowan and she put her hand on Brian's shoulder, expressing her
  heartfelt relief at his entirely sensible suggestion.
       'Oh, could I?' Quick to take advantage of her compliance, Afra
  made a shooing gesture, and 'pathed her a firm nudge, planting the
  image of her stretched out on her bed, her hands folded virginally
  across her chest 'Don't lay me out quite yet, please,' she replied with
  some asperity but then she managed to grin.  Before I change my mind,
  she added to Afra and half-ran out of the Tower and down the link to
  her quarters.
       Afra followed her mental touch until the door to her shielded
  
  house closed behind her, but he had no doubts that she made her way
  straight to her bed.  He'd been maladroit to bring up the subject of a
  pukha for Damia but he hated to see the Rowan so dragged out.  She'd
  handled alien monsters with less strain.  He set the remote alarm to
  ring in her room in six hours and then went up to the Tower room to
  start the day's business.
       There was indeed nothing that he and Brian couldn't handle with
  full gestalt and a little assistance from the higher T-ratings in the
  Tower.  Sometimes he wondered why so many single cargo pods were
  routed.  It'd take less time and effort to link same-destination
  packages together and flick 'em out in one lot.  Afra made a note to
  suggest the idea to Jeff on his return to Earth.
       Some four hours into Rowan's respite, Tanya contacted him.
       Afra, the Rowan didn't by any chance remove Damia from daycare,
  did she?
       No, Tanya.  Why?  Afra felt the first spurt of panic.
       Damia isn't anywhere in the creche.  She was asleep in her cot
  when I last looked.
       Did you ask Jeran and Cera?
       Oh, them!  Tanya's tone was disgusted.  They told me she went out
  waving her wand.
       Hold it a moment, folks, and Afra spoke to everyone in the Tower,
  missing person problem.
       Damia?  Brian asked and groaned.  Why did kindly notions dissolve
  into disasters?  Can't you spot her, Afra?
       If you'll give me the quiet to do so.  Afra had already begun to
  cast his mind about.  He could usually 'hear' her infantile stream of
  consciousness anywhere.  Whether or not he could trace her wherever she
  had got to in the compound was another matter.  He'd better or the
  Rowan would skin him for garters.  Afra started at the daycare rooms,
  casting about the main compound.
       Then Brian and Joe Toglia came stamping up the stairs to the Tower
  and began flicking on the screens to interior monitors, examining one
  area after another of the four domes that comprised the station.  The
  screens showed no small figure trundling about.
       'How long's she been walking?' Brian asked Afra.
       'Long enough to be pretty good at it.' Cursing under his breath,
  Brian programmed a decko of the tunnel links.  There were so many
  places that could shelter a small body from the optical sensors.
       'She's not tall enough to reach the doorplates, is she?' asked
  Joe, thumbing through views of the basement levels of the supply
  section.
       'Wait a minute!  And, with sudden inspiration, Afra leaned across
  the console and accessed the remote in his own quarters.  And there
  Damia was, toddling about his living-room after Ringle and two other
  Coonies, trying to bean them with the dowel-wand in her hand.  'And
  that's how she activated the doors .  - waving her wand!' Afra 'ported
  into the room, sweeping the stray child into his arms.
       'Al'a!  Al'a!' she squealed with delight, patting his face with
  her free hand and waving her 'wand' furiously with the other.  He
  carefully unwrapped her fingers from the dowel before she stuck it in
  his eye.
       'Damia shouldn't leave Tanya!' he said, knowing how futile
  scolding this imp could be.  Merrily she grinned up at him, her huge
  blue eyes rounder than ever with her excitement.
       'Al'a!  Al'a?' She began to squirm free, 'Ingul, Ingul,' and she
  twisted her head to find Ringle, arching her back to get free.
       'No Ringle now, Damia.  I'm taking you back to Tanya.
       'Tan'a?  Tan'a.' That name emerged as a sort of guttural grunt and
  the twisting became more violent.  'No, Tan'a.
  
       Ingul.  Wan Ingul.
       'Not now, baby!' Bearing in mind the Rowan's dislike of exposing
  her children to Talented actions, he secured her writhing form in his
  arms and walked her back to the creche where an anxious Tanya waited at
  the door.
       'Ingul, Ingul,' Damia was saying over his shoulder, suddenly
  ceasing to fidget.  'Ingul.  Goo Ingul.' Turning his head, Afra saw
  Ringle dutifully following him.
       'How could she have got out, Afra?' Tanya said in a near wail as
  she reached out to relieve Afra of his burden.
       'She had a wand, a dowel stick with a star on the end of it,' Afra
  told her.
       'And used that to activate the doorplates?' Tanya was amazed.
       'The little minx.  Well, I'll get Forrie to touch code them
  tomorrow.
       She won't try that one on me again.
       Where's the Rowan?' Tanya anxiously looked across the compound.
       Afra could well imagine how she had dreaded confronting an irate
  mother, especially a Prime, whose child she had just misplaced.  Damia
  tried to launch herself head down out of Tanya's arms, both arms
  reaching for Ringle who had entered the creche.  Deftly, Tanya righted
  the child, placed her on her feet so that she could reach Ringle who
  scampered off, Damia following as fast as she could churn her short
  legs.
       'The Rowan arrived this morning looking like hell warmed over,'
  Afra began.
       'She did look exhausted when she dropped the children off,' Tanya
  remarked, and made a rueful noise with her lips.
       'So we sent her back home for some rest.  Afra did not mention his
  abortive mention of acquiring a pukha for Damia, though these 'comfort
  toys' could be programmed for any number of responses to soothe a
  fretful child.
       'Tanya, how do you get Damia to take her naps?' The girl regarded
  him with surprise.  Not for the first time Afra thought that she was
  little more than a child herself, for all he knew she was twenty-nine.
       She was a daintily made girl, all brown: brown eyes, brown hair,
  light brown skin, with small hands and feet.  If Gollee Gren hadn't
  expressed an interest in her, Afra would have been tempted to try his
  luck.
       'Well,' and Tanya pointed to the rocking chair just visible in the
  nap alcove, 'if she won't settle, I rock her and sing a lullaby.  She
  goes right to sleep for me.' She caught her lip with her teeth, looking
  sheepish, and fluttering one hand in dismay.  Afra could 'hear' her
  distress at seeming to criticize her Prime.
       'Just a lullaby?' 'Just a lullaby,' she replied firmly.  'You know
  how the Rowan feels about mental coercion.  Actually, any song will do
  the trick.  I use different ones so I don't get bored.' 'I know how the
  Rowan feels but what she doesn't know, won't hurt,' Afra said, having
  come to a decision.
       The Tower demanded some adjustment to her directive.
       He called Ringle to him.  'And it will sure help all of us.' Brown
  eyes widening, Tanya's jaw dropped in consternation.  'Afra, I don't
  think we should.' 'We both know that a mild therapeutic post-hypnotic
  suggestion doesn't in the least inhibit the developing mind of the
  Talented child,' Afra said as he reached down to stroke the obedient
  Ringle.
       Trotting up behind him came a giggling Damia, dark curls bouncing
  on her shoulders.  So Afra captured his victim and asked Tanya to teach
  him the tune and the words.  By the time he had learned them and
  implanted the command in Damia' 5 mind, she had yawned herself to sleep
  
  in his arms.
       'I'll send Forrie to change the ps, Afra said and went whistling
  back to the Tower, crisis over.  At least, he amended privately, this
  one.
       When the Rowan, much refreshed, returned to the Tower, everyone
  was very careful not to think of the morning's brief crisis.  And Afra
  waited for an opportune moment to suggest a sure-fire remedy for Damia'
  nocturnal restlessness.
       Brian listened, his mouth slightly ajar, as Afra recounted a
  totally fictional account of how his sister, Goswina, had dealt with
  his sleepless nephew'A rocking chair?' the Rowan asked in surprise.
       'Rocking chair,' Afra said and implanted the appropriate image in
  his mind for her to see.  Then set it moving, and placed a Rowan and a
  Damia in it.  'Between the motion of the chair, the repetitive rhythm
  in his mother's reassuring voice, my nephew was soon fast asleep.' 'I'm
  willing to try anything.  But I don't know any lullabies.  Jeran and
  Cera never needed any.' 'I know a good one,' Brian said.  'My mother
  used to say how often she had to rock me when I was teething.' In a
  rather strong baritone voice, he launched into a rendition of an
  ancient folk tune about what a daddy would buy his ll'l baby if it
  would hush.
       Afra countered with Tanya's 'Rock-a-bye baby'.  'That one was a
  sure-fire sleep-inspirer.' What's going on in the Tower?  asked Jeff
  Raven.  It is working hours.
       Sony, boss, Afra said with absolutely no remorse.
       Ready, my lovely?  Jeff asked the Rowan, we have some paying
  customers.
       And, instantly and of one mind, Callisto Tower turned into a
  smooth functioning facility.
       'Wanna play,' Damia told her two siblings.  They were all in their
  home play-room while their mother was in the kitchen, preparing lunch.
       Jeran and Cera were building a complex structure of blocks.  Damia
  had been in a corner crooning to herself as she trotted her herd of
  ponies about an obstacle course and in and out of their stable.  The
  intense silence of her siblings' concentration attracted her.
       'G'way,' Jeran told her.
       'Y'g'way,' Cera added, waving her sister off.
       'Wanna play,' Damia repeated.  Then changed her tactics.  'Can't I
  play with you?' Jeran blinked at her, recognizing grown-up syntax for
  their parents never used baby-talk.  'No, Damia,' for he could speak
  just as good grown-up as she could, 'Cera and I are playing together.'
  He waved towards her corner.  You play with your horses.' 'Ponies,'
  Damia corrected him absently in a vague hope of provoking further
  attention from her brother.  But Cera nudged him, indicating a block in
  her hand and, in their private garble, requesting his opinion on its
  placement.
       Recognizing the futility of enticing them from their game, Damia
  turned away.  She looked at the corner where her toys were strewn.  She
  thought of calling Rascal who always came to her, or the Coonies but
  she'd already spent half her morning with them.
       'Bored!  I'm so bored!' She looked about her.  The baby gate
  blocked her exit from the play-room.  But that was the way out, to more
  exciting play.  She walked over to it, examining it carefully.  She had
  watched her mother putting it up many times now and observation had
  shown her how it worked.  The gate was braced in place by a simple
  lever that locked down.  A simple jerk up would release the brace and
  the door could be pulled aside or knocked over.  Normally Damia could
  do nothing with the information she had acquired because the lever was
  on the outside which she could not reach.  Today, however, her mother
  had inadvertently reversed the gate and the lever was inside.
  
       Tentatively, more from curiosity than plan, Damia tapped the
  lever.  It jerked up and the baby gate fell softly on to the carpet in
  the hallway.
       Jeran heard the noise and looked around at her.  'Damia ha'guh.'
  Cera added, scowling, 'Dam ha!' Against this censure, Damia could not
  bring herself to explain that she'd only touched it: getting it to drop
  out of the door was an accident.  However, the gate was down, Jeran and
  Cera wouldn't play with her, but Afra would.
       He always did.  She would find Afra.
       Safety was a paramount consideration on Callisto Station and
  reigned over security.  Consequently all doors were the automatic
  sliding type, with ultrasound sensors.  Early in Jeran's babyhood, the
  Rowan had ordered the sensors raised so that the boy could not leave
  the house.  Jeran never wanted to, nor did Cera.  As the Rowan hadn't
  heard about Damia's adventure with her 'wand', it hadn't occurred to
  her to alter the sensors to touch-control plates.
       All Damia had to do was find something long enough for her to
  break the circuit.
       A long stemmed flower from the dry arrangement on the hall table,
  acquired by climbing up on a chair and removing a suitable one from the
  vase, made a good substitute for her wand.  The door slid politely out
  of her way Every dome had a hallway where the personnel tubes connected
  and where elevators, freight and human, expelled their cargo.  Below
  ground were the powerplants, hydroponics garden, life support,
  recycling machinery, gravity generators - all the equipment required to
  keep Callisto Station operating.  Also in the basement were the
  long-term survival units awaiting a catastrophic disaster.
       The personnel tubes were plasglas covered, allowing personnel
  access between the four lesser domes.  Along the tubes were personal
  safety capsules to guard against the unlikely event of a pressure
  breach.
       Damia had travelled all the tubes but always in the company of
  adults.  Now she spent many moments carefully considering each tube.
       With a determined look plastered over her misgivings, she started
  off down her chosen tube.
       She stopped several times to look back yearningly towards her home
  but always she trudged onward.  She had chosen correctly: the tube
  opened up on to the large park that was the 'doorstep' for Callisto
  Quarters.
       To her right was the large gymnasium with its indoor pool, to her
  left the two-storeyed Married Quarters and straight on, through the
  park with its dwarf trees, was the three-levelled Bachelor Quarters.
       As most of the residents were indoors, eating or involved in other
  chores while Jupiter occluded Callisto, no-one happened to notice her
  progress.
       'Afra!' she cried in cheerful anticipation, toddling as fast as
  her slender legs could carry her.
       However, she had left her long stemmed flower behind her and had
  nothing close to hand to trip the sensor.
       She grew quite frustrated, poking at the undemonstrative door,
  jumping up and down, hand above her head, trying to reach the plate.
       Afra!  Afra?  she said, unaware that, in her anxiousness to
  contact him, she used an ability that she ought not to have discovered
  so prematurely.  She had also launched her mental call into his
  quarters, not realizing that Afra was lunching with Brian, nor that
  she'd have needed more 'volume' to reach him.  However, she did startle
  Ringle awake.
       With an understanding chitter of acknowledgement, the Coonie
  started towards the door.  As the Coonies all needed access to the park
  for their toilet, maintenance had equipped them with ultrasound
  
  collars.  Ringle walked up to the door, paced by it and it opened.
       'Afra!' Damia entered jubilant and halted her headlong progress
  into the room when only Ringle greeted her.
       'Afra?  Afra, play with me!' She toddled off to find her playmate,
  not noticing that the door silently closed behind her, having been open
  long enough for any animal to exit.
       'Where is Afra?' she asked Ringle who had followed her in her
  perambulation.
       Ringle chittered, turning away from her and pacing towards the
  kitchen.  He was always hungry and Damia had given him sufficient
  tidbits on previous visits here to allow him to hope for more.
       Emergency!  the Rowan 'pathed on the widest band possible.
       She stood on her front steps, the baby gate dangling from one
  hand.  Damia's got out.  I don't know where she's got to.
       I've checked every remote screen and there's no sign of her How
  long's she been gone?  Afra was the first to ask.
       How do I know?  the Rowan exclaimed, half despairing, half angry.
       I was getting lunch.  She'd been safely in the play-room with
  Jeran and Cera who, in their fashion, and that was added in a terse
  tone, have no idea where their sister went.  Jeran said she knocked the
  gate down.
       Remembering all too well Damia's tendency to seek him out, Afra
  replied.  If you haven't seen her on the remotes, then I've a good idea
  where she might be.
       Relieve my mind?  the Rowan asked cryptically.
       Afra had no trouble seeing her tapping her foot with impatience.
       My place.
       How in the world would she get there?
       Walked, was Afra's laconic answer.
       I'll meet you there.  And the Rowan's tone was severe.
       Afra 'ported himself from Brian's dining area to his living-room
  and sure enough, Damia was busy feeding Ringle leftovers from his
  refrigerator.  She was convulsed with the giggles because Ringle was
  'washing' each handful before he popped it into his mouth.
       The Rowan arrived only a moment later, anger and relief warring
  for dominance.  But Damia's laughter was infectious and, as Afra saw
  the Rowan's expression soften, he allowed himself to grin.
       Suddenly aware of observation, Damia swivelled about.
       'Afra!' Abandoning Ringle, she raced to him, only then aware of
  her mother.  She teetered to a stop, her expression one of total
  innocence.  'The gate fell over, Mommy.  Honest it did.  They never
  play with me and I was bored!  Afra always plays with me.' Grabbing his
  hand, Damia tilted her head up.  'Don't you, Afra?' He squatted down to
  her level.  'I do when it is the time to play, Damia.  But you must
  wait for me to come.  Do you understand?  You mustn't come looking.'
  She nodded solemnly, one hand bringing her comfort finger to her mouth.
       The Rowan hunkered down, too, her eyes on a level with her
  fractious daughter.  'You know you're not supposed to wander around the
  station, Damia.  Don't you?' Damia shook her head.  'I wanted to play.
       Jeran and Cera won't play with me.  Ever.' She tried to squeeze a
  tear out of her eyes.
       'How'd you get in?' Afra asked, knowing that Damia was trying the
  wrong tactics on her mother.
       'Ringle let me in!' Damia pointed to the Coonie who was now
  finishing his impromptu meal.
       Afra and Rowan exchanged surprised looks.
       'Ringle heard me,' Damia went on, 'he let me in.' 'How could he do
  that?' Rowan asked Afra then looked accusingly at her daughter.  'You
  must tell the truth, Damia.' 'I tell the truth,' and Damia's face began
  to contort as a prelude to tears over such adult intransigence.
  
       'If Ringle heard her, he'd come to the door,' Afra said quickly,
  to forestall Damia's tearful reaction.  'His collar would open the
  door.  It'll close automatically.' The Rowan let out a long,
  exasperated sigh and gathered her daughter in her arms.  'All right,
  Damia.  Now don't cry.  But you mustn't run about the compound on your
  own.  Promise, you won't leave the house without someone with you?'
  Clinging to her mother in an excess of contrition, Damia vigorously
  nodded her head.
       'Now, your lunch is ready, young lady,' the Rowan said, hoping
  that she had made her point without frightening her wayward child.
       'Ringle's had his, and I'll go back to mine, Afra said, ushering
  the two out of his apartment.  And I'll get a cat-flap put in my door.
       Damia's too big to crawl through one of those.
       There was relative peace for a few weeks.  Afra was not the only
  one nervously anticipating the next Damianism.
       As it happened, there was a great deal of traffic in that morning,
  heavy stuff that needed careful handling.  Tanya's frantic cry for help
  was therefore not welcome to anyone in the Tower.
       I can't stop Damia, Afra, the girl cried.  And I know the Rowan's
  terribly busy but I'm afraid Damia will hurt someone Afra signalled for
  Joe Toglia to take over as he spun his chair over to the nearest free
  monitor and called up the remote in the daycare centre.  He could see
  Tanya, cowering by the communitas the other children cringed under the
  small-scale furniture.  Jeran and Cera serenely played some intricate
  game while a stream of toy bits and parts, and occasionally something
  heavier, was rained at them by an enraged Damia who was blubbering in
  fury.
       'Play with me!  Look at me!  Talk to me!' she was screaming.  As
  soon as she exhausted the objects on the shelf beside her, she moved to
  the box of connectable shapes.  Fortunately her aim was skewed or - and
  Afra couldn't quite believe this - Jeran and Cera were deflecting the
  projectiles, for most items dropped well short of targets who blithely
  ignored her.
       Instantly Afra 'ported the box out of reach and, when she squealed
  in outrage, cleared the next likely ammunition out of range.
       No, Damia, he said in as disapproving a tone as he had ever used
  with her.  That is not allowed.
       'They won't talk to me!' Damia cried, sobbing with frustration.
       'S'not fair!  They never talk to me!  They never play with me.'
  Then she ran to the pile of things that had fallen short of their mark
  and would have pelted Jeran and Cera with them if Afra had not made a
  clean sweep.  'And that's not fair, Afra.  That's not fair at all!'
  Tanya!
       Afra called.  Grab that little minx and make her take a nap!
       Damia, you will go with Tanya this instant and stop making such a
  display of bad manners.  Such a temper for someone who will run a
  Tower!  He was slightly appalled to hear one of his mother's favorite
  admonitions emerge from his lips.
       To his amazement, Damia gulped back the next of her indignant sobs
  and submitted to Tanya's ministrations.
       She was asleep before Tanya got through the first verse.
       Jeran and Cera continued their game as if nothing had happened.
       'I think, Rowan, that you had better speak to Jeran and Cera,'
  Afra told her when Jupiter occluded Callisto and everyone could take a
  break.
       'Why?  What have they done?' So Afra explained the scene in the
  daycare room.  'It's my opinion that they do that deliberately, knowing
  it will upset her.  She does indeed feel left out.' The Rowan
  considered this, slightly defensively.  'They have this bonding.  And
  Damia is much younger.  -'That doesn't give them the right to exclude
  
  her, especially when they do it deliberately.' -'She shouldn't lose her
  temper that way.' The Rowan set her mouth firmly.  'She's constantly
  demanding attention.' 'Perhaps, but Jeran and Cera could include her in
  their games once in a while.  You know they never do.  And don't tell
  me they're more advanced.  Damia's advanced, too.
       The Rowan had to admit that, for Damia's vocabulary was at least
  as extensive as her siblings', and certainly her small muscle control
  was excellent.  So she did have a talk with her elder children, quietly
  and positively, and, after they had listened attentively to her, they
  had one of their short-speak conversations that so excluded her she
  experienced reluctant sympathy for her youngest.
       'We will teach Damia to play one of our simpler games, Mother,'
  Jeran said in his prosaic way.  'That should satisfy her.' The Rowan
  told Afra later that it had been all she could do to keep from giggling
  at his pomposity.
       'You see, then, Damia had a valid complaint,' Afra said.
       'Yes, she did,' and then the Rowan sighed deeply.  'I want all my
  children to love and understand each other.' Afra gave a derisive
  snort.  'Wait till they're old enough, my dear.  Right now, they're
  cruel, heartless, mean little monsters.  Rowan gave him a startled
  stare.  'Well, they are, but I'm sure they'll grow out of it.
       Tanya contacted the Tower ten days later - tactfully waiting until
  the break.
       'Jeran and Cera played a new game with Damia, and with half the
  other children,' she told the Rowan, trying very hard not to laugh.
       'Then why-' 'Because the game was colour-oriented,' and now Tanya
  did burble with laughter.  'Your three are green and the others are a
  sort of pied-piper of whatever other colours were left in the
  water-paints.  I can't get nine children clean by myself so could
  parents be excused for fifteen minutes?
       Fortunately it is a water soluble emulsion.  And they did take
  their clothes off first.' That mischief had not originated with Damia
  but she did her own variation several days later when she tried to
  paint Rascal and every Coonie in the compound.  This time with an
  oil-based paint she had evidently found where the maintenance man had
  left it while he ate lunch.
       Everyone was annoyed with her for that one and the Rowan insisted
  that she help the owners clean their pets' fur.  She also insisted that
  everyone let Damia know how much they disapproved.
       'Maybe she'll come to realize that she could hurt the animals with
  a trick like this.  They've feelings, too.' Damia was indeed much
  chastened by human censure but neither Rascal nor any of the Coonies
  seemed to avoid her.  In fact, there were half a dozen who would
  happily throng to her at her peculiar warbling whistle.  During the
  outdoor activities that Tanya conducted every afternoon, Damia was
  usually surrounded by the pets while she waited for her turn.  As her
  brother and sister could ignore extraneous matters, Damia could inhabit
  a world that consisted of herself and the animals.
       One afternoon, while others were gathered around Tanya, Damia was
  cajoling her four-footed cohorts to try and catch the ball on a string
  that she was dragging behind her as she ran pell-mell around the park.
       She ran out of breath by the pool door which someone had left
  slightly ajar.
       She peered inside.  This pool was much much larger than the one in
  her house where she often swam with her parents.  While she knew that
  the pool was here, she'd never had occasion to visit it.  And, at this
  time of the day, it was empty.  Suddenly Ringle batted her string ball
  through the door, on to the tiled surface around the pool.  The string
  whipped out of her hand and Ringle triumphantly carried it off down the
  pool side.
  
       'Ringle, that's not playing the game,' she said, running after
  him.  But the soles of her sandals were slick and she skidded, her feet
  going out from under her.  She fell heavily on her shoulder and tipped
  over into the pool with a huge splash.
       She was competent enough in water not to panic, and surfaced.  The
  Coonies shrieked at the top of their lungs and Rascal, who'd been the
  last one in the pool, responded by throwing himself into the water,
  raising a wave that hit her right in the face, swamping mouth and nose.
       She started to choke, couldn't get her breath and became
  frightened.
       Afra!  Help me!  she cried, flailing her arms about in panic,
  trying to reach the pool ledge.  The Coonies, m trying to reach her,
  got in her way and she went under the water.
       The next thing she knew, hands were dragging her to the surface,
  hauling her from the pool, pounding her back to open her airways.
       It's all right, baby, it's all right.  Afra's here, and she was
  held against a wet but reassuring human body.
       DAMIA!  cried her mother and suddenly the Rowan was there,
  reaching to take her from Afra, holding her so close that Damia was
  amazed to discover that her mother could tremble.  She could 'feel' her
  mother's fear and that so shattered her confidence that she burst into
  tears.
       It took time to calm her down, calm the Rowan down, dry soaking
  Coonies and Rascal, and then more time for Damia to insist that it had
  not been their fault.  The door had been open and she had slipped on
  the wet edge.
       'But you know you're not supposed to go into a pool room without
  someone with you, Damia,' her mother said, with an edge to her voice
  that Damia now recognized as disapproval.  'And Coonies do not
  constitute someone else!' 'I wasn't going swimming, Mommy, I was
  playing with my friends.' Over her head, the Rowan looked hopelessly up
  at Afra who was wringing out his shirt.  'She's never in the wrong, is
  she?' 'Actually,' and Afra paused to towel his sopping hair, 'she often
  isn't.  She's simply inquisitive, inventive, isolated.' 'Well, I'm
  doing something about that!' the Rowan said, 'with or without Jeff
  Raven's complete cooperation.  Damia needs a companion.' Afra managed
  to hide his grimace in the towel and then stopped rubbing his hair as
  he reviewed her phrasing.
       'With or without Jeff's complete cooperation'?  He dropped the
  towel and stared at her.
       'Angharad Gwyn-Raven, do you mean what I think you mean?' She gave
  him a wide-eyed stare of innocence, still rocking her daughter.  'I
  want my children to have a happy childhood, and not feel excluded or
  forced to play with animals.' 'Damia loves the Coonies.' 'Exactly!  I
  want her to have a brother to love.' When told of the afternoon's
  escapade, Jeff sighed deeply.  'She's like me at the same age.  Mother
  couldn't keep me in the yard with a logging chain.' 'So how did she
  keep track of you?' Jeff grinned in reminiscence.  'Dad was good at
  training animals ' He laughed when he saw the exasperated expression on
  the Rowan's face.  '. . . He sicked a wolf bitch on me as guardian.
       She followed me everywhere and if she thought I was likely to get
  in trouble, she'd trip me up, knock me down, sit on my back and howl.
       Sometimes she was bowling a long time but I didn't come another
  cropper even if my knees and ribs were always bruised from being
  knocked flat by 30 kilos of white wolf.' 'Barque cats and Coonies are
  sufficient livestock in a dome.' 'Oh, I know that.  Merely apprising
  you that Damia' 5
       escapades follow a well-established genetic pattern.' 'We can't
  have more animals but we can provide her with another sort of suitable
  companion,' the Rowan went on, bringing the conversation neatly to
  
  where she wanted it.
       'I gather that you are in the process of providing that
  companion,' Jeff remarked with a bite in his tone.
       The Rowan took a backwards step, nervously biting her lip.  'How
  did you know?' 'It's been what?  Two months?  It shows.' Jeff returned.
       He stepped forward, laid a hand on her belly.  'How did you do
  it?' The Rowan dipped her head.  'A lady must keep some secrets.  It's
  a boy, you know.' 'To give Damia someone to care for.' 'Beside Afra,'
  the Rowan added.
       'Her affection for him is natural.  He's family.' 'But she called
  him, not me.
       Jeff perceived her conflict.  'And how many times have you
  impressed upon the children that they are not to call you when you're
  in the Tower?' The Rowan slumped disconsolately.  'But I have to make
  them understand that.' 'I agree.  So Afra becomes the next best person
  to turn to.  Let us be thankful that he is also willing and extremely
  able.  We might even get him to like the feel of trusting young arms
  about his neck enough to do something about starting his own family.'
  'Your last effort at matchmaking did not work?' The Rowan was secretly
  pleased.  'You should leave matchmaking to the women of your family,
  love.' 'I don't recall any efforts on your part.' 'I've yet to meet a
  woman good enough,' the Rowan said brusquely.  When Jeff raised an
  eyebrow in turn, she added, 'Afra should have someone really special.
       I owe so much of my happiness to him.' Her pregnancy was not going
  well.  She had managed to endure three months of morning sickness,
  clinging to the consolation that those symptoms would gradually ease.
       But they persisted; her waspishness grew to uncontrollable
  proportions, her ankles hurt abominably and she was absolutely
  convinced that the gravity in Callisto Station was set too high.  She
  blamed everyone in sight for her condition, including Brian Ackerman
  who defused it with his best 'would that it were true' look, but
  especially Damia for her requirement of a little brother and Jeff for
  not stopping her in her wilful theft of his sperm.
       Her condition established a vicious cycle where her temper would
  set off the children and depress the station staff such that her temper
  would get worse and so the effect would escalate.  By the sixth month
  of her pregnancy, the staff was completely gaunt-faced and jittery.
       What she absolutely hated, and could not admit to herself, was the
  fact that Afra would not get irritated with her no matter how irascible
  she became.  She longed for the chance to rant at him so desperately
  that she knew it was completely irrational.  He was nearly obsequious
  in his genuine concern for her and always caringly thoughtful of her
  needs and condition.
       In her pregnancy with Damia and Cera before her, Afra had always
  been willing to take the children off her hands so that she might rest
  as best she could in her condition.
       This time, however, she was unwilling to let Damia out of her
  sight, letting, instead, the elder two stay with 'Uncle Afra', Afra
  took the whole situation phlegmatically which irritated the Rowan
  because it did not irritate him.  He even went to the extreme of
  getting Damia's solemn promise to be extra careful of her mother in her
  gravid state, a promise which the child carried out faithfully until
  the Rowan shrieked at her one day as she attempted to serve breakfast
  in bed.  After that Damia became a sullen, dispirited child prone to
  unprovoked fits of crying.
       But a prolonged sulk was not in Damia's nature.  Heartened by the
  solicitous nature of the Coonies and by Rascal's steadfast loyalty, she
  took to exploring the nooks and crannies of Callisto Station escorted
  only by the felines.
       She was not 'heard' by anyone as she traipsed about on her great
  
  adventures because she had learned of necessity to shield herself from
  the Rowan, projecting a totally false image of her surroundings:
  generally her own room.
       So while her ailing mother thought her safely playing at home, she
  conducted her personal rebellion.  She loved the personal safety pods
  the most.  These lined the corridors and subterranean ways of Callisto
  Station, provided against catastrophic pressure loss.  Gaining entrance
  was easy: she merely walked up to one and the translucent panel slid
  open.  Inside there were marvellous accoutrements: a plush seat with
  all sorts of computer controls adorning a keypad, a computer ready to
  aid her in any emergency and room enough for her coven of Coonies.
       Best of all, the computer would carefully and patiently explain
  every aspect of the capsule until she had it memorized.  She would play
  in these for hours; Damia Queen of Space, Damia Space Police, Damia
  Rescue Run.
       At the end of every game, where Coonies played medics, pirates,
  injured and police at her whim, Damia would carefully peer outside her
  capsule and, the coast clear, quietly exit it, carefully closing the
  door and observing the green 'A-OK' light.  Then, depending on the hour
  and her hunger, she would either return to the Rowan's quarters or
  traipse on to the next capsule and the next game.
       Her discovery of the cargo cradles at the base of the Tower was an
  eye-popping revelation.  She scrunched herself tight up against the
  corridor wall, watching in awe as the cradles magically filled and
  emptied again as cargo was shunted back and forth to the large
  composite ships waiting patiently in orbit above for their cargo to be
  marshalled and the Rowan to push the result off to its destination
  planet.
       Cargo capsules were long and box-like, exactly the same as those
  used on ships and trains for surface transport on worlds.  Passenger
  capsules were different and came in many shapes and sizes.  All had
  airlocks at various strategic locations and most had view panels.  But
  most intriguing to Damia were the personal safety pods which blistered
  the sides of the larger passenger transporters.
       She was sufficiently sensitive psychically to know that the
  capsules were being manipulated by various Talents in the Tower.  Once,
  with a thrill of recognition, she felt Afra's sure mental touch as a
  string of passenger capsules were separated and landed in individual
  cradles.  Small domes enclosed them and soon maintenance personnel were
  busy, working around them.
       'That Altairian freighter's late!' the Rowan snapped at Afra up in
  her Tower.  The expedient of reducing the gravity on Callisto had eased
  the weight on her swollen feet but did nothing to alleviate her temper.
       Afra turned carefully to face her, eyes showing the strain of his
  mental manipulations.
       'There's a problem in the life support system of the passenger and
  crew quarters,' he explained.  He closed his eyes in concentration,
  something he normally did not require and looked back up at her.
       'Powers is handling it.
       'We're going to blow the whole day's schedule!' the Rowan replied
  in what was nearly a wail.  She directed her frustration solidly at
  Afra.
       'No, we're not.' Brian Ackerman returned steadily, relieving Afra
  of the brunt of the Rowan's ill-will.  'I've already worked around the
  problem.  I've got a fifteen minute window before things start piling
  up.' Afra considered that and nodded.  'Should be about '5' right.' He
  sent a thought to Powers.  'Bill says it'll be tight but he'll push for
  it.' 'In the meantime, Rowan, while it's not normally your task, if you
  could pull apart that Procyon composite that'll keep Afra free to
  stitch together the Altairian.
  
       The Rowan started to protest but Ackerman gave her such a pleading
  look that she relented.  'Where're the sheets?' 'On two.' The Rowan
  turned to her second console and, referring to it, commenced to pull
  the capsules off the Procyon ship Lysis.
       The passenger capsules called to Damia.  They screamed of
  adventure, of far off places, of Damia Star Guard.  She glanced
  backwards at the cats for support, ignored Rascal's counsel of caution,
  and proceeded boldly forward towards the tunnel leading to the first
  passenger capsule.
       Bill, Bill, she'll blow a fuse if it's not ready!  Ackerman sent
  privately to the Assistant Supercargo.
       Powers' response was laced with strain.  We're pushing it now,
  Brian.
       In the Tower, unseen, Ackerman nodded approvingly.
       Just keep it up.
       Damia marched unconcerned by techs and maintenance personnel on
  her way to the passenger capsule.  The cats followed her at a discreet
  distance, blended into the landscape in the way of all cats.
       One of the shipboard personnel looked at her and mistook her for a
  passenger 'You'd best get back aboard, little lady,' he told her
  politely.
       'I don't know how,' Damia replied.
       The technician took pity on her, no matter that the station
  personnel were throwing a fit, and led her aboard the passenger
  capsule.
       'You know your way from here?' he asked, worried that he would
  lose too much time if he had to search out her parents.
       'Oh, yes!' Damia responded, eyeing one of the safety capsules
  eagerly.  Damia Space Guard on a real spaceship!
       'Have a good journey!' the tech called as he left.
       'Thank you, I will!' Damia said as she had heard Tower personnel
  do so many times.  The tech left, shaking his head at the excellent
  manners of the child.
       Quickly, Damia scampered into a personnel capsule, holding the
  door open long enough for all her feline entourage to enter.  When the
  door closed, the capsule activated.
       'Wollen Sie des Hilfr?' the computer asked politely.
       'What?' Damia had never encountered any language other than Basic.
       'How may I help you?' the computer replied, shifting languages.
       'Oh, I know what to do.' The response fell into one of many
  distressed voice ranges the computer was programmed to detect.  It set
  its System Alert flag.  Had the passenger capsule been attached to the
  composite ship, a ship-wide alarm would have been sounded.  As it was,
  the circuit was broken and would remain so until the capsule was
  connected with the ship.
       Hurry, Bill, hurry!  Ackerman called urgently.  Afra must have
  picked up a bit of spill from his message for the Capellan raised an
  eyebrow.  She's got that ship all put back together again and she's
  looking for something else to throw!
       Done!  Powers said proudly.  Beside Afra the display board
  chirped, red lights turned green.
       'The Altairian's ready, Rowan,' Afra informed her, mentally
  casting a call to the generator technicians to prepare for the load.
       He glanced at a clock; Powers had left five seconds to spare.
       'About bloody time!' the Rowan snarled.  'Wait a minute, the
  ship's not together yet!' I'm taking care of that now, Afra responded
  calmly.
       Privately, however, he was irritated that the Rowan would choose
  to misinterpret his statement.  She knew that he still had to stitch
  the ship together.  He lifted the first capsule from its cradle but
  
  paused, there was something familiar about it.
       I'll do it!  the Rowan snapped waspishly, snatching the capsule
  brutally from his mental 'hands' 'Bumpy ride, Captain,' Ackerman warned
  on his comm link.
       All three capsules were slapped on the stern of the Altairian
  freighter at once by the Rowan in her temper.
       'Ready for boost,' the Rowan announced.
       'Red light!  Red light!' the captain shouted over his comm link.
       But it was too late, the generators rose to a shriek and suddenly
  Afra!
       A terrified voice cried from the void.
       Damia!  Afra's response was immediate, with a speed he had never
  needed before, he lurched for the fleeting child, twisting the Rowan's
  thrust and snatching Damia from the pod.
       'Emergency!' Ackerman snapped.  'Kill the generators!' Get that
  ship back!  the Rowan cried, flailing to maintain her grasp on the
  massive freighter.
       Afra!  Damia wailed.
       I'm here!  Afra called.  Come here, baby.  And there she was,
  falling into his arms.  He grabbed her, clutched her fiercely.
       'Afra!' Ackerman shouted, pointing to the Rowan.  The Rowan was
  slumped, knuckles white as she strained by sheer power of will to hold
  the hurtling ship.  With a cry of fear, Afra launched every ounce of
  his mental powers to one mind: Jeff, help!
       And then he was there, a reassuring presence surrounding them all,
  body almost visible in the room.
       Damia's safe!  Help the Rowan!  Afra cried, sagging to the floor,
  his arms lapping Damia's fright-stiffened body.
       I'm here, luv.  Let me in to help!  Jeff called from across the
  void to Earth.
       Ackerman watched amazed as near visible forces flickered through
  the Rowan and once again she and Jeff Raven joined souls.
       'Gods above!' a voice crackled hoarsely through the comm link.
       'In-again-out-again-gone-again Finnegan!  What did you do with
  us?' Ackerman looked out above the Tower and saw the Altairian hovering
  in view.  He let out a deep ragged sigh.
       'All I can say is that I'm glad it worked out all right,' Captain
  Leonhard of the Altairian freighter said as the situation was explained
  to him.  'As far as my passengers know, we had a shipboard
  malfunction.' 'You're very kind, Captain,' Jeff Raven replied with
  sincere gratitude.  They were in a shielded conference room in the
  bowels of Callisto Tower.  Ackerman and Afra were also seated around
  the table.  The Rowan and Damia were at home, both recovering from the
  traumatic incident.
       'However, it worries me some - what would have happened if your
  wife had not kept "touch" with my ship?' Jeff?  The touch of his
  mother's mind distracted him as he prepared an answer.
       'Excuse me,' Jeff told the captain, closing his eyes to indicate
  that he was 'pathing to someone.  I gather you heard it, too?
       The whole galaxy heard that shriek.  What happened?  Isthia asked
  as calm as ever.  Jeff sketched her the complete details quickly.  Afra
  pulled her off the ship?  Isthia exclaimed as Jeff finished.
       What surprised me most was that he could!  I don't know whether or
  not it's good that she obeyed our injunction that she doesn't bother
  her mother in the Tower.  This was the moment she should have.
       A two year-old child, even your Damia, would not understand such
  distinctions, Isthia replied in a sad tone, then she continued more
  briskly.  What is surprising is how Afra got all that power to make the
  save.  You say he nearly knocked the ship out of Rowan's hands?
       it Jeff Raven frowned.  I hadn't thought of that.  He brushed
  
  frathers.  He wants to know what would have happened f the Rowan had
  lost her grasp on his ship.
       What will you tell him?
       The truth, of course, Jeff responded promptly.
       That his ship would have been lost in limbo for all time?  I don't
  think that's something you want known.
       No, it's not, Jeff said grimly.  I'll tell him that we would have
  gone looking for him instantly.
       That's clever and very true!  His mother's tone became thoughtful.
       Should I come?  Angharad seems unusually distraught, not that I
  don't think I'd be in a similar situation.  I'm forever thankful I had
  a planet on which to raise you lot.
       This pregnancy has got her down, Jeff said, allowing his mother to
  see the anxiety he took great pains to hide from everyone else.  But
  not quite as much as Damia appealing to Afra in extremis .
       That's not quite it, I think, Isthia remarked in an enigmatic
  fashion that Jeff did not have time to query for, beside him, the space
  captain coughed politely.  We'll take this up later.  The frathers are
  hackling.
       Well, don't you get upset, dear, Isthia said in farewell.
       'Staff interruption,' Jeff remarked by way of apology to the
  waiting captain.  'As to your question: why we'd initiate a search
  immediately.
       The captain heaved a sigh of relief.  'That's good to know.' 'And
  remember that we've never lost a ship,' Ackerman added jovially.  'You
  can't say that about the old reaction drive days when I dunno how many
  ships went missing.
       Never heard from again.' 'No,' the captain responded, shaking his
  head, and glad he lived when ships could expect safe transfer, 'I
  suppose you can t.' He rose.  'I've taken up too much of your valuable
  time.' He nodded at Raven and the others.  'I don't like interrupting a
  Tower's busy schedule longer than necessary but I had to clarify the
  problem in my own mind.  The passengers, you know, will need
  reassurance.' 'Of course they will,' said Jeff, rising to grip the
  captain 5
       hand firmly, 'and please convey the Tower's apologies for that
  minor glitch.
       'Minor?' Ackerman muttered under his breath as the door closed
  behind the captain.  'Minor?  With one generator seized up and cargo to
  be cleared up all over the place?' 'Be grateful the damage can be
  cleared up, Brian,' was Jeff's last comment on the incident.
       Pleading extreme exhaustion, Afra took the rest of the day off.
       The curious chittering of Coonies greeted him as he entered his
  quarters.  He smiled wanly at the anxious expressions on their masked
  faces as they pressed in on him.
       Had Damia sent them to him?  No matter, he appreciated their
  company which, since Damia had monopolized them as playmates, he had
  little of.
       But he didn't have the energy to respond to their overtures and
  dropped down on to the wide couch to stare unseeing at the fireplace.
       He was exhausted, but that was not why he needed time off.  You
  could have killed her!
       He shouted at himself in white hot rage.  Do you realize the awful
  risk you took, grabbing at her?  And grabbing at a child instead of the
  ship which was equally at risk?
       The door chimed.  'Come in, Jeff,' Afra called, knowing beyond
  prescience whose hand was on the buzzer.
       Jeff Raven, slightly haggard underneath his outward diffidence,
  entered Afra's apartment airily, noted the collection of Coonies and,
  receiving a gesture from the Capellan, took a seat in a chair opposite
  
  him.
       'I know why you're here,' Afra said quietly.  Without any regard
  for etiquette he summoned the nearest piece of paper to him - oddly it
  was a sheet of fine origami paper and a pen.  He scrawled a date, a
  short sentence and signed it without any change in outward temperament.
       'Here.' Jeff raised an eyebrow, examined the message, balled the
  paper up and threw it across the room.  The Coonies took it as a toy
  and commenced to dribble it about the apartment.
       'I've had enough guff from a distraught wife and hysterical
  daughter.  I'm not about to tolerate nonsense from you, too, Afra.'
  'But I broke the most important law of Tower protocol - I interrupted a
  thrust and nearly caused the loss of a passenger ship.' Jeff stopped
  him with a look.  'Saving my daughter in the process.' 'But what if you
  hadn't been able to retrieve the Altairian .  . .' Afra persisted.
       'We did but if you hadn't hauled Damia, she would have been very
  dead.' Jeff shuddered uncontrollably at that thought and saw that Afra
  had blanched to a grey.
       'If I hadn't encouraged her to use the Coonies and Rascal as
  playmates, she wouldn't have taken to wandering about 'So it's the
  Coonies' fault, too?' Jeff asked amused.
       'No, I'm at fault,' Afra said, unwilling to unload responsibility.
       'Oh?  And you led her to believe that the passenger capsule was a
  good place to play with the Coonies?  C'mon, Afra, let's permit a
  little common sense to infiltrate the breast beating.' 'No matter,' and
  Afra dismissed his arguments with a chop of one hand, 'the fact is that
  I broke the gestalt with the Rowan - I could have killed her and still
  not saved Damia!' Afra's control broke with those last words, his voice
  rising in self-contempt and loathing.
       Jeff waited for the yellow-eyed Capellan to collect himself.
       'Have you thought to wonder where you got the strength to do what
  you did?' 'Where?  What-?' Afra broke off, his eyes widening in
  surprise.
       He looked to Jeff who nodded in slow affirmation.
       'Consider what would have happened if Damia had tried the jump
  blind without your aid.' Afra did and his skin blanched pure white.
       'I came here to thank you for saving my daughter's life,' Jeff
  said slowly, 'even if you had to get a two year old to help you save
  herself.  And those bloody Coonies.' He paused, watching those same
  animals playing soccer with crumpled paper.  He let out the rest of his
  held-in anger.  'I most certainly did not come here to listen to silly
  twaddle about who's guilty for what and who's responsible for
  everything else in this system!' He launched himself out of his chair
  suddenly, clasping Afra tightly by the shoulder, shaking him firmly in
  emphasis.
       'You're family, man, right or wrong, up or down, in or out.  Get
  it?  Now, what have you got to drink?  I'm parched,' Jeff grinned at
  him.  'All that fast talking with Captain Leonhard.' Afra instantly
  rose.  'I could make some tea or coffee?' Jeff cleared his throat
  noisily.  'Surely you've something stronger, Afra?  Or maybe I should
  start sending you a case or two the way Reidinger did for Brian.
       Though I've known a time or two when there's been some pretty good
  rotgut available on this station.
       From the kitchen, Afra produced a clear bottle containing a clear
  liquid.
       'I use it for colds.  It's effective.
       'Well, I felt damned near frozen today for a few seconds there,'
  Jeff remarked.  He downed half a glass and his eyes bulged.  'First
  class,' he managed to say on a forcefully expelled breath.  He waggled
  the bottle at Afra.  'You need some, too.
       'No,' and Afra shook his head, making a cup of a soporific tea
  
  that had often soothed jangled nerves.  The rotgut was too much of a
  stimulant in his present condition.
       They arranged themselves in the high chairs surrounding the
  bar-height kitchen table.
       'Have you eaten?' Afra asked as his manners continued to surface
  out of the reaction to the day's trials.
       'No, have you?' Afra had to think for some moments before shaking
  his head.
       'Let me,' Jeff offered, noting the other's exhaustion and added
  with a grin, 'I'm not a bad cook!' 'Chinese doesn't take much time,'
  Afra suggested.
       'Rowan got you on that cuisine, too, huh?' Jeff said.
       Then he shook his head.  'Actually, I think I'll have dinner sent
  up, if you don't mind.' Afra looked puzzled.  'Luciano has obliged me
  on several occasions.' 'He has?' Afra was surprised.  'Though I wonder
  about rich food on my stomach - it hasn't settled yet ---' 'I'll
  advise Luciano to prepare something restorative for nerve and mind.'
  Jeff sent a quick mental cast to Gollee Gren back on Earth, who had the
  good sense to swallow his curiosity and promised to expedite the
  request.
       'While we're waiting,' Jeff continued, 'we can talk about our
  problem child.' 'She didn't mean t(H' Jeff raised a hand.  'I know
  that.' He sighed, an admiring look on his face.  'She's very much like
  her mother, you know.' 'But different.
       'The Rowan can't handle her,' Jeff remarked almost rhetorically.
       'Nor can Tanya.' 'Are you suggesting some hypnotics?' Afra
  wondered.
       They had used only the most subtle hypnotic suggestions to keep
  Damia from becoming completely unmanageable.
       Afra had instigated the first.  This successful implant had been
  followed, always with Jeff Raven's full knowledge and approval, by
  others, but only after certain restrictions became necessary.  As today
  had proved, Damia appeared to be one jump ahead of everyone's estimate
  of her capabilities.  She was also growing increasingly resistant to
  the more 'delicate' suggestions and, with the Rowan firmly opposed to
  'tinkering' with her children, stronger impositions would be
  noticeable.
       Jeff sensed Afra's uneasiness and shook his head firmly.
       'No, I don't think hypnotics are the solution.' Jeff?  Isthia
  Raven's 'voice' distracted him.
       'Mother, I'm here with Afra,' Jeff responded, speaking aloud for
  Afra's benefit and echoing telepathically Hello, Afra.  Isthia
  responded, widening her telepathic 'voice' to include him.  Are you
  recovering from that remarkable rescue?
       Somewhat, Afra replied.  He had long since given up at pretence
  when dealing with the Raven matriarch.
       Except that he's torturing himself with guilt in the process, Jeff
  added.
       Tut!  Isthia chided.  Guilt's for small souls, Afra.  Your
  immediate response was nothing short of heroic and I won't allow you to
  escape that designation.  I'm sure Jeff agrees.
       Oh, I do, but he won't.  He's threatened to resign.
       Nonsense!
       You are not Tower, Isthia Raven, Afra replied, rousing from his
  lethargy.  You cannot be expected to know that I broke one of the
  strongest rules of Tower procedure Saving a child?  Priorities always
  supersede mere procedure.
       There was such a trenchant criticism in her retort for bureaucracy
  that Afra had to grin.  At least you heard the child.
       Damia did not call the Rowan, Afra replied glumly.
  
       And how is Angharad?  As if in answer to Isthia's question, the
  station's generators screamed to full power, crescendoed, then rose
  again to another crescendo and another as cargoes were hurled
  rapid-fire to their destinations.
       I'd say she's decided to work off fright and anger constructively,
  Jeff responded mildly.  He winced at the shriek of the generators as
  they hit launch peak.  Fortunately Ackerman's giving her cargo.  At
  that, some of the fragile goods are going to be worthless.
       Oh dear!  Isthia's response included a soft caress of
  understanding.  What do you plan to do?
       Afra and I were just discussing that, Jeff replied.  We've ruled
  out more hypnotics.
       Good.  I doubt they'll work, the child's too quick.  Across the
  light-years, Isthia frowned.  What alternatives have you considered?
       None, yet, Jeff replied.  We were going to try the full stomach
  method of meditation.  Then I'll have to see what the Rowan wants.
       She may not want me, after this, Afra said dispiritedly.
       Stop it, Afra Lyon!  Isthia shot back hotly.  Mind you, not even
  Angharad will tolerate your wallowing in such a slough of
  self-recrimination.  Isthia paused briefly.  Well, now, maybe a good
  yell will shock you back into appropriate manners, you Methody
  Capellans being so fierce about proper conduct.  But then, Angharad's
  not likely to consider protocol more important than her daughter's
  life.
       Afra was dumbfounded.  But I nearly lost that Altairian freighter.
       If Jeff hadn't.  Lord above!  He's really into this guilt trip,
  isn't he?  Jeff Raven demanded rhetorically.  If it would make you feel
  any better, I'm perfectly willing, as head of FT&T, to dock your annual
  salary for whatever amount you feel will compensate us for your
  interference with the conduct of traffic on this route.
       But, as Earth Prime, I'm obliged to point out to you, Afra Lyon,
  that it's highly unlikely that Angharad Gwyn-Raven will accept your
  resignation.  Jeff paused to regard Afra's unyielding expression and
  sighed in exasperation.
       Isthia sighed, like an echo of her son.  I'd thought that years of
  exposure to Reidinger and Angharad would have eroded your Methody
  upbringing.  What is it offenders have to wear on Capella?  Sackcloth
  and ashes.
       Afra shook his head, then propping it into his hands, made a
  deliberate effort to break out of the fugue which tormented him.
       Of course, actually, as Earth Prime, I'm not supposed to interfere
  with local Tower discipline so I won't.
       That is, said Isthia, no further than you've already done.
       Listen to the generators, Afra, and Jeff grinned.  She's working
  it all out of her system.  Maybe you should, too.  No?
       I guess that's only sensible.  You're shagged.
       Afra, dear, Isthia put in, I love you incredibly but you really
  must pull out of this negativity.  It simply doesn't suit you.
       Then she grew thoughtful and added, No, you're fighting something.
       . . resisting with every ounce of your mind.  That's why you're
  displaying so much negative emotion, isn't it?
       Afra blinked.  He had not actually been indulging in self-pity, or
  - the notion amused him - wearing mental sackcloth and ashes.  In fact,
  he wondered that Jeff had not perceived what did, terribly, worry him.
       Now that he had shown Damia how to use her innate telekinesis, he
  had opened an avenue of escape for her that would lead to far worse
  expeditions than today's.  He'd already done the Gwyn-Ravens
  irreparable harm with that in utero link between Jeran and Cera: the
  link which caused that pair to so isolate themselves from Damia that
  she was excluded from any natural relationships with them, an outcast
  
  within the family unit that should have sustained her.  She was also
  the youngest of the pre-school children but so much more advanced than
  the nearest child in age that she had no suitable playmates.  If there
  had been even one station child who'd been compatible, he knew that
  Damia would have been content and certainly less trouble-prone.  Afra
  groaned, shaking his head in his hands.
       What is it?  Jeff asked.
       The Rowan will not like it, Afra responded obliquely.
       His shielding was sufficient to keep long-eared Isthia from
  penetrating his tired mind.  Or perhaps she had arrived at a similar
  conclusion.
       Aha!  she cried triumphantly.
       I know that sort of an 'aha' from you, Mother and it means trouble
  for someone, Jeff said with a groan not unlike Afra's.
       Wearily Afra explained.  I was thinking that most of Damia's
  problems would be solved if she had other Talented children nearer her
  age and accomplishment.  She is the youngest in daycare by over a year.
       If she had a human playmate her own age - I don't want her down on
  Earth, Jeff began, and the only place where there' re more is-.  He
  stopped short and regarded Afra solemnly.  You're right, the Rowan
  won't like it.  Not at all.
       But she must see the sense of it, Jeff, Isthia said.  This isn't
  the first time Damia has instinctively appealed to Afra as a source of
  reassurance and assistance.  He can't be bailing her out of every
  little scrape.  Or if he does- Isthia kindly left the thought unspoken
  but Afra could still see the Rowan's desperate lunge to grip the
  Altairian freighter and could imagine what would have happened had not
  Jeff Raven been there to help her prevent the freighter from plunging
  into the void unguided.
       'How do you feel about this, Afra?' Jeff asked the tall Capellan
  softly.
       Afra's response was a long time coming.  'It is not what I feel
  that matters, Jeff.  It is what is best for Damia.' 'It'll be hard on
  all of us,' Jeff said in response to Afra's unspoken plaint.  Mother,
  not a word of this to anyone!
       Particularly not within Angharad's hearing.  Thank goodness she's
  involved in slinging cargo about the galaxy, Isthia replied.  There are
  quite a few Talented children nearby.  And a shower of second and third
  cousins who could be .  -- if anyone bothered to show them a thing or
  two.  I'll see what can be contrived here on Deneb.  Especially if
  Damia's just become kinetically active.  More to Afra than to Jeff, she
  added, I promise that I will help this difficult grandchild of mine
  whom you find so adorable.
       With strong and sensitive fingers, Jeff massaged deep into the
  Rowan's neck, kneading out the worst of the knots in her tense muscles
  late that night.
       'If it hadn't been for Afra!' she exclaimed.  'Oh!  That's it,
  right there!' She swivelled her neck to aid his efforts.
       'Ah.' She pulled away from his grasp, taking his hands in hers and
  gently squeezing them.  'Oh, thank you!  That's much better.
       'Anything to oblige,' Jeff replied with a slight bow as he sat on
  the edge of the bed.  The Rowan was below him on the floor, tucked
  between his legs.  She jumped up, brushed his forehead with a kiss,
  then dragged him up as well.
       Jeff responded with a firm hug and a tender expression.
       The Rowan stopped him with a stern expression and a finger on his
  lips.
       To his puzzled expression she said: 'Let's talk in the kitchen.'
  She turned and, fingers twined with his, dragged him after her by the
  hand.
  
       The kitchen presented two good places to sit: the barstools and
  counter near the stove and the larger circular table where they usually
  ate (or tried to) breakfast with the kids.  Jeff raised an eyebrow
  enquiringly at his love but she resisted his gentle probe until she
  dropped into one of the seats surrounding the kitchen table.
       'Jeff, I'm scared,' the Rowan began.  'If it hadn't been for Afra,
  we might have lost Damia completely.' 'The ship was going to Altair,
  luv, not the Horsehead Nebula,' Jeff chided her gently.  'They would
  have brought her back.' 'What if she had panicked?' The Rowan wrung her
  hands together.  'What if Afra hadn't been there?  Hadn't handled her
  kinetic thrust?  She could have been lost for ever.' She flung out her
  hands despairingly.
       Jeff captured one in both of his, stroking her palm gently with
  his fingers.  He smiled up at her.  'But she wasn't, luv Afra caught
  her.' Her answer came in a sob.  'He did, didn't he?  Why didn't she
  call me?' Her eyes watered.  'Oh, Jeff, am I such a terrible mother?'
  'No!' Jeff's answer was emphatic, firm.
       'Then why didn't she call to me?' the Rowan cried.  She pulled her
  hand out of his.
       'You were too intent, Rowan.  You had a freighter to 'port-' 'So
  did Afra!' she broke in.  'He had that load too!  But she called to
  him, not me!' Again she pulled her hand free to wave it over her head
  in more wild gesturing.
       'Rowan, love, who knows what goes on in the mind of a two-year-old
  child - especially Damia's.' 'She's almost three!' the Rowan corrected
  him almost absently.
       Jeff shook his head.  'No matter, she reacted out of panic, called
  to the first person to come to her mind.  At least, she's learned not
  to bother you when you're working.' 'You see, I am a terrible mother!'
  she wailed.
       Jeff let out a hot hiss of breath and turned away, angry with the
  Rowan for her futile outburst of self-contempt.
       'Well, it's certain that you're not doing your new son much good,
  getting yourself all rolled up like this,' he remarked when he had
  schooled his emotions.  'Damia's a spirited child which makes her a
  handful.' He grinned, flicking a finger accusingly in her direction.
       'If I recall correctly, you were just about the same age when you
  startled a whole planet which is much more than your daughter's done.
       The Rowan blinked and managed a small chagrined smile.  'Our
  situations were somewhat different but I take the point.' Then she
  sighed in despair.  'Only I have no trouble coping with Jeran and Cera
  'Who are even-tempered to the point of being phlegmatic and totally
  engrossed in their small selves to the exclusion, I might add, of their
  younger sister.  Damia, on the other hand, requires the same delicate
  understanding you received from Lusena.  But we don't have a Lusena
  here, who can devote every waking hour to the care and companionship of
  our Damia.  Who is, it has been pointed out to me, very much like her
  mother.  Opposites attract, luv, and alikes set sparks.  And, in
  turning to Afra in time of crisis, Damia's only following her mother's
  good example, isn't she?' He waggled his finger at her.  'Imitation is
  the sincerest form of flattery.
       Rowan drew breath to contradict, then let it out in a long
  defeated sigh.  Their eyes locked and a long silence ensued.  'If it
  happened-' she began.
       'It'll happen again,' Jeff finished, nodding.  'We may not be so
  lucky the next time.
       'What can we do?' Jeff was a long time forming an answer and, when
  he did, his voice was rueful.  'For all my fingers in Talent pies, I
  haven't been able to find a T-6 nanny.  And I've offered all kinds of
  enticements.' 'You didn't tell me Jeff rolled his eyes at her
  
  vehemence.  'We'd need someone anyway with the new one on the way.  And
  come on, luv, after today, you wouldn't have complained if I had found
  someone suitable.' He exhaled and made a less palatable suggestion.
       'We could try hypnotic'No!' the Rowan's response was emphatic.  'I
  will not have my children tampered with!' Jeff continued down the list
  of possibilities.  'What about a pukha?' 'Damia has not been orphaned .
       .
       'She has been through a rather traumatic experience 'She doesn't
  need a pukha.  She's got a mother and a father .  . -' 'Remotes, then?
       There're some excellent robotic-' 'A robot minding Damia?' Rowan
  was horrified.  'A thing with no sensitivity Why even a pukha would be
  preferable!' "Bots can't be distracted from the job they're programmed
  for.  Then Jeff shrugged that notion aside before the Rowan gathered
  her contradiction.  'I admit the notion doesn't appeal to me but-'
  'Hideous notion!' 'There is one possible alternative,' Jeff began,
  careful to sound tentative.
       'What?' 'It worked with me, Jeff began, judiciously choosing his
  words, 'though even a whole planet might not be large enough.  We could
  ask Mother to take all three of them.
       At least until you've delivered this child.' 'What?  Admit to all
  Deneb and the Nine Star League that I can't look after my own
  children?' 'No, admit to the Nine Star League that you are having a bad
  pregnancy, yet you honour your commitment as Prime.  But, because your
  children are special, you are willing to sacrifice your daily contact
  with them to ensure that they grow up as happily as possible,' Jeff
  corrected her.  'Besides,' he continued on a fresh breath, 'what do you
  care for the opinion of others as long as the children are happy?' 'But
  your mother can't possibly-' 'It's not just mother who'd be involved
  but my brothers, sisters, cousins and nieces,' Jeff corrected.  'They'd
  all be ecstatic.  It'd be a good thing for Deneb.  You know how many
  undeveloped Talents you found in the city.  Even young as our kids are,
  they've had more training than anyone there.  Deneb's been reorganizing
  - give the planet examples of Talented children to stimulate interest
  in that natural resource.  And,' Jeff added, reaching over to pat her
  belly lovingly, 'you'll be able to concentrate on him wholeheartedly.'
  'Maybe if I hadn't-' 'You got pregnant for Damia, if you recall,' Jeff
  gently reminded her.  'Mother would be over the moon.  And Ian's a good
  lad: he'd certainly be happy to have nephews and nieces to play with!'
  The Rowan had to smile at the incongruity of a seven year-old uncle.
       Ian was the last born of Isthia Raven and the first baby the Rowan
  had had a chance to handle.  She could in fact visualize him as a good
  companion for six-year-old Jeran who was much too preoccupied with a
  sister fifteen months his junior.
       'Jeran could do with an older brother and I'm sure Ian would be
  glad to oblige,' Jeff remarked, neatly accessing the Rowan's thoughts.
       'Jeff-' the Rowan began in preparation for a protest.
       He raised a hand to forestall her then placed it over hers.
       'Sleep on it, love.' Gently he led her from the kitchen to their
  bedroom.
       In bed, the Rowan rolled over.  'Jeff?' 'Mmm?' 'Don't mention this
  to Afra, just yet.' 'Of course not, not until you've made up your
  mind,' Jeff responded ingenuously.
       As the week progressed and the ripples from Damia's 'accident'
  spread throughout the Nine Star League, with shipments late or lost,
  the Rowan found it increasingly harder to resist the suggestion.
       'It's just that it's so unnatural!' the Rowan railed late one
  night to her husband.  Eyes tear-rimmed, she turned to him.  'Why can't
  I look after my own daughter?' Jeff patted her soothingly.  'Hush, luv,
  you could, if you'd nothing else to do with your time.  But look at the
  demands on you.  Three highly Talented children, another on the way,
  
  long hours in an FT&T Tower.' 'But I don't want to be like Siglen Jeff
  regarded her with astonishment, then laughed, rocking her in his arms.
       'Luv, you're no more like Siglen than .  . . than Brian Ackerman's
  a Reidinger clone.  Sometimes, when I think how that woman repressed
  you, babied you, gifted you with a load of rubbishy phobias, I wonder
  you've turned out as well as you have,' Jeff exclaimed.  He cradled her
  possessively.
       'You've chosen not to repress or overprotect your children and
  they're really rather marvellous.  It's just that,' he added ruefully,
  'a young Gwyn-Raven marvel is a handful for anyone!' The Rowan sighed
  in agreement.
       'And you've three handfuls with a fourth on the way.' Jeff moved a
  hand to rub her belly soothingly.  'And then there's this disturbing
  report from Elizara.' 'Hmm?' The Rowan stirred uneasily at the change
  of topic.  'Oh?  That, well, yes, she mentioned something about
  anomalies in my latest lab results.' 'Oh?' '7' The Rowan dismissed
  them.  'Elizara said she'd come back to me.  It does happen.
       'I'd really rather know a.s.a.p' Jeff said with gentle insistence.
       'I can't think why,' and he grinned, 'but you're very important to
  me.' He draped an arm about her shoulders and peered down at her
  half-hidden face.
       She gave him a long, enigmatic look out of the corner of her eye.
       'I could .  . .' she hesitated, 'take a leave of absence from the
  station!' Before he recovered from his surprise, she added, 'Afra could
  take over with you to give him a hand with the live and heavy stuff.'
  The suggestion bowled Jeff over.  Sympathetically he drew her against
  him as he mulled it over, digesting the notion - and also the Rowan's
  reason for making such a drastic proposal.  He knew how important the
  Callisto post was to her.  And, in the normal way of things, she ran it
  faultlessly.  He'd seen Reidinger's private notes about her management.
       The Altairian freighter episode was unique in every way.  He could
  feel through her that he had delayed an answer long enough to cause her
  to fret.
       'You could.  You're entitled to leave,' and he stroked her hair,
  grinning.  'None of us Primes take even a quarter of the leave we're
  allowed.  I could transfer Saggoner and Torshan here .  . . And, with
  the index finger of his free hand, he prodded the bedspread, miming the
  moves he would have to make.  Then he frowned.  'Of course, they've
  become indispensable to Altair and that system hasn't got DEW yet .
       Gollee could be spared to assist Afra here .  . .' His voice
  dropped out while he considered the ramifications.  Then he made
  eye-contact with the Rowan and tightened his arm about her.  'There's
  another possible solution.  Mother!' The Rowan poked at him in disgust,
  physically and mentally because he was concealing something.  'Your
  mother can't run a Tower.' 'No,' and Jeff's grin was wide if the sense
  of him was tentative, almost wary, 'but she sure raises kids well.'
  'After all she's had to raise?  You'd saddle her with Damia ?' 'And
  Jeran and Cera,' and Jeff was dead serious now.  'If Damia has learned
  to 'port, that pair are too competitive not to mimic the kid sister's
  trick.' The Rowan's expression mirrored the fearful tension Jeff could
  feel in mind and body.  'We're so far from Deneb -' the Rowan began
  defensively.  Abruptly she gave him a sharp poke in the diaphragm that
  made him grunt: her look altered as she jabbed him again, harder.
       'You devious unrepentant dark!  That was all pretence about
  shifting T-ratings.  You had this in mind all along!
       You're no better than Reidinger now you're Earth Prime.
       The Callisto Station runs best through me.  . . even when I'm
  spewing my guts with morning sickness.' Jeff coughed delicately.
       'Actually, the highest efficiencies and throughput were achieved
  when I was Prime.' The Rowan glared at him, words unneeded.  Jeff
  
  shrugged.
       'Well, you could run Earth!' 'Jeff!' she growled, launching
  herself on top of him.  The Rowan broke off the ensuing play fight with
  a groan.  She pushed herself away from him.
       'Are you OK?' Jeff asked solicitously for her complexion had
  turned an odd grey.
       The Rowan nodded raggedly.  'Uh, our little one decided to join in
  the fun.' 'I'm calling Elizara,' Jeff said in tones that brooked no
  argument.  'And the children are going to Deneb.' When the Rowan
  started to protest, he held up a hand.
       'This pregnancy is not proceeding normally and I won't risk losing
  you.' Elizara arrived so promptly that, despite the Rowan's
  protestations that Jeff was being overprotective, she was alarmed.
       Elizara immediately reassured both parents that the child was not
  under any stress.
       'You are,' she said, pointing an accusing finger at the Rowan.
       'I've checked, and double checked, the lab reports of your latest
  tests.  You have developed what's known as gestational diabetes,
  Rowan.' 'Diabetes?' Jeff sat down heavily on the bed beside his wife,
  drawing her into his arms as if his protection would mitigate the
  illness.
       'It's not uncommon in pregnancies, though it usually manifests
  itself in the first or second.  The condition passes when the baby is
  born.' She was readying a hypospray as she spoke.  'This injection
  should balance your glucose levels.' 'But I've always been so healthy.
       I've had three easy pregnancies ---' The Rowan was stunned.
       Elizara nodded.  'So you have.  This time you're not.  You will
  have to watch your diet and your workload.  Stress must be reduced or
  you can do yourself, and the child, serious harm.' She turned to Jeff.
       'I know that Callisto Station is a vital link in the FT&T network,
  but I have to insist that the Rowan's schedule is lightened.
       'As of right now,' Jeff said and he 'pathed through the
  restriction to Afra and Brian Ackerman.
       Elizara caught and held the Rowan's gaze.  'Right now, Rowan?' She
  nodded, no longer able to deny the consuming weariness she had
  struggled to ignore.  She lay back on the pillows and wanted to weep.
       'Oh, Jeff.  I'm so sorry.' 'Sorry?  What for?' Jeff enfolded her
  in his arms, alarmed to see tears streaming down her face.  'Not your
  fault, luv, that your body's done gone and let you down.  Mind you,
  there're not many pregnant women who could hold a megatonne freighter
  in sheer determination not to let it drop forever out of sight.  Not to
  mention all the other minor little crises you seem to deal with every
  day.
       Then, too,' and his grin turned to sheer mischief as he realized
  that sympathy was not helping, 'if you'd allowed me to produce this
  embryo in the time-honoured fashion He cocked his head, hoping that
  he'd taken just the right teasing note with her.
       She stopped crying and glared at him.  'You can't blame the whole
  thing on me!  Sperm's sperm no matter how I acquired it.' Then she
  caught his expression and began to giggle.  'Oh, all right.  I did do
  this on my own and I'm paying for it!  And it is my fault.  But you
  wouldn't help me.  Damia is such a caring child.  Look how she treats
  Rascal and the Coonies 'Paints them pretty colours 'But she cleaned
  them up.  She just wants what Jeran and Cera already have: a sibling to
  care for and play with.' 'And you're having your own way, and now we'll
  take over,' he said, squeezing her affectionately and rubbing his cheek
  against hers.  'But we'll get you sorted out.  We'll make sure that you
  get lots of rest, all the best exercise, he sniggered suggestively,
  'and no hassles.' 'The children?' she asked almost fearfully, though
  she 'felt' that he had also taken that decision from her.
  
       'Are going to Deneb.  I've already talked with Mother and she's
  got some ideas that ought to solve her problems and our problems.
       And,' he paused significantly, pulling back enough to catch her
  eyes with his, 'you'll agree to give yourself a long break before you
  ask me politely and in the normal fashion - for another baby.' He eyed
  her sternly 'Oh, I will!' the Rowan replied, earnestly wide-eyed.  'I
  will!
       Afra caught up with Jeff Raven.  Brian Ackerman was right behind
  him.  'She will be all right, won't she?' 'Elizara told you
  everything?' Jeff asked, allowing Afra to 'see' the concern he had kept
  from the Rowan.  'She must keep her metabolism balanced.  Elizara had a
  private word with me before she went back to her clinic.
       Rowan did not wait long enough between pregnancies to get her
  metabolism back to normal.  If we keep her occupied with a decent
  workload, less than she does normally but enough to keep her pride
  intact, and if we keep her emotions in check - you know better than I,
  perhaps, how unstable her emotions have been in this pregnancy ' He
  grinned as Afra rolled his eyes expressively and Brian exhaled a long
  and hard-used sigh.
       -- then she should be fine.' 'What'll happen next time?' Ackerman
  asked sceptically.
       Jeff nodded.  'Elizara has hopes.  Nothing can be done now but
  afterwards there are treatments which can prevent a recurrence.'
  Ackerman looked dubious.  'I thought that another pregnancy would
  always cause permanent diabetes.' 'Used to,' Jeff said.  'But Elizara
  assures me that this is no longer so.  He regarded them thoughtfully.
       'The children are going to Deneb.  We'll have to do that quickly.'
  He looked directly at Afra.
       'If it's to be done, 'were better swiftly done,' Afra said,
  agreeing and forcing a grin from Jeff at the misquotation.
       'Today.  Brian and I can organize transport.' 'Sure, sure thing,'
  Brian answered, wondering why he was being seconded to an unenviable
  chore, but Afra would have his own reasons.
       'I'm not sure what tack to take in breaking the news to Damia,'
  Jeff said, twisting his mouth in dismay.  'The poor little thing's been
  so subdued lately.' 'I'd be surprised if she wasn't,' Afra said.  'How
  did you get the Rowan to capitulate the children away?' 'That freighter
  debacle helped almost as much as realizing she's risking the baby if
  she doesn't take care,' Jeff said.  'I just don't want Damia connecting
  her disobedience with her summary exile.' 'Why will she?  If Jeran and
  Cera are to go with her,' Afra asked.  'Emphasize that the Rowan's sick
  - which Damia certainly senses already.  Jeran and Cera probably do,
  too.
       They may be self-involved but they're not insensitive to their
  surroundings.
       'No, they're not.' In fact, Tanya had told Jeff how agitated the
  pair had been following the freighter episode.
       And they had known that Damia had been in trouble.
       They'd even spontaneously involved her in more than one game in
  daycare.  'When?' Jeff asked, his decision made.
       'Today,' Afra responded immediately.
       'Isn't that precipitous?' Jeff worried about the Rowan 5
       reaction to what seemed, even to him, like an almost indecent
  haste.
       'Your mother is ready and waiting,' Afra added, giving Raven the
  distinct impression that Afra had been in private collusion with her.
       Jeff Raven sighed, nodding and thinking of all the matters
  awaiting his attention back on Earth.  'Very well.
       Let's do it today then.' Damia had practised very hard at being
  good for two whole days.  Tanya collected her in the morning because
  
  Damia already knew that Mother was very tired and was resting all day
  in bed.  Damia wondered if something was wrong with the Tower.  Mother
  never stayed away from there for very long.  So, because Daddy had said
  that Damia must be quiet, she expanded that request to include her
  hours at the daycare.  Occasionally she would glance around to be sure
  that Tanya noticed how well she was behaving.
       She had not meant to cause trouble; she had just got frightened
  when the ship lurched so suddenly.  Her voyages had always gone
  smoothly.  Then she had 'felt' her mother involved in the lurching and
  she became afraid that Mommy was mad at her.  So, she'd had to call
  Afra for help.  She was sure that he would explain to Mommy and then
  everything would be all right.
       But everything was still not right; Damia suppressed a momentary
  surge of anger at Afra for not making everything better.
       Damia?  Someone 'called' to her.  Afra!  It was Afra!
       She turned around.  'Afra!' she called aloud, rising to run over
  to him.  She knew she was supposed not to 'call' rather than speak but
  she could not help a little hopeful echo.  Afra?
       Afra squatted down and hugged the small child.
       'You've come to play with me because I've been very good and
  quiet,' she cried in happy expectation.  She gave him a coy, beguiling
  look, blue eyes peering up through jet black hair, trying to think
  which game she could involve Afra in.
       'Tanya said you have indeed been quiet and well mannered,' Afra
  replied.  'So if we can play something while I talk with you Happily
  Damia led him over to her corner, a small hand wrapped around his big
  finger.  'We can play station,' she decided, having discarded several
  other possibilities as they walked.  'I'll be the Prime and you be my
  twic.
       'Twic?' 'Two-I-C?' Damia tried again.
       Afra chuckled.  'Second-in-command!  Certainly,' he gave her a
  mock bow from his cross-legged seat on the floor, 'your wish is my
  command.
       Damia placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head at him
  irritably.  'Afra!' 'What?' Damia waggled a finger at him.  'You know.
       Now play right.' Afra obliged, working up a manifest of cows, cats
  and clam chowder for their first load.  They did three loads before
  Afra decided that she was sufficiently relaxed.
       'Where's the next load?' Damia asked, a pout at the ready.
       'How would you like to be a load?  A proper one, just like those
  you've seen leave the station.' Damia hesitated, not sure she really
  wanted to play in the pods right now.  'You'll have a proper carisak to
  take on board for your trip.' 'Trip?' Damia was not enthusiastic but
  she knew she could trust Afra.  If he felt she should be a proper load
  'Jeran and Cera will be going too.' Damia was not happy about that.
       She'd rather do something that they didn't.  They were so mean
  about sharing with her - though they'd been much nicer the past two
  days.
       'Are you?' she asked, looking up hopefully but Afra shook his
  head.  'Then I don't want to.' 'Ah, but you see, your grandmother has
  especially invited you to come.  You'll like her.' Suddenly sensing
  that Afra was not playing the sort of game she liked, Damia threw
  herself at him, clutching his neck fiercely with her arms.  'I want
  you!' Afra gently disengaged her, his hands wrapped around her tiny
  waist, holding her from him so that he could keep eye-contact as well
  as reinforce his words through touch.  'Damia, you need to go on this
  trip,' he said in his gentlest, most persuasive tone.  'Your
  grandmother has made such special arrangements for you.' He ignored her
  pout.  'You'll have cousins your own age.  . . cousins who'll include
  you in all their games.  Indeed, knowing you, you'll probably be
  
  leader.' 'I would?' Damia was captivated by that prospect.  Being
  youngest, she wasn't allowed to lead anything here.
       'You'll have a whole planet to play on, not a bunch of domes that
  restrict you to one measly play area and dank tunnels.' 'But I like the
  tunnels 'That's only because you haven't seen the wonders of a planet
  that your Uncle Ian-' 'Uncle?' She wrinkled her nose in perplexity.
       'Your Uncle Ian.  He's seven.' 'He's not my age then.  He's older
  than Jeran.' She frowned suspiciously at him.  'Who's my age?' Afra
  laughed because he hadn't enquired about such details.  'Well, there're
  so many I quite forget who's who and how old but your grandmother will
  introduce you.
       She's waiting for you, you know, on Deneb.  Where your father
  lived as a child.' 'I'm staying here,' Damia declared stoutly, crossing
  her arms over her chest in bold emphasis.
       'Which toys do you want to bring?' Afra asked, looking around at
  the pile.
       'Why can't I stay here?' Afra considered his next argument.
       'Well, you know that your mother's not well?' When Damia nodded,
  her little face assuming a solemn expression, he went on, 'It's because
  of your brother to be.' 'I'm going to have a brother?' Damia brightened
  considerably.
       Afra nodded wisely.  'Don't tell your mother I said so, but yes.'
  'Will he play with me?' 'I imagine so,' Afra returned.  'Are you going
  to be nice to him?' Damia did not commit herself immediately.  'Will he
  play with me like Jeran plays with Cera?' 'That depends on you,' Afra
  replied, giving her a quizzical look.  'If you love him like Jeran
  loves Cera then he'll play with you the same way.
       'I'll love him!' Damia declared excitedly.  'When am I going to
  see him?' 'Well, he hasn't been born yet-' 'You mean he's in Mommy's
  belly?' Afra nodded.  'And she's got to get him out?' Afra nodded
  again.  'Is that why we're going to Gran?' Again Afra nodded.  'Then
  why didn't you say so?' Afra, who had already had experience with her
  precocity, wondered why he had tried the oblique approach with her.
       'We started to play a game of stations, remember?' he said,
  teasingly.  'Let's gather your toys.
       'Don't my cousins have toys?' 'Yes, but surely you'll want to
  share yours with them?' 'I guess so, if they're going to play with me,'
  Damia replied cheerfully.
       Damia's mood changed perceptibly when it was time to strap down in
  the personal capsule.  'I don't want to go by myself,' she cried to
  Afra.  Jeff Raven, lips drawn thin in tight control, stood close by.
       'Daddy, make Afra come with me?' 'No, honey,' Afra told her.
       'I've got to stay here with your mother.' He picked her up and set
  her beside her brother and sister, strapping her in against her
  squirming.
       'I don't want to go!' she declared.
       What about your brother?  Afra asked her privately.
       Don't want a brother!  I want you!  She shot back so strongly that
  Afra was startled by her vehemence.
       The 'noise' attracted the Rowan who 'ported in the direction of
  her daughter's 'voice' Damia?  What's wrong?  What's going on here?'
  she demanded.  Her eyes widened as she took in the tableau.
       'Jeff!  Not yet!  It's too soon!' 'Luv, you should be resting.'
  'You weren't going to let me say goodbye?' the Rowan cried.
       Jeff took her hands in his, shaking his head.  'You're not saying
  goodbye.  You're saying bon voyage.  The children will only be in
  Deneb.  You can hear them no problem.' 'Jeff!' she started, accusingly.
       She saw Afra.  'You!
       You're in it too!' 'Rowan-' Afra started, stepping towards her,
  arm outstretched beseechingly.
  
       'No!' 'Mommee!' Damia cried, struggling against her straps.
       'Oh Jeff, how could you?' the Rowan gasped.
       And then Damia disappeared out of her straps and into Afra's arms.
       The Rowan's eyes widened in shock as she saw her youngest
  disappear, then her jaw dropped as she saw where she reappeared.  She
  turned to Jeff, hurt amazement on her face.
       'She's got the hang of it, hasn't she?' Jeff told her quietly.
       'What if she were to jump into the vacuum?' The Rowan blinked,
  wetted her lips and looked back to her daughter, speechless.
       Say goodbye to your mother, Damia, Afra said on the tightest
  mental band he could exercise, and with such authority that he felt her
  objections melting in the absence of any option.  He took her to her
  parents.
       And my brother?  Damia begged in what Afra knew was a last ditch
  delaying tactic.
       Very quietly, he said, without letting up on his authority.
       Damia stretched from his arms to wrap her own around her mother's
  neck.  'I'll be good, Mommy,' she promised, planting a pair of wet lips
  firmly on her mother's cheek.
       'For my brother.' The Rowan hugged her back, suppressing the agony
  of separation.  Any weakness on her part would undo all the preparation
  Afra had managed.  'I'm only just a thought away, Damia dear.' 'Even in
  the Tower?' Damia asked anxiously.
       The Rowan closed her eyes briefly against that soft query.
       'I promise, darling, that while you're away - and, if you're a
  good girl - you can even speak to me in the Tower.' 'Oh!' Damia's voice
  was charged with relief and she smiled broadly.  'Daddy, too?' 'If you
  remember that we might be too busy to talk long,' Jeff said, holding up
  a warning finger.
       'Afra?' 'Well, minxlette, I'm not as good at long distance as your
  parents are, but I'll listen real hard.' 'I'll call real big.' Then she
  squirmed to be released from Afra's restraint.
       He sensed what she wanted to do and let her down.  She put her
  hands on her mother's abdomen and said with an amazingly narrow shaft
  of thought, I'll be the best sister anyone's ever had.  Her face
  radiated a contentment that he had never seen on her face since her
  baby days.
       To his intense surprise, Afra became aware that neither the Rowan
  nor Jeff had heard Damia's promise.  He was more relieved than ever
  that she'd be away from the hazards of a domed station.
       'Now,' he said, taking charge of matters again, 'let's just get
  you settled,' and he picked her up and started to settle her back into
  the capsule.
       'When can we go?' Jeran demanded with a flavour of impatience for
  all this delay Cera glared briefly at Damia.
       'As soon as I'm feeling better, your father and I will come visit
  . . .' the Rowan began, speaking to forestall tears, so she was
  grateful for the suggestion Afra 'pathed to her, ' .  . . and see you
  being the leader of all your new friends ' But she fully intended to
  tell him just what she thought of his part in this hasty exile of her
  children.
       'Will you visit me too, Afra?' Damia demanded.
       'Of course,' he replied, 'we're to play stations, aren't we?' As
  the capsule closed, her submission vanished.  'No!
       NO!' she shrieked, voice muffled inside the capsule.
       Damia!  Jeff had been ready for such a reverse and he clamped such
  a hold on her mind that she was rendered powerless.
       Afra!  Afra!  I want to stay!  Please?  I'll be good.
       Ready the generators, Jeff ordered the Tower personnel.
       Afra?
  
       The generators rose in pitch.
       Be good now, sweetheart!  Afra felt her fear, like an icicle
  against his heart but he firmed his mind against her plea, trying to
  deny how treacherous she must perceive him.
       Aaaffffrrra!  The squeal of the generators rose to a crescendo.
       The capsule disappeared.  The generators wound back down.
       They're here!  the distant voice of Isthia informed them calmly.
       My, can she scream!
       Afra let out a long-held breath in a ragged sigh.
       The Rowan threw herself into Jeff's arms, weeping bitterly.  'I
  feel the most complete traitor,' she cried.
       'You're not the only one,' Jeff replied, noticing the haggard look
  on Afra's face.  'But we had to.  You know that.' 'I do, but oh, Jeff!'
  Suddenly the Rowan looked up, her expression radiant, despite the tear
  stains.  'I can hear her!
       I can still hear her!' Afra turned away.  'I can't!' And he
  'ported himself back to his resoundingly lonely quarters, hearing
  Damia' s prattle echoing from every corner.
       It had taken Deneb seven years to recover from the Beetle attack.
       City was a thriving centre for the whole planet which now had two
  other metropolises: Riverside and Whitecliff.  Both were seaports
  located close to extensive mining operations on the other continents.
       Roads were still mostly the illusion of roads elsewhere in the
  Nine Star League, but sea-going vessels plied a great trade on the high
  seas and railroads connected smaller villages along the coastline to
  the larger cities.
       Deneb's Tower was located at the same site the Rowan had renovated
  so many years ago and it was near here that Isthia and the Raven clan
  had their town dwelling.
       This was built around the original smaller house that had
  partially survived the Beetle bombardment.  Wings had been added on as
  the Raven clan grew and expanded.  These now enclosed a large central
  garden, perfect for a play area.
       The dwelling was on a large parcel of land, with hills rising
  through forest to one side, farm land and barns on another two and the
  City skyline visible in the distance.
       Many lessons had been learned since the Expansion from Earth.
       Denebians, indeed all colonists, had a greater feel of husbandry
  for the land than had early Earth dwellers.
       Forests had been marked off as reserves for oxygen generation,
  mines were always tunnelled when bacteria leeching techniques were not
  viable, and, most importantly, the clean quiet flitter for medium and
  long distances had replaced noxious internal combustion-powered,
  wheeled vehicles.  Shorter trips made use of small, sturdy and
  tractable ponies who thrived on the rough grazing and wandered
  unchecked in small herds.
       Deneb, and all colony worlds, started life indebted for the large
  cost of the initial colonization of the planet.  As such, all colony
  worlds sought rapidly to provide export goods while at the same time
  limiting imports to the bare essentials.  The best export items were
  those that commanded the greatest prices for the least effort to ship.
       Rare or high quality finished goods, objects d'art, music,
  literature all fitted the category perfectly.  Knowledge and useful new
  engineering techniques, patentable to the planet of origin, were even
  more exportable but much rarer - the great engineering solution of one
  planet was often inapplicable on another.  Raw materials, valuable but
  bulky, were a poor last choice of a cash-starved colony.
       Talent, particularly those rare people who could hurl objects
  through the depths of space instantaneously, was the greatest boon to a
  colony's cash flow.  Talent was in short supply everywhere and in every
  
  kind, from the metal finder who could locate high grade ore precisely
  and perform remote assays which would cost a regular crew millions of
  credits and years of time in scant seconds, to the electronic
  specialist who could detect faults in circuitry by its 'feel' The Raven
  clan had produced a number of such Talents but, until the Penetration
  had tapped these hidden resources, such natural abilities had gone
  relatively untrained.  The Rowan had identified some useful faculties
  besides the medical Talents of Asaph and Isthia's sister, Rakella, when
  she'd had to rebuild the Tower in the days after Jeff's accident.
       Sarjie had a metal affinity which she now used in the rich
  Benevolent Mines that supplied much of Deneb's cash balance.  Morfanu
  had been struggling to manage kinetic Talent and had been tested as a
  T-3.  He now handled most of the FT&T transfers to the planet, though
  he needed assistance.
       Besseva was telepathic but her range was limited.
       Of the untrained Talent of Deneb, Isthia Raven was the strongest
  but she knew herself that she dabbled in too many things to perfect
  one.  So, to bring her grandchildren here in the safest possible
  fashion, she had assembled everyone on Deneb known to be Talented.
       She'd hovered so closely in Morfanu's mind when he 'caught' the
  capsule from Callisto, that he'd had to kick her shins to divert her.
       It took no Talent at all to hear Damia bawling or the fierce
  remonstrations of her brother and sister.
       'Why are you crying?  You're perfectly safe!  And it's your fault
  Mother and Father sent us away!' irs NOT!  IT'S NOT!  Damia was as loud
  mentally as physically.
       No, it's not, Grandson Jeran.  I, your grandmother, specifically
  invited Damia, and you and your sister, to come live with me on Deneb.
       To Isthia's relief, Damia's bowling abated.
       I had to argue long and hard with your parents to allow this
  visit.  Now, are we going to start off on the right foot by being
  pleasant, or do I send away the ponies I brought for you to ride home
  on?
       Ponies?  Damia asked, now merely sniffling.
       Ponies?  And Cera showed a glimmer of interest.  What kind of
  ponies?  The kind Damia's always playing with?  Her tone was scornful
  as well as sceptical and her sudden very private aside to her brother
  on this matter caused Isthia some concern.  That bond she and Afra had
  initiated was far stronger than she'd been given to understand.
       Why don't you all put on your best faces and party manners, and
  we'll see, shall we?  Damia?  I've told everyone about you and how
  wonderfully well-mannered you all are.  Don't disappoint me.  Isthia
  employed the same positive tone she had always found useful in dealing
  with her dozen children.
       These three, after all, were also Ravens.  Are you ready?
       She motioned for her son, Ian, to stand beside her.  He'd been
  jiggling with impatience to see his nieces and nephew.
       Being the youngest in his family, he envisioned the fun he'd i86
       have bossing someone around the way his older siblings had bossed
  him.
       The capsule split, the top rising upwards to reveal the inside.
       Isthia was relieved to see that, while not beaming, Damia was
  attempting to smile around her wide-eyed curiosity.
       'Welcome to Deneb,' Ian piped up on cue, he looked to each one in
  turn, 'Jeran, Cera, Damia.  I'm Ian, your uncle.' He did not giggle but
  his eyes were bright with suppressed laughter.  He swept an arm back to
  his mother in continuation of his carefully rehearsed greeting.  'And
  that's Morfanu who 'ported you here, and your Great Aunt Rakella, and-'
  'Ponies?' Cera said, looking accusingly at Isthia, 'you promised ponies
  'We did, didn't we?' Isthia said mildly when Ian looked at her for
  
  guidance.  He hadn't introduced half those he was supposed to.  'As
  promised, ponies,' and she nodded to Ian.
       Grinning from ear to ear because he could get to show off so soon,
  Ian 'called' the ponies from where they browsed on the grass growing
  among the cradles.  Obedient to the summons, they trotted to him while
  the children, still in the capsule, stared with wide open mouths and
  eyes at the little troop.
       Damia was out of the capsule like a shot, Jeran and Cera not a
  split second behind her.  But Damia stopped just short of the first
  pony, taking in his flaxen mane and tail which Ian had plaited that
  morning, the darker 'beer' of his hide, his dainty hooves, his bright
  black eyes, alert with interest.
       'Just hold out your hand - flat so Jupiter can't catch your
  fingers - and let him sniff you,' Ian instructed.
       'What's this one's name?' Cera asked, already holding her hand out
  to the lighter-coloured mare nearest her.
       'And this one?' Jeran asked, wanting his answer from Ian before
  Cera had hers.
       'The mare is Birdie, Cera, and, Jeran, your gelding is Cricket,'
  Ian said, genuinely enjoying his role.
       If Afra had been told about the ponies, Jeff, Isthia remarked to
  her son later that night when her grandchildren had finally been put to
  bed, there'd've been no fits on leaving.
       I forgot you still had to use those wretched beasts, Jeff said
  ruefully for he had stopped riding the moment he had learned how to
  teleport accurately.  Afra will be immensely relieved.  He was talking
  about sending out a Coonie or two to keep her from being too lonely.
       Thank you, no.  There's enough livestock to be cared for about the
  place.  As it is, it took a lot of persuasion to get Damia to sleep in
  her bed instead of out in the paddock with Jupiter.
       Jeff chuckled.  Jupiter?
       Yes, Damia was so pleased by that.  She has a remarkable
  appreciation of her environment, doesn't she?  Anyway, reassure
  Angharad that all's well.
       I will, but I may not mention that she's been displaced by
  runty-legged manure-makers.
       The Rowan knew that the children had arrived safely and were
  settling in but she'd given himself and Afra such a bollocking for the
  way they had practically abducted her children that he decided not to
  risk another storm.
       She was resting now, more deeply than she had in many months.
       That was something he wouldn't mention though he was intensely
  glad to see how effective the lifting of her maternal burden had been.
       Those run legged manure makers are the best possible antidote for
  unsealed kids.  Damia had firm control over Jupe in about five minutes.
       Cera wasn't all that pleased with the effect of a long ride on her
  tender behind but Besseva slathered her with an appropriate salve.
       Jeran's being pompous.  He's so much like your father at moments!
       Jeff chuckled because he knew exactly what his mother meant.  Then
  I shall expect to see him much improved when we get a chance to visit.
       Ah, about that!  Leave it a while.  Angharad really oughtn't to
  travel - too much stress.  And let the children settle in completely.
       Rhodri and Ian took half a dozen tapes which I'll get Morfanu to
  zip off to you.  That should reassure you both.
       I am, I am, Mother, and can't thank you enough for pitching in
  like this.
       Oh, I had my reasons.
       But when Jeff probed to find out what they were, Isthia refused to
  admit him.
       Besseva, noting Isthia's smug grin, raised her eyebrows
  
  enquiringly.
       'I've reassured the doting papa that his little ones are safely
  asleep in their cots,' Isthia said and resumed her smile slightly.
       'We're going to have to watch that youngest one,' Besseva said.
       'Oooh, but she's powerful.' 'Hmmm, yes.
       'But really, Isthia, aren't they a bit young?' 'Not at all,'
  Isthia replied stoutly.  'They'll have fewer inhibitions.' 'And get
  into more trouble, too.
       'Besseva, we've got to develop our own Talents, and that requires
  Talent.  One blind man can't lead another effectively.' 'But they're
  children!' Besseva's voice rose slightly in protest and Isthia,
  mentally and physically, shushed her.
       Ian was working in the corner, giving his niece's saddle a good
  soaping to soften the leather.
       'And a little child shall lead them,' Isthia said, her eyes
  sparkling.
       'You are the absolute end, Isthia Raven.
       'On the contrary, I'm the beginning,' Isthia replied.
       'And, if I'm going on as I mean for them to begin, I'm going to
  need a good night's sleep.' She gave a gusty sigh.
       'Why do children have the reserves of energy people my age so
  desperately need?' 'Huh!' Besseva said in contradiction to that
  complaint.
       Lying in a new bed into which she had been tucked by her
  fascinating grandmother, Damia was still reviewing all the wonderful
  things that had happened since the capsule had opened.  Being on Deneb
  was much better than hearing Daddy talk about it.  And why hadn't he
  ever mentioned that Deneb had ponies?  She sighed and, to make sure he
  was all right, she 'reached' to touch Jupiter.  He'd stopped eating and
  was idly flicking his tail, as much to discourage the minute
  nightfliers from settling on Birdie's head as to keep them off himself.
       His mind was drowsy with sleep.
       Just like Rascal's when he was curled up on her bed.  Was Rascal
  missing her?  Damia wondered.  He'd have no-one to sleep with.  A sad
  feeling made her throat constrict.  Poor Rascal!  Maybe, just tonight,
  Daddy would let him sleep on the foot of their bed.  She loved having a
  pony but a pony couldn't sleep at the foot of her bed and she missed
  the comforting presence.
       'Mrrow?' came a plaintive call from outside her door.
       Damia had been given a proper bed without railings.
       She crawled out from under the covers and opened her door.
       'Mrrr?' 'Who are you?' Damia called sleepily.  A large orange and
  white cat marched into the room, rubbing himself against her leg.  'Oh,
  you're beautiful.' Though the animal was as tall as her waist, Damia
  hoisted him into her arms, once again exerting kinetic energy without
  realizing what she'd done in her wish to do what she needed.  'There,'
  she said, '9' glared ferociously at Damia so that she knew she'd suffer
  his retribution, too, if she tried any of her tricks.
       Damia was far too entranced with her new friends to think of any
  'tricks'.  She listened, very carefully, to the instructions Linna
  Maybrick gave the class - hearing it on two levels - and sometimes
  puzzling at the contradictions.
       But when she saw the others obeying what was said aloud, she
  followed their example.
       At the morning break, she let Jorg lead the way to the playground
  where the four tablemates played together, climbing all over the
  'mountain' and down into the 'tunnels' and swinging over the rivers'
  and revelling in noise and happy dirtinesses, for the play area was
  dirty and full of shavings.
       Linna Maybrick, their teacher, watched carefully from the doorway.
  
       Alla climbed to the top of the 'mountain' and hesitated for a
  moment at the top of the slide down for it was, for a child, a huge
  drop.  One of the more aggressive older boys was behind her and he lost
  patience, giving her a push on her way.  His thrust was off-centered
  and caught Alla just as she was bent to sit on the slide.  Thrown
  off-balance, she teetered to one side, a two-metre free-fall to the
  playground below.
       Alla screamed.  Damia, who had been waiting at the bottom, gave a
  horrified shout, then 'concentrated'.  Linna, who had started running
  the moment she saw the boy shove Alla, came to an abrupt halt as the
  little girl bounced gently on to the hard ground.  Damia rushed over to
  her friend and helped her up.
       'Are you OK?' Alla nodded shakenly.  'I got pushed.' Then she
  cocked her head.  'Did you do that?' Damia turned suddenly shy.  If she
  admitted to doing any 'tricks' she wouldn't be able to ride Jupe.  'Do
  what?' she asked ingenuously.
       Alla narrowed her eyes at Damia.  'Well, someone did something.
       Jorg, who had watched the whole incident wide-eyed, looked at
  Damia critically.  'You're not from here.' 'I am, too.  I live with my
  grandmother and my uncle.' She pointed towards Ian who was playing with
  older boys on an adjacent field.  Jorg peered in the direction but his
  eyes were suspicious when he turned back to her.
       'I know about the Ravens.  My dad says they're all FT&T freaks.'
  Damia didn't know the word 'freak' but she did know FT&T.  Everyone she
  knew worked for FT&T and were proud of it.
       'Why, thank you very much,' Damia said while Alla gawked at her in
  stunned surprise.
       So did Jorg, having anticipated a far different response to the
  insult.
       'But you're a freak!' he shouted and she picked up on the
  pejorative this time.
       'There's no need to shout,' Damia said, dismally aware that the
  three of them were suddenly the centre of attention.
       Abruptly Jeran and Cera made their way through the tight knot of
  children.
       'Who called my sister a freak?' Jeran demanded, fists clenched at
  the ready.  Beside him, Cera assumed a similar stance.  Jorg nervously
  retreated.
       'Actually, he said I was an FT&T freak, Jeran,' Damia replied,
  worried lest her brother realize she'd done something that could be
  accounted a 'trick' even if it had saved Alla from injury.
       Jeran frowned intently at his sister for a moment and then,
  bracing himself again, unerringly settled on Jorg as the culprit.  But
  the recess bell sounded and Jorg was the first one into the school.
       Back in class, Jorg quickly spread the rumour that Damia was a
  freak.  She felt miserable, especially as Alla wouldn't even look
  across the table at her.  On the other side, Jenifer's grin turned
  slightly malicious and she kept staring at Damia.
       When Isthia collected her after school, she naturally asked how
  Damia had liked her first day at school, and was taken aback by the
  fierce answer.
       'I hate it.  I'm not going back.' On the flitter ride to the Raven
  compound, Isthia deftly drew out the reason for Damia's discontent.
       She was both saddened and angered that her grandchild had had such
  an unfortunate encounter on her very first day.
       'Jorg is wrong.  You are not a freak,' Isthia assured her, 'even
  an FT&T freak.  And you were very quick about saving your friend from
  injury.' 'She's scared of me now and Jenifer just stares at me,
  grinning!' 'Stare back at her and I'd suggest you give Alla a little
  time to get over being rescued.  She must have been surprised to bounce
  
  on the ground when she expected to crash.' Damia considered that.
       'Yes, I guess she was more surprised than anything else.  Least
  she wasn't hurt.' Isthia ruffled her hair affectionately.  'That's
  right.' Damia regarded her grandmother solemnly.  'Then rescuing Alla
  isn't a real trick and I can still ride Jupiter?' The incident, as
  embellished by Jorg, set Damia apart from the others and while in time
  even Jorg was glad of her unprejudiced use of Talent to protect her
  playmates from the worst ravages of the playground, Alla was willing
  only to be her acquaintance.  The lack of a close friend disturbed
  Damia and worried Isthia.  To compensate, the youngster would often
  accept greater challenges in school and, at home, would often take off
  on Jupiter for lengthy adventures.
       I fear she is a solitary soul, Isthia remarked in a conversation
  with her parents.
       That's not a Raven trait!  Jeff, who had always had a pack of boys
  to lead on excursions, replied.
       No, its more apt to be a Greyn trait, I'm afraid, the Rowan said
  bitterly.  I thought that it was just being Ward of the Planet and
  having much older foster siblings, but perhaps it is a personality
  thing.
       You bestow your affections frugally, Angharad dear, Isthia said
  gently, but where you do you are selfless.
       But I was so lonely!  the Rowan cried.  I didn't want Damia to be
  lonely, too.
       It may be in Damia's nature to be solitary, Isthia replied.
       But she's not lonely.  There's Jupiter to ride about on, most of
  the workdogs when they're free, and Marmalade on her bed at night.
       She's not lonely.  She does have companions at school even ,f she
  hasn't established a true-blue friendship.  That'll probably take a
  little more time.
       Well, maybe she'll be happier for a brother.
       How are you feeling?  Isthia asked hopefully.
       The Rowan responded with a mental sigh.  Jeff added, She hates to
  admit it but she's been doing much better since the children left.
       Isthia could feel the mental nuzzle Jeff sent to his love.  She
  can concentrate on growing this new one, can't you, luv?
       I should be able to manage as much as you did, Isthia!  the Rowan
  complained guiltily Ah, yes, but I was not running a power Tower nor
  was my husband absent all day long on another world.  Then again, as
  soon as my el&st was able, I had him minding babies.  Your Jeran's a
  solidly responsible boy, Angharad, and I love him dearly but he's not
  quite ready to baby-sit Dam:a.
       The Rowan chuckled at the thought of the self-contained Jeran
  trying to handle his wild-mooded sister.  Well, maybe he'll be able to
  sit for this one.
       Damia awoke with a gasp.  Someone was crying.  Someone felt bad.
       Instinctively, with a sense of compassion which was fundamental to
  her nature, Damia reached out to calm the person.  Her mental 'hand'
  stretched far, farther than she actively remembered.  Whoever was
  crying was upset because it was cold and wet and had been warm just a
  few moments ago.  Something rough was rubbing against it.
       It's a towel!  Damia exclaimed as she identified it.  It's all
  right, you'll be warm and dry in a moment!
       The someone was awestruck.
       It's all right, Damia repeated soothingly.  You'll be all right
  now.
       The someone was calmed, felt sleepy.  Warm and sleepy.
       Damia continued to send soothing thoughts, herself growing drowsy
  in her efforts to send the other to sleep.
       She yawned, turned over and drifted off.
  
       'I've never seen anything like it!' Elizara exclaimed to Jeff
  Raven as they took a late celebratory libation, 'That child was all set
  to cry his lungs out and then-' Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.  'Did
  you do anything?' 'Me?  No,' Jeff replied, confused.  'I had thought it
  was you.  It certainly wasn't the Rowan.' 'No!' Elizara agreed.  'Not
  under anaesthetic.' 'Will it take her long to recover from the
  Caesarean?' Jeff asked, the thoughts turning from his newest son to his
  greatest love.
       Elizara shook her head, grinning.  'This isn't Deneb where some of
  your obstetrics are still pretty archaic.
       Microlaser surgery heals seamless.  She'll be fine in three to
  four days.' She raised a cautioning hand.  'But it will be months
  before the abdominal muscles recover from the intrusion.' 'So if it
  wasn't you, it wasn't me and not the Rowan, who?' Jeff, reassured,
  returned to the original topic.
       'Afra?' Elizara shook her head.  'It was a female touch.
       'Then it was Damia!' Jeff announced firmly.  'That little minx!'
  'Really, doting Daddy,' Elizara said in one of her rare moments of
  mischief, 'isn't that a long way for such a young child?' Jeff shook
  his head slowly, his smile rueful.  'I don't think any place is a long
  way where Damia's emotions are concerned.' For the first few months of
  young Larak's life, both his mother and father 'felt' his sister touch
  his mind, causing him to smile.
       'Has to be wind,' Brian replied sceptically when the Rowan
  remarked on her daughter's range.
       Afra would smile.  'She promised she'd be the best sister ever.
       'It's not as if he has much conversation, Afra,' Brian protested.
       'Ah, the heart needs no words,' Afra replied and, with a totally
  uncharacteristically dramatic gesture, placed his hand on his heart.
       Then he picked up the colourful origami birds he was arranging as
  a mobile for Larak and, with delicate movements, tied them to the
  string harness.
       Brian shot the Rowan a puzzled look before he left the Tower.
       However, at some point in Larak's first year, Damia found out that
  Alla loved ponies as much as she did, and the two became inseparable.
       The incidence of contact diminished slightly but occasionally, and
  for no apparent reason, Larak would giggle.  His laughter was so
  infectious that he could set off anyone else in the house.  But every
  time his parents, or Tanya or Afra, tried to explain these bursts of
  hilarity, they found nothing, not even Rascal, to account for them.
       'Damia checking in,' became the standard explanation.
       'A merry child,' his mother said, 'is a double delight.' Afra
  forebore to mention that Damia had been a merry child, too.  But he did
  not object to merry Larak and he had become adjusted to the lack of
  Damia in his life.
       'He's here!' Damia cried excitedly, turning to her teacher 'My
  brother's here!' 'Shush, Damia,' the teacher scolded, for the girl was
  old enough to respect classroom manners.  'Continue with your studies.
       You can see him after school.' Damia fidgeted her way through
  school and burst out to the waiting area.  Rakella was there.
       'Isthia sent me,' she said, grinning at Damia's radiating
  excitement.  All the girl knew was that she would be seeing her beloved
  brother.  Today, even Jupiter was cast in shadow.  Damia hopped into
  the flitter, practically 'pushing' Rakella to exceed the speed limits
  in the built-up area.  She bubbled all the way back to the Raven
  compound and burst out of the flitter almost before Rakella had set it
  safely on the ground.
       'Where is he?' she called excitedly, but unerringly she headed
  toward the kitchen, slamming open the door.  She stood there a moment.
       'Larak!' What young Larak saw was a slender figure a head taller
  
  than himself with sparkly blue eyes and long black hair.
       What Damia saw was a splendid dark-haired brother.  She held out a
  hand entreatingly, sensing his sudden shyness.
       Cautiously, the toddler took it.
       'Now that you're here, c'mon!' Damia cried.  'I've so much to show
  you and tell you - She started for the back door, all but dragging him
  after her.
       'He's only a baby,' Isthia began, laughing at Damia' 5
       single-mindedness but the girl's enthusiasm was contagious and
  Larak didn't so much as hesitate a step.
       He happily followed his magical sister.  'Oh, let them go!' Isthia
  said when someone moved as if to stop her.
       'She'll take good care of him.  It's what she's waited for for so
  long, isn't it?' 'All I can say is, thank goodness Jupiter's too placid
  to buck any more.' Damia had planned for Larak to meet Jupiter first
  but they were halfway to the paddock when she began to feel a
  reluctance, a hanging back on her little brother's part.
       Looking anxiously over her shoulder, she saw him staring wide-eyed
  at the wide-spreading branches of the nearest tree.  He certainly
  hadn't seen the ponies sheltering under it.  Damia was utterly charmed
  by his reaction.  What fun it was going to be to show her little
  brother everything she knew and loved about Deneb.  She looked down at
  him.
       'That's a good tree, isn't it, Larak?  Bigger'n anything in the
  park at Callisto.' "Listo?' Larak asked, his expression dissolving into
  worry.
       'Who needs 'Listo when they're on Deneb,' Damia said, quite
  forgetting her own recalcitrance, but she had imbued her reply with
  such enthusiasm that her brother's face altered to a happier mode,
  though he kept staring up at the tree.  Abruptly, her original plan to
  introduce him immediately to Jupiter underwent a selfless change.
       'D'you wanna know something, Larak,' she whispered
  conspiratorially to him, 'I've got a special spot right at the top.
       Wanna see?' Big-eyed, Larak could not find a voice to speak and
  mutely nodded.
       'Come on!' Damia replied, waving an arm.  She was up three
  branches before she looked back and saw Larak standing still on the
  ground, looking up at her with a puzzled expression.
       'Ooops, sorry!' Damia clambered back down, lifted him up to the
  first branch, pushing on his bum until he was firmly perched on it and
  then scrambled up beside him.
       'You've never done this before, have you?' Larak shook his head.
       'Uhuh, 'Mia.' Damia giggled.  'Damia, not 'Mia.  Try it.' Larak
  worked his tongue but only got out: "Mia' again.  Damia shrugged it
  off.  'You can try again later.
       Let's climb!' It was quickly apparent to her that his legs did not
  have the length of hers and, while the branches of the tree shot out of
  the trunk at steppable intervals, her small brother would have trouble
  continuing.  So, since they were high enough up in the tree not to be
  visible to anyone, she 'lifted' them both to the top to her special
  spot, just where the branches narrowed to diameters that would not
  support even her slight weight.  Then she parted the branches to give
  her brother the full view of the realm they surveyed.
       Pointing out features - where Alla lived, where she had found a
  brookside cave she'd show him in the morning, the Tower which was
  conspicuous on the horizon, the smudge of the City - she finally ran
  out of breath and looked at him hopefully.
       'Isn't Deneb great?' Larak gave her an adoring look.  'Great !' He
  managed the 't' as a separate syllable and grinned at his success.
       I love you, Damia sent shyly in the quiet 'voice' she had
  
  addressed him in for the past year.
       Larak's eyes widened, first in fright then in recognition.
       His face burst into a beaming smile.  Love you, Damia!
          'They're inseparable!' Linna complained.  'She cries and he
  just sits there, weeping silently.  Which frankly I find harder to
  endure than her bowling.  Put them together and they're sweetness and
  light.
       'Didn't we 'go through the same thing with Cera and Jeran?' Isthia
  asked the concerned teacher.
       Linna nodded.  'Yes, we did but the solution was to hold Jeran up
  a bit for Cera to catch up.  But that won't work with Damia and Larak.
       She's too smart to be held back - she really should be encouraged
  to go forward at her own speed.' 'Is Larak bright enough to catch up?'
  'He's bright but, really Isthia, it would be most unwise to force his
  pace to accommodate her.  That sort of individualized instruction
  simply isn't possible in a classroom environment !' 'Not in a classroom
  environment, eh?' Isthia repeated thoughtfully.
       'Isthia Raven, what are you thinking of?' Linna demanded in her
  best teacher's voice.
       Isthia was impervious since she'd taught Linna the trick.
       'And you do agree that there are now twelve other youngsters in
  this school district that have Talented leanings?' Linna didn't quite
  grimace, and her sniff wasn't exactly disapproving, but her eyes were
  sad.  'The freaks.' 'FT&T freaks,' Isthia corrected her.
       'Where do children learn such words?' 'I'm sure I don't really
  need to tell you that, Linna, but I am thinking that it's about time we
  let our freaks get what they deserve here on Deneb.' 'Not that special
  school you've been trying to wrest out of the Education Committee?'
  'Don't you agree it's needed?' Isthia retorted.  'The Education
  Committee's not the only one to complain about lack of funds but they
  sure tie the purse strings when I advance the notion that a little
  expenditure now on proper training and we'd have marketable assets to
  improve our economy.
       'Our economy?' Linna echoed weakly.  'What about our sanity?'
  'Linna Maybrick, are you trying to tell me that Talented children are
  more difficult to teach than regular children?' 'Oh cripes, no!
       Children are impossible without exception,' Linna responded
  emphatically.  'But how will you get permission?  And the specialized
  teachers?' Isthia cleared her throat.  'Each one, teach one,' she said
  cryptically, and bent a fond eye on Damia who was patiently showing her
  small brother how to hold a crayon.
       Linna never did hear how Isthia got round the objections of the
  Education Committee but somehow the Council found enough money to pay
  the salary of a T-4 teacher whom Earth Prime had located for them, and
  Isthia Raven agreed to underwrite his living accommodation.  'So we
  saved a little on salary,' Isthia told her sons and daughters.  She
  also reorganized living space in the Raven compound to house the
  Denebian Special School for the Talented until the construction of the
  permanent facility in five years' time, at which point the Education
  Committee should have the funds to build it.  'I had to compromise,'
  Isthia Raven said when Jeff and the Rowan came to visit their children,
  'but it could be worse.' Jeff rather thought she got what she deserved.
       'You said "If you want it done right, do it yourself!"  once too
  often, Mother!' The school was understaffed, the new teacher overworked
  but Isthia worked as hard as he did.  'And learned more, she said.  'I
  just wish I had had the opportunity I'm providing my grandchildren.'
  Damia loved it because it meant that she and Larak could share classes.
       In fact, she had to teach him several subjects, including
  mathematics.
       She got to be quite good at mathematics herself from such
  
  exercise.
       Larak was not her only pupil, nor were only Talented children
  entered in the school but Isthia chose a careful mix from families
  whose views did not run to 'freaks' or fear of Talent.  Children from
  Larak's age to sixteen, who would be physically and mentally challenged
  by the opportunity of 'unstructured' classes were asked to enrol.
       So Damia found herself learning to control her temper at the
  difficulty some older students had in learning what she had to teach
  and her jealousy at younger students who stamped their feet at her
  'slow' pace.
       It was the sort of school only a gifted computer could plan for:
  with students and classes to mix and match in such complex calculations
  that it yielded a doctorate for the T-4 in record time.  Physical
  therapy and physical exercise, mental therapy and mental calisthenics
  all vied with the more regular curricula of other schools.
       Damia learned quickly the fallacy of judging a person on the
  colour of skin, the condition of body or the attractiveness of face.
       She also learned, just as quickly, the art of moving cargo
  containers, juggling bricks and reading waybills, much to the amazement
  of her teachers.
       Cooperation was a primary requirement for all Talented people:
  civil discord was something intolerable in one with Talent.
       Damia's favorite sport was team dodgeball.  It was played both
  strictly with Talented children and with mixed groups of Talented and
  non-Talented children.
       The rules were simple: if you were tagged by the ball, you were
  out.  The object of team dodgeball was to have at least one team member
  not tagged out at the end of the game.  The Talented members of the
  team were permitted to 1) gain control of the ball by superior strength
  of mind; 2) pull themselves or pull their teammates out of the way of
  the ball.  There were, however, limits to a 'port: a Talent was not
  allowed to lift a non-Talented teammate higher than three feet off the
  ground, or more than two feet laterally, or outside the playing field.
       Games with only Talented players were brilliant displays of
  unexpected lifts or the wild orbiting of the foam ball as players
  jockeyed for its possession.  Games with mixed teams were perhaps less
  showy but more fun for the non-Talented and exceedingly good exercise
  for the gifted.  However, particularly in mixed dodgeball, score was
  kept with one point for each team member still left when the other
  teams were eliminated.  The size of the teams was arbitrary: some very
  small teams won more regularly, even on points, than larger ones.
       There were two unbreakable rules in team dodgeball: no player
  should be injured, and teams had to be evenly mixed boy-girl,
  Talented-non-Talented.
       Damia grew closer and closer to her little brother, always
  wanting, but never quite achieving, the amazing rapport which Jeran and
  Cera shared.  She would brag immensely about their combined
  capabilities and Jeran, who had grown rather less tolerant of his
  youngest sister as he grew older, would always take special pains to
  prove to her just how wrong she was.  By the time Damia was nine and
  Larak nearly seven, the rivalry had grown to full scale war.
       'My little brother's better than your little sister!' Damia would
  taunt Jeran, who, being older, would invariably agree: 'Yeah, Larak's
  better than Damia any day!' To which Damia could only shriek with
  anger.
       Jeran had just reached puberty and had started to notice girls in
  a different light so having one so truculent was particularly annoying
  to him.
       'Larak and I can beat any four of your friends!' Damia declared
  one day 'Cannot!' Cera rejoined, coming to the defence of her adored
  
  older brother.
       'Can too!
       'Prove it!' Cousin Channa challenged.
       Damia paused, not expecting this tack.  'All right, dodgeball.
       Who's your fourth?' Jeran's mouth fell.  He floundered for a
  suitable way out of the challenge but Channa was Marci's best friend
  and Jeran just had to make Marci notice him.  The trouble was that
  Channa was not all that good in dodgeball, being only moderately
  Talented and massively clumsy.  Worse, the obvious choice of partner
  for Channa was Teval, her current male interest, and Teval was not only
  not Talented but an incredibly gawky adolescent.
       'Fourth?' Jeran taunted.  'You said you could beat us all!' 'We
  can!' Damia returned, chin jutting defiantly.  'All the cousins!' 'How
  many teams?' Jeran demanded.
       'One team!' Larak put in.  And so the lines were drawn.
       The time was after school and the place was in the field beyond
  the river boundary of the Raven compound.
       'It'll be a slaughter!' Teval declared from the sidelines.
       Not being a member of the Raven clan, he was excluded from the
  tournament but invited by Channa who hoped to impress him with her
  abilities.
       'I hope no-one gets hurt,' Marci Kelani, standing beside him, said
  nervously.
       'No way.  Just little Damia's pride!- Teval chuckled.
       'The others are OK but she's a little busy britches.' She had
  tutored him in language class the year before and he had failed to
  respond to all her best efforts, refusing to learn from a 'little
  girl'.  From the corner of her eyes, Marci gave him an appraising look
  and, with a flick of her eyes heavenward, decided she did not like what
  she saw in the boy.
       Out in the centre of the field, Jeran looked around at his team of
  twenty-one cousins with concern.  Some of them were a bit too happy to
  team up against Damia and Larak.  He swallowed nervously.  'Are you
  sure you still want to do this?' Damia rose above the doubts she felt
  because, absolutely, there was no way that she could salvage any pride
  if she backed down in front of everyone.  Steadfastly she nodded her
  head.  'We're sure.  Why?  Are you scared?' Jeran licked his lips but
  shook his head.  'You can call quits any time.' He pulled out the
  little foam ball.  As usual it had a dye bag inside it so that anyone
  hit would be marked with a fluorescent orange dye that washed off.
       'Shall we flip for possession?' 'Smallest team always gets
  possession!' Damia declared hotly and somewhat scornfully that her
  brother's understanding of the rules was faulty.  Jeran let the ball
  go, Damia 'caught' it and let it hover between them.  With a
  contemptuous mental 'nudge' Damia burst the dye bag.  A splurt of dye
  filled the air.
       'GET READY!' she yelled.  'On three!  One!  Two!
       Three!' Ready, Larak?  she shot at him.
       If the answering thought wobbled a bit, the boy's face was as
  determined as hers.  Ready, Damia.
       The ball became a vibrating blur which flew in an intricate
  pattern at the waiting throng of cousins.  Damia knocked out three with
  the first pitch, then lost control for a moment as the remainder
  reacted and wrested it from her grasp.  The bag came back firmly at her
  but she 'ported out of its way and shifted her power to Larak who, to
  the chagrin of the older players, looped it back around in a tight arc.
       Two more defenders were knocked out.
       'She's good,' Marci noted from the sidelines.  Alla, Damia's
  friend, rode up on her brown pony.  The moment she pulled him up, he
  dropped his head to graze.  'Is she all right?' she asked Marci.
  
       Teval snorted.  'Little brat!  They'll show her, that's for sure!'
  But the cousins were faring badly: in two separate passes Damia and
  Larak had managed to knock out two more, leaving only fourteen on the
  opposite side.
       The cousins were forced to switch completely to the defensive,
  hoping to tire the two youngest.  They didn't attempt to 'take' the
  ball, only to dodge it without being blopped.  The tactic began to take
  its toll for both Damia and Larak were soon panting and sweating
  profusely in their efforts to keep the ball both in the air and
  vibrating with the special effort that kept it out of the 'reach' of
  the other cousins.
       Three more cousins were knocked out in the five minutes it finally
  took for Larak and Damia to lose 'control' of the ball.  Heedless of
  the danger, Larak dropped to the ground, panting.
       'Larak?' Damia called, turning to him.  She started towards him.
       'They're finished!' Teval cheered triumphantly from the sidelines.
       The ball, now in the hands of the remaining cousins, hurled
  unerringly towards the prone form of the panting boy.  But the light
  ball was thrust upwards and just over Larak.
       'Oh, good, Damia!  Good!' Alla cried from the sidelines.
       Damia took another step towards her little brother.
       'Come on, Larak,' she called encouragingly.  The others scooped
  the ball back up from the dip it had taken after Damia had diverted it
  and brought it back around in a circle.
       'I'm tired!' Larak gasped to his sister as she approached him.
       'Perfect, two targets together!' Teval chortled.
       Damia helped Larak up to his feet.  'Should we quit?' she asked
  him.  Larak shook his head feebly, drawing away from her to stand on
  his own feet.  Damia looked about her, saw the incoming ball and batted
  it aside with a mental 'frick' 'Give up?' one of cousins called out
  hoarsely.
       'No way!' Damia returned.  She zoomed the ball at the speaker.
       Either he didn't see it or he, too, was tired but the ball caught
  him squarely in the chest.
       'This is going to go on for ever,' Marci moaned.
       'Why don't they quit?' She waved a hand at the remaining cousins.
       'Quit?  Against a little girl?' Teval sneered.  'They just need a
  hand.' He picked up a small rock.
       'Teval, no!' Marci cried but the rock was launched right at
  Larak's unprotected head.
       'Damia!' Alla screamed, throwing herself at Teval.
       Turning at Alla's shout, Damia saw the rock and flung herself at
  Larak, arms outstretched.  She pushed him out of the way but the rock
  caught her squarely at the base of the skull.  She fell silently to the
  ground.  Spun about by the force of his sister's arms, Larak whipped
  around and screamed when he saw her lying there, her head bleeding
  profusely.  Damia!
       Jeran was running as fast as he could towards her when the dye
  ball bit him.  It flicked past him and hit all the remaining cousins
  with such blinding speed that no-one was spared.  Then it made a
  spiralling loop before it slammed into the vengeful smile on Teval's
  face.
          It was dark.  The air was bad.  Her head felt awful and They
  were trying to get her.  Damia moaned silently as she struggled away
  from the dark and back towards the light.  But They would not let her.
       They tried to keep her down.  They chittered at her, not like
  Coonies, but like evil scraping claws on harsh metal.  They were after
  her.
       They wanted revenge.  They tried to suck her out of her body,
  tried to eat her soul.  Damia whimpered in fear, searching blindly for
  
  something, someone.  There!  Far away, far, far away, like a beacon!  A
  blip of light.  She lost sight of it, searched for it, drew it to her,
  crawled towards it.  There!
       They were afraid of the light, it scared them.  If she could just
  get to the light!  The light!  The soul-eaters would never get her if
  she could just get to the light.  She cried to the lighthouse, cried to
  the keeper.  The beacon flared, light streamed steadily towards her.
       She was getting nearer or had the lighthouse moved to her?  Damia
  did not know, did not care.  The light bathed her, burnt the
  soul-eaters and the lightkeeper soothed her with warm words and his
  warm light.
       'Depressed skull fracture,' a voice mumbled in the distance.
       Damia ignored it, wanting to bat it away with her hands but she
  was so weak, so weak from crawling.
       'Will she be all right?' a tenor voice asked worriedly.
       The lightkeeper!  She heard his voice!  She willed her lips to
  form a smile.  See!  I've found the light, see?
       'Look!' It was another voice, one she felt she should know, a kind
  voice.  'She's smiling!' The voice approached, beams of kindliness
  washed over her.  'Oh, Damia, you're going to be all right!
       Sweetheart, you'll be all right!' The mumbler coughed.  'We'd
  better let her rest.  I'll have the nurse look in on her later' 'I'm
  staying here,' the lightkeeper responded sharply in tones that brooked
  no argument.  A hand touched hers and she felt the warm yellow glow
  light its way up her arm, fill her body and knew that the lightkeeper
  had found her, had driven away the soul-eaters.  And she remembered
  that the lightkeeper had a name.  Afra?
       I'm here, the lightkeeper whispered.  Rest, Damia.
       The hand let go and the darkness crept into the shadows of her
  sight.  Afra!
       The hand grabbed her again, light flared and banished the
  darkness.  I'm here, love!  Rest.  I'm here, there's nothing to worry
  about.
       A smile formed on her lips and she rolled over, small soft tanned
  paw still in Afra's warm rough green hand.
       'Afra!' It was dark, Damia awoke with a start.
       'Here.' Her hand was squeezed gently by his bigger one.
       'Rest.  It's night.' Damia went to sleep, secure in the soft
  mental touch of the yellow-eyed Talent.
       The bright sun of morning woke her.  Damia turned in her bed,
  scanned the room and was startled to find no-one there.  She
  double-checked frantically.  When the door opened she nearly jumped
  with fright.
       It was Isthia.  'Ah, you're awake!' 'Where's Afra?' 'He went
  back.' Isthia caught her expression.  'He was burnt out, sweetie, and
  desperate to give your mom the good news.' Damia started at Isthia's
  choice of words: burnt out.
       'We've all been worried,' Isthia went on, not noticing her
  granddaughter's reaction.  She shook her head.  'Your father and mother
  were frantic.  They've been here but Afra stayed.  You seemed calmer
  when he was in the room.' 'He had the light,' Damia murmured,
  incredibly drowsy but she forced herself to get the words out.  'Can he
  come back?  Would he come if you said I needed him?  He hasn't visited
  Deneb but half a dozen times in all the years we've been here.' Isthia
  clucked at her.  'Afra's been very good to come as often as he has,
  Damia.  He has other friends to visit than young girls who make
  impossible challenges.
       'Was not impossible!  Neither Larak nor I had been hit when Teval
  threw that stone!' 'He's not likely to throw another,' Isthia said, her
  expression grim.
  
       'Why, what did you do to him?' Damia asked with a certain
  understandable vindictiveness in her voice.
       Isthia shrugged.  'I did nothing.  Didn't have to,' and she let a
  smile twitch at her lips.  'I wouldn't have thought a foam ball could
  be flung that hard.' 'Who?' 'Larak, of course.' 'You see, it wasn't an
  impossible challenge.  It's so good to make Jeran eat crow .
       'You eat your meal, young woman, or you'll find me an unpleasant
  challenge!' Isthia said and set down the tray she was carrying.
       When Damia had finished the light meal, she lay back, wondering if
  she dared ask for Afra again.
       Oh, she's all right, Damia heard her grandmother saying,
  projecting tremendous relief.  And, fortunately, all she understands
  about that wretched game as that she and Larak won.
       She hasn't an inkling of what that exhibition demonstrated of her
  potential.
       How could she?  and Damia recognized the weaker voice of her aunt
  Rakella.  Not even Jeff could explain it and Angharad still doubts it.
       Afra had a theory, and Damia heard her grandmother mulling it over
  in her mind before she projected her answer.  He thinks that Damia is a
  catalyst: she steps up anyone else's ability.  Afra says that's what
  she did when he rescued her from the capsule that time.  THAT was why
  the power surged in the Tower: Damia tapped it.  He didn't and neither
  did Angharad.
       A Talent with an extra gear?  Rakella asked.
       Something like that.
       Then both voices drifted out of her 'hearing' and she drifted off
  to sleep again.
       A week after Damia was allowed back to school, she had an
  unexpected visitor.  She was in her room wondering if she dared sneak
  out and visit Jupe when she heard Isthia's voice giving directions:
  'Her room is the one at the end, on the left.  I'll bring down some
  drinks later.' Whoever it was paused for a long while at her door.
       'Well?' Damia called, her curiosity overwhelming her.
       Teval's head slowly peered around the door.  If the light wasn't
  deceiving her, his nose was thicker and there were discoloured patches
  and barely healed cuts on his face.
       'Damia?' 'What do you want?' she demanded, suddenly deciding
  boredom was better than this guest.
       Teval shook his head, entering the room.  A heavy schoolbag swung
  from one hand, nearly dragging the carpet.
       'I've been assigned to teach you self-defence,' he said, looking
  miserable.
       'I can learn that watching a tape!' 'You've also got to pass a
  practical so I got assigned as your mat partner.  aNother thing; you're
  supposed to be my teacher.' 'Your teacher?' 'Remedial language,' he
  mumbled, blushing in his misery.  'I failed my exams.' He held out the
  text-tape.
       That didn't surprise her but she decided it wasn't fair to kick
  someone when he was down.  Damia upended the bag.  'Am I supposed to
  teach you all these, too?' 'Not exactly.  I've got to bring you your
  homework assignments and help you catch up on what you've 55
       He looked sheepish.  'You're taking almost all the same stuff I
  am, except maths and language and you're way ahead of me there.' 'What
  if I don't want you?' 'You've no choice, Damia Gwyn-Raven!' Isthia
  called from beyond the door, entering the room with a tray of beverages
  and a light snack in her hands.  She put the tray down and looked at
  her granddaughter critically.
       'Actually, you do,' she corrected herself.  'If you don't take
  Teval Rieseman here as your tutor and you don't tutor him on those
  subjects assigned, we will have no choice but to release him from the
  
  Special School.' Damia looked horrified.  'Expel him?' Isthia nodded.
       'Fighting is against school rules,' she said sternly.  'He threw
  that rock without any provocation whatsoever.  By rights he should
  already be expelled.  But someone intervened on his behalf' Both Teval
  and Damia were surprised.  'Who?' they asked, almost in unison.
       'Afra Lyon.' 'Afra?' Damia was confused, almost angry.  How could
  Afra do that?  Didn't he know that this was the boy who had tried to
  hurt her Larak?  That he'd cracked her skull?
       Then she knew that, of course, Afra had known the whole thing.  So
  why?
       'Why?' Teval beat her in asking the question.  'I thought he was
  her uncle.' 'He used to be my special friend!' Damia exclaimed
  heatedly, glaring fiercely at her grandmother to answer the question.
       Isthia handed her a note.  Damia opened it, turned it around,
  frowned, turned it over and finally looked up at Isthia.
       'I can't read it.' She handed it back to Isthia.  Isthia glanced
  at it.  'I can't read it either.
       Perplexed, Teval leaned over and looked at the writing.
       'That looks like the printing in some old books my grandfather
  used to have.  He was Russian, I think.
       'What's it say?' Teval lifted his shoulders with an indifference
  that didn't match the emotions which Damia suddenly felt roiling in his
  mind.  'I don't know!  My family was killed by the Beetles.  I only
  recognized the script, not the words.' Damia could feel the pain
  emanating from him and, while she had always thought Teval was a dark,
  in that unguarded instant she learned that she had misjudged him badly.
       He'd had a little sister, just about the same age as Larak, when
  the Beetles came: he'd had a mother and father, and the Russian
  grandfather.  Now he lived with an uncle who worked too hard to have
  much time for his nephew.  It was like Afra to know more about Teval
  Rieseman than she, Damia Gwyn-Raven, had bothered to find out in the
  years they'd spent as classmates.
       'Why don't we study Russian as your language?' she suggested
  gently.  'Then we'll find out what this message says.
       It took them many months and they were good friends, but still not
  without their quarrels, when they finally translated the one-line
  message.  It read: 'Friends don't fight with rocks.' 'Let's go hunt
  Beetle junk!' Damia suggested one day to Larak as Deneb VIII sweltered
  in an unusual heat wave.
       'Uncle Rhodri said he'd found all the near stuff.' Larak, at
  eight, sometimes questioned his sister.  But it was so hot, he didn't
  like the idea of hunting Beetle metal.  It stank and, if you touched
  it, it went 'sting-pzzzt'.  He hated the feel.
       'I need new stirrup leathers and that takes cash.  Uncle Rhodri
  pays good for Beetle metal.  And I don't have enough money.
       Grandmother's stingy.' 'I'll lend you my cash,' Larak said, more
  so that he wouldn't have to go hunting than because he was generous.
       'No, Larak, that's very nice of you but I'd rather spend money
  I've earned.  And, besides, if we keep sitting here, Gran'll discover
  another nice cool job for us.' She could see that that appealed to her
  brother.  They'd already been nabbed for some dirty, dusty garden
  chores.
       'But we're not supposed to hunt Beetle metal unless we tell Uncle
  Rhodri.' 'We'll tell him when we find it so he can send the 'copter to
  collect it,' she replied.
       'Do I get to ride in the 'copter again?' Larak began to be
  enthusiastic now.  He'd been allowed to ride back in the big navy
  vehicle the last time they'd found some Beetle metal.  He was going to
  learn how to fly a 'copter when he grew older.
       'If we find metal, you might, Damia replied, not specifically
  
  promising the treat but she saw the anticipatory shine of her brother's
  eyes.  'OK, here's what we do .  .
       It was, after all, easy to slip out of the compound, even with
  backsacks carrying 'provisions'.  She'd got handlights as well as food
  and made Larak roll up a blanket though he'd protested that it was too
  hot to need a blanket.
       'Well, we might lust need to stay the night,' Damia said in
  explanation.  'I've food enough.  And the forest's always cooler' Larak
  agreed, though he demurred when she wanted him to bring a shirt, too.
       'Against branch lash,' she said curtly.  'Now, go get ready.  And
  be quiet.  You know what long ears Gran has and we don't want her
  stopping us with more jobs to do.
       Meet me at the paddock.' So Larak went 'quietly' to gather the
  things his sister wanted him to get.  Larak liked being with Damia.
       Which was more than he could say about the company of his older
  brother and sister.  For all his efforts, Larak had never been able to
  establish a good rapport with his older brother.  He had astutely
  identified Cera as the source of his older brother's apathy.  Since
  Damia was a lot of fun to be with, he'd given up on the other two.
       Anyway, Jeran was now on a probationary assignment to Deneb Tower,
  taking on-the-job training and Cera, moping about the place without
  him, was no fun to be around at all.
       They met at the paddock where the ponies drowsed in the heat of
  the afternoon.
       'Now, we know there's nothing to the east, south or west of us
  because Uncle Rhodri says those directions are all clear of
  sting-pzzzt,' Damia said, 'so we'll go north, through the woods, which
  will be cooler.  No-one's really done much that way.  Not even Jeran
  when he organized his search party.' She was slightly contemptuous
  because Jeran had been so sure that he'd find tonnes of the stuff.
       So, let's be off!' Taking Larak's hand, she struck off across the
  paddock, and into the first of the trees.
       They were panting from the heat but the moment they got in the
  shade, they could feel an appreciable difference in the torrid heat of
  the day.
       'Hey, it's cooler,' he exclaimed, delighted.
       'Told you it would be.  Come on!' Damia led on, weaving her way
  due north, with little variation despite the press of trees.  She
  signalled their first break when they crossed one of the logging roads.
       Revived by the rest and drinks from their travel bottles, they
  continued.
       Larak would have liked to stop longer and enjoy the coolness but
  Damia insisted that they wouldn't find any Beetle metal this close to
  the compound.  And no Beetle metal meant no 'copter ride.  Larak got to
  his feet and trudged along behind her When they came to a brook,
  gushing down a rocky bed, Larak did insist that he had to cool himself
  down.  So they shucked out of their clothes and splashed about in the
  pool.
       Damia shared out one of their sandwiches and ordered him to fill
  his canteen again.
       Shortly after they resumed their march, they broke through the
  forest into a lovely mountain pasture.  They quartered this because
  Damia thought it the very spot where Beetle metal might have dropped.
       Then she had to explain to Larak, once more, how their mother and
  father had destroyed the Beetle ships, breaking them open and
  scattering the pieces far and wide, thus saving the whole world, and
  beyond.
       By then they had reached forest again and, of course, had to sit
  to enjoy the coolness, have a cool drink, eat a few biscuits.  The sun
  was lowering but Damia knew they had a good few hours of daylight.
  
       'We'll find a cave, with a stream,' Damia told her brother as he
  gamely plodded on behind her.  'We'll have a great night out.' 'When'll
  we find Beetle metal?' Look asked plaintively.
       'Why, we could trip over it any time now."
       'I don't want to trip over it.' 'Well, then, let's just
  concentrate on locating some good sting-pzzzts, huh?' Obediently Larak
  cast his mind about and that kept him occupied until the blister on his
  left heel began to do the stinging.
       'I gotta stop, 'Mia.  I gotta blister.' 'We'll stop when I've
  found us a cave and a stream so you can stoop that blister cool,' Damia
  said, with a patient sigh over Larak's blister She hoped he could hang
  on a while longer.  She had no idea how far they had tramped but it
  wasn't far enough for they hadn't found Beetle metal yet.  She was
  determined to find some.  Meanwhile, raising her forearm, she rubbed
  her forehead dry of sweat and, shifting her backpack, went on.
       Larak was a real trooper, she thought, when she saw him limping
  though he didn't complain.  He was the best brother.  She was getting a
  bit anxious about a suitable camping site.  Uncle Rhodri had taught all
  his young relatives basic woodsman ship when he'd organized his Beetle
  metal hunts.
       They found the stream first so Damia suggested that Larak take off
  his boots - the cold water would ease his blister - and they'd walk
  upstream until they found a campsite.  Maybe not a cave, but a nice
  clearing.
       By the time Larak had slipped and fallen into the stream four
  times, and bruised his toes, he was ready to quit just when they
  rounded a bend and found that an old rockslide had indeed formed a sort
  of cave.
       'What if there're animals?' Larak protested nervously, peering
  into the shadowed opening.
       Damia had not considered that aspect and was miffed.
       Uncle Rhodri had shown them tapes of all the animals on Deneb,
  mainly small, but some had poisonous bites.
       Some nocturnal species could be most unpleasant, trying to creep
  into a camper's sleepsac.  But they only had blankets with them.
       Nevertheless, caution was advisable.  She pulled the handlight
  from her belt and shone it into the cave.
       Carefully, she looked in every corner.  'See?  Nothing there!
       Now, let's get this camp organized.  I'll get us firewood, you can
  set out our supper.' The first attempt at fire starting did not go
  well.  They had built it in the cave, which immediately filled with
  smoke.  So, against Damia's better judgement, they built another fire,
  in front of the cave.  Soon they had a good roaring blaze going.  And
  none too soon for night had fallen and the woods closed in about them,
  with only the gap above the stream to let in starlight.
       So they happily munched on the rest of their sandwiches before
  Damia grandiosely extracted a half sack of marshmallows from her sack,
  scrupulously divying them up.  Larak limped over to a sapling to pull
  long enough branches to roast the marshmallows on.
       'Now,' Damia said, dropping her voice into the creepiest tone she
  could affect, 'all we need is a good ghoulie story!' Just then her
  marshmallow fell off her stick.  'Rats!' 'Rats aren't very ghoulie!'
  Larak complained.
       'Of course they're not.  I said "rats" because I lost my
  marshmallow.
       'I'll tell you a story,' Larak declared and launched into the
  telling of the Headless Horseman which had scared him the first time
  he'd seen the tape.  Larak was a good story-teller so Damia didn't mind
  hearing it again.
       Towards the end of his recitation, her attention wandered and her
  
  eyes darted to the edge of the dark.  A light night breeze had come up
  and there was an odd scraping sound: a dim memory tugged at her.
       'Now, you tell me one!' Larak demanded when he had finished.
       'Soul-eaters,' Damia muttered to herself, for the scraping noise
  reminded her of her nightmare terror.
       'Soul-eaters?  What are they?' Larak's eyes grew round.
       'Nothing.' Damia gave a convulsive shudder.  She really didn't
  want to remember that awful dream.
       'No, tell me!' 'That's too scary and it's not a story.  I'll think
  of another one, a better one.' 'No, I want to know about soul-eaters,'
  Larak insisted 'Where did you hear about them?' Damia shook her head.
       'I didn't hear.  They came after me.
       'Sure!' Larak snorted derisively.
       'When I was hit on the head,' Damia continued, more to herself.
       She sat on her haunches, not really wanting to, but nevertheless
  reconstructing her recollection.  'It was dark.  They were darker.
       They chittered like beetles on the outskirts and they tried to
  drag me away.' Her voice went shrill and she gripped her arms about her
  knees.
       'They were going to get me, to eat my soul!  Chittering,
  chittering!' She had dropped her voice, not as part of a story-teller's
  effect, but because she was succeeding in scaring herself with the
  memory.
       'Damia!  Stop it!  You 're scaring me!' Larak threw his arms
  around her, his mouth trembling, his eyes watering with nervous tears.
       'Damia?  Tell me this is a story.  Tell me there aren't any
  soul-eaters out here!' But Damia had triggered the recollection and was
  trapped in it, talking her own way out as she had struggled in the
  dream.  'They got me by the foot, then slithered up my leg, and always
  making this awful chittering.  I could just make out a light.  I knew
  that if I could only reach the light, I'd be safe.  But they kept
  holding me back; they got my other foot and then I saw the light-'
  'Light?' She didn't register the pure panic in Larak's voice, didn't
  see what he was doing.  'Then, I reached the light and Afra had it!  He
  turned them away!  Turned them back!  He scared them with his light and
  then he touched me with it and-' Her eyes refocused and she shook her
  head, shielded her eyes.  There was much too much light, illuminating
  the cave behind her, the clearing around her.  'Larak?' Larak was at
  the edge of the clearing, a burning faggot in one hand, spreading the
  flame to every dry branch and root he could find.  To make enough light
  to keep the soul-eaters at bay.
       Larak!
       More scared than singed, Angharad, Isthia assured her
  daughter-in-law when the situation was finally under control.  Overhead
  a water-carrying 'copter made another pass at the remains of the forest
  fire.  We pulled them out as soon as Damia's scream woke us.  She was
  too disoriented to 'port.
       What caused the fire?  Jeff wanted to know.
       Larak.  He used a firebrand to light the forest.  Said something
  about soul-eaters and light.  He was scared witless.  Isthia replied.
       He's sleeping now.
       And Damia?  another voice, which Isthia placed as Afra's, asked
  with some strain.
       She's all right, Isthia quickly reassured him.  What time is it on
  Callisto?
       Early, Jeff said with some acerbity.
       I was awake.  Couldn't sleep, Afra replied and a mental yawn
  followed.  I'll turn in now.  Rowan, Jeff, Isthia.  Isthia felt Afra's
  touch fade out.
       Well!  the Rowan declared tetchily.  When is that child going to
  
  stop playing her 'tricks'?  I really don't want Ezra learning from that
  sort of example.
       I think she's been well and truly frightened, luv, was Jeff s
  verdict.
       I would remind you, Angharad, Isthia said, her tone stern, that
  Damia didn't start the fire: Larak did.  She has always looked out for
  her younger brother and protected him.  Or have you forgotten the
  incident with the stone?
       Anyway, Jeff interposed quickly, she's due to start Tower training
  so she'll be too tired for night-time treks.  How far did you say she
  hiked?  Isthia detected a note of admiration in her son's tone.
       Once she learns how to 'port over distance, the Rowan said
  thoughtfully, she could actually commute from here to Earth everyday.
       Just as you do, Jeff I'm not sure the galaxy is soft once Damia
  learns how to 'port distances.
       The Rowan mulled that over.  Well, I do feel that now is the time
  for Damia to return to Callisto and start using some of the skills
  she's learned.  Isthia, we've impinged on your good nature far too long
  Nonsense, Angharad.  It's been - educational, Isthia responded with a
  chuckle.  Because of Damia, and Jeran and Cera and Larak, I got the
  Special School I wanted and Deneb is now actively looking for Talents
  to train.
       Was that your reason for offering to take my children?  the Rowan
  asked.  She'd always known that Isthia had had some devious reason.
       Not the main one, Angharad.  There was Ian to be considered, too,
  you know.
       Jeff guffawed.  And he's tested out a T4.  You did well by the
  brother!
       What do you test out these days, Isthia?  the Rowan asked.
       I've never really wanted to know, Isthia replied smoothly.
       Best leave with honours even, luv, Jeff said.
       But I think it is time for us to give Damia the benefit of working
  in a busy Tower environment.  Know that I - we - are deeply grateful to
  you, Isthia.  And the Rowan was entirely sincere in that.
       Isthia gracefully accepted the thanks for she was as fond of the
  mother as she was of the daughter.
       She's starting to sprout since you were last here, Isthia told
  them.
       So soon?  Jeff mentally counted on his fingers.
       Let's say that she's germinated, then, and should shortly sprout,
  Isthia amended her original statement.
       Are there any suitable candidates there?  Jeff wondered.
       T-is?  The Rowan's tone was frankly contemptuous.
       Love, when a woman's fancy turns to men she does not always stop
  to check their pedigree, Jeff remarked carefully.  Isthia could feel
  the Rowan's cheeks redden across the light-years.
       There are no candidates here, Jeff, Isthia said in response to the
  original question.  In fact, with Larak here it's as well you consider
  bringing Damia home.
       Both parents were shocked.
       Goodness!  Isthia chuckled.  You two think the worst things!
       I meant that Damia would be ambivalent about dating a boy if it
  might compromise the special relationship she and Larak have for each
  other.  Tsk!  Tsk!
       I take your point, Jeff said, somewhat abashed.  It would be
  easier for her first romance if she did not have to worry about the
  jealousy of her little brother.
       Exactly, Isthia replied.
       Jeff made his mind up.  Very well, send her back when term is
  over.  I'll arrange for her continued education here.  Not that it will
  
  be as good as what she could get on Deneb, of course, he added with a
  wink in his 'voice' Of course!
       It was only after contact was broken that Isthia recalled what she
  had wanted to ask Jeff.  Or rather Afra.  To intercede on her behalf
  with Capella to find a high T-rating who would teach on Deneb.  There
  was something positive to be said for a Methody upbringing.  She hoped
  that a little more Methody might rub off Afra on to Damia when she
  returned to Callisto.  Isthia was rather sure that he'd have a hand in
  her education.  From comments that Jeff had dropped and her own
  observations of Angharad, Afra was likely to have taught her the
  self-control she'd needed to run Callisto Tower as efficiently as she
  did.  Jeff had provided the emotional security Angharad required.
       Isthia sighed, remembering his father and wishing, as she often
  did, that Jerry was still alive.  But he wasn't and she was.  And this
  wasn't furthering the aims she had set herself for next year: delving
  more deeply into metamorphic manipulation.  Unfortunately, Capellans
  didn't believe in that.
       The hands which were thrust into Afra's view were no longer those
  of a small child but were still slender, graceful just like their
  owner.
       'What do you think?' Damia asked, turning her hands palms up and
  palms down for his inspection.  Afra looked up from where he had been
  kneeling, into the intense blue eyes in an oval face framed by long
  raven-black hair.
       Damia had let her hair go long in the four years since she had
  returned from Deneb.
       'Think of what, witch?' he asked, flicking to her back the one
  strand of white that emphasized the blackness and lustre of her hair.
       'This!' Damia stretched to her full height, running hands
  alongside her body.  It was only then, with the girl standing boldly
  upright, one leg slightly before the other, that Afra realized she was
  not wearing her swimsuit.
       She quirked an eyebrow at him provocatively, daring him to look
  away.  Afra responded by scrutinizing her body carefully from graceful
  neck, to firm breasts, to graceful hips, sculpted legs and finally to
  delicately boned long toes.
       'You're maturing nicely, Damia,' Afra told her when his inspection
  brought him back up to her eyes.  He patted the water beside him.
       'Water's warm.
       Clothing in the gymnasium at Callisto Station was strictly
  optional and decorative rather then veiling.
       Damia stamped a foot and squealed, 'No!  The tan!
       Afra, the tan!' Afra looked back at her body.  He cocked his head:
  it was slightly darkened.  He put a green arm up next to hers and shook
  his head.  'Not my shade, I think.
       Damia let out a screech of indignation.  Afra!' She stamped her
  foot so hard that her breasts shook.
       Afra gave her a teasing smile.  'Yes?' She pulled a bottle off the
  nearby deck chair and handed it to him.  'Will you put this on me?' she
  asked, her tone turning sweet.  'I don't want to lose what little tan
  I've got.
       Afra took the bottle of before-swim tan lotion and eyed the
  adolescent carefully.  He sniffed the bottle, put a little on one
  finger and rubbed with his thumb.  'How much and where?' 'Just enough
  to get me oily and everywhere, of course.
       Her tone was just short of patronizing.
       Afra obliged, starting with her backside.  'Your hair will get
  oily.' 'I don't care!  I'll wash it later.' She lifted it out of his
  way with a hand.  She twisted her head back slightly to watch his
  expression.  It annoyed her that he merely laved her down gently,
  
  working from shoulder to buttocks to ankles with no change of
  expression.  Her eyes twinkled in anticipation when it was time to do
  her front but Afra was just as careful and just as nonchalant when he
  lathered her breasts as when he lathered her nose.
       Still, he did avoid one area.  Damia coughed discreetly 'You
  missed a spot.' Without batting an eye, Afra oiled up his hands and
  dutifully went over the indicated zone.  'I guess you'll wash that,
  too.' To her intense pique, Damia blushed.
       Afra avoided her face until she had recovered, spending the time
  ostensibly fumbling with the bottle's top.  He hefted the closed bottle
  and, with a gesture, asked, 'Put it back over there?' 'Oh, sure,' she
  replied absently.  She patted her firm belly for attention.  'Do you
  think Amr will like it?' 'Your belly?  I can't see particularly why,'
  Afra said, peering wistfully to the empty pool beside him.
       'Afra!  Not my belly!  The muscles!  Look!' And she tensed,
  revealing an exceedingly well muscled body, with abdominal muscles
  showing clearly under soft tanned skin.
       'Nice,' Afra replied absently.  'Let's swim!
       'Oooh!  I should know better than to try to compete against a pool
  with you!' And with that she dived in.
       Hours later, she appeared in his apartment.  'What do you think?'
  she asked, twirling around to let the skirts of a diaphanous purple
  evening dress swirl about her.  She had done her hair up in a bun, with
  her witch's streak spiralling around the outside.  Long dark lashes
  accentuated piercing blue eyes.  Dimples formed around her mouth as it
  curved gently in a smile.
       'I think,' Afra said as he strode into the living room with his
  dinner, 'that you were taught to knock.' Damia pouted but her eyes
  twinkled mischievously.
       Afra knew that look.  'You know how your parents feel about you
  'porting around the station.' 'Are you going to tell?' Afra shook his
  head immediately.  'I told you when you returned that you were welcome
  any time, anyhow.  The door is even keyed to your retinal pattern.' He
  gave her a measuring glance.  'But it is good manners to knock.' He put
  his plate down on the coffee table and gestured at her dress.  'I do
  like it, you know.' 'It's for our date tonight.' 'Date?' 'Me and Amr'
  'Sweet sixteen is a good age to start dating.  Where are you going?'
  Damia's face fell.  'Well,' she hedged, fishing in a rush, 'Amr's
  picking me up at Earth Station.' 'So this is not merely a fashion
  parade.  Do your parents know?' 'They won't have t.
       'What are you hiding from them now?' Afra asked with some
  exasperation.  Damia pursed her lips, bowed her head.  Afra took in the
  look and let out a sigh.  'A special boy?' 'He's not a boy!  He's
  eighteen - almost!  she responded hotly.  'I've been seeing him for
  months now.
       Tonight's special.' 'So I had gathered,' Afra replied softly.
       Damia stared at him.  'You're not angry?' 'That you're ready to
  become a woman?  Why should I be?' His detached response perturbed her.
       Afra was aware of that but ignored it.  Damia's affection for him
  had blossomed quickly into an infatuation as puberty changed her from
  girl to young woman.  Afra respected that and handled the change in the
  intensity of her emotions as best he could but refused to release the
  storm that would surely strike if he made any overt acknowledgement of
  it.  It took a supreme effort on his part as he recognized how much joy
  he took in her presence but he refused to abuse and relinquish his
  position as her best friend and confidant.
       'Will you 'port me to Earth then?' she asked him flatly, eyes
  flaring.
       'You'll be careful-' 'I know what to do!  she shouted back.
       Before she could draw breath to berate him further, she was on the
  
  steps at the entrance of Earth Station.  'Hmmph!  That showed him.
       Call me when you want to come home, Afra sent along with a special
  stamp that Damia had come to accept as a quick } peck on her forehead.
       Despite herself, she smiled fondly.
       Damia had met Amr at Luciano's when Uncle Gollee had had to cancel
  a lunch date.  Amr Tusel, with swarthy good looks and a ready smile,
  had proudly informed her that he was a T-9 and training to be a
  stationmaster.  Damia, too worried that she would frighten him away,
  had not revealed her own Talent but professed astonishment at his
  prowess.
       At eighteen it would be a while before a T-9 would assume
  stationmaster duties.  They had spent that whole first night dancing,
  and Amr had walked her back to Central Station which despatched people
  to any part of the world.  His consideration and his kindness had
  impressed her but their first kiss had her toes curling and her body
  flooded with emotions she had not felt so intensely ever before.
       Since then, Damia had established that they would meet at Earth
  Station because (truthfully) it was closer to home for her.  They had
  seen each other for over six months, catching films, tri-vids,
  cavorting at amusement parks and dancing the night away.  As time
  passed, they spent more time engaged in passionate embrace than in
  conversation.
       Several times in the past weeks Amr had had to break out of their
  passion for fear that they would violate the few remaining blue laws.
       He had not figured out who she was, having never seen the lofty
  Jeff Raven nor any of the Gwyn-Raven clan, but Amr had figured out that
  she was young and a virgin.
       With a sense of honour and a Talented compassion, he had surmised
  that he was being considered for that most delicate of consummations.
       The prospect had frightened him and for a while they did not see
  each other.  When he relented, Damia had grown reticent in her own
  right and it was only with a loud and lengthy argument that she finally
  set the date.
       Being dormed at Trainee Quarters, Amr had no room of his own for
  such an assignation and Damia had dodged the possibility of using her
  house by saying that her parents were always around and that would
  inhibit her.
       The hotel was just across the street.  Damia had left an overnight
  bag at Earth Station several weeks before when she had first made up
  her mind and had retrieved it before she met Amr.
       He approached her with a smile on his lips and gave her a quick
  kiss.  He stood back, taking in her appearance and shaking his head in
  admiration.  'You are beautiful, Damia.' He took her bag from her,
  waving her onwards with a hand.  'Lead on, fairest of Venus's
  daughters!' Amr conducted the course of the evening.  They checked in,
  left their bags with the bellhop, asking them to be taken to their
  room.  Dinner, a full course menu, was first, followed by a leisurely
  stroll and then the dance floor.
       They danced until the DiscoTech was reluctantly closed.
       The last dances were slow ones and Damia's passions had been
  aroused.  The urgency abated slightly on the trip up to their room but
  Amr teased her back into passion.
       Passion was not new to Damia: she and Amr had spent many evenings
  locked in tight embraces but always before she had broken free when her
  passion threatened to overwhelm her.  It had been incredibly
  frustrating.  Tonight Damia felt free to unleash her full emotions.
       Gently Amr drew her into his arms, sliding them down her stately
  shoulders to her delicate waist.  He pulled her body close to his as
  they kissed with rising passion.  As passion rose, their clothing fell.
       Soon they were on the bed, Amr running crafty hands all over her
  
  body and Damia lost in a shower of feeling that threatened to drown
  her.  As her passion peaked for the third time, Amr gently entered her.
       At first Damia was too distracted by all the other sensations of
  her body to notice.  She froze for a moment when she did, looking up at
  him with a frightened expression but Amr smiled tenderly through his
  passion and gently flexed his flanks.
       Damia moaned, grabbed him tightly, wanting him in her.
       In her ecstasy she opened herself up, pulled him along and they
  rose and rose, crashed, rose again and again.
       You're Talented!  Amr cried through his passion.  Damia heard the
  accusation in his tone, unwillingly offered to stop but Amr thrust
  himself deeper in her, thrust his tongue into her mouth, crying: No!
       Oh gods, no!  I've never felt this before!
       They continued, Damia reviving Amr's flagging passions until they
  were both afloat on a wave of emotion, drained, recharged, sizzling
  electric ecstasy pounded over them, through them, around them wave
  after wave.  The exertions and emotions finally were too much for Damia
  and she drifted languorously from orgasm to sleep.
       Damia awoke with Amr's eyes glittering on her, following the line
  of her body like daggers.  She was sore, sore in places she had never
  known she had.  Muscles she had only just discovered registered their
  abuse with loud flares of pain as she moved one leg in front of the
  other.
       'Do it again, please?' Amr's voice was hoarse, small.
       'Oh, it was great!' Damia answered.  Amr moved an arm to encircle
  her but Damia moved - painfully away.  'I'm too sore, Amr.  Too tired.
       None of the tapes mentioned that.' 'Nor what you've done to me,'
  he replied, eyes dull.
       Anger crept into them.  'Have you no notion of what you've done to
  me?' His fingers clenched into fists.  Tears welled in his eyes, tears
  of anger, of honour lost, of despair.  'Do you?' His voice grew louder
  until he was shouting: 'Do you?  Do you?  Whore, slut!  Bitch!' With a
  look of pure terror he caught his hand mid-stroke as it moved unwilled
  to strike at her.
       Afra!  Damia cried in despair.
       She disappeared as Amr fought to produce an apology.
       Gone, he closed his eyes and cried softly in deep sobs, curled
  into a foetal ball.
       Nothing was mentioned about hating after loving!  Damia sobbed to
  Afra as he finished towelling her off and pulled her into his arms to
  wrap the towel around her.  She rested her head on his chest and
  bawled.  It was so.  . so.  . . and then he screamed at me!
       You were careful, weren't you?  Afra asked her, keeping his tone
  calm and soothing.
       Of course I was careful!  I've had the implant for months now!
       Damia retorted angrily.  Afra pushed himself away from her, tilted
  her head up so her eyes met his.
       'Damia, you kept your shields up, didn't you?' Afra asked.
       'Shields?  Afra, we made love!' Afra's expression altered, pain
  flickered across his face.
       'You were in a hotel?' Damia nodded dully.  'The one across the
  street from Central?' She nodded again.
       What room number?
       Afra!  she protested.
       We have to know how Amr's handling this, he said, then
  strengthened his 'pathing.  Gollee, we've got an emergency.
       A muffled response came back to him.  Afra made a face.
       I need you to look after a T-9, Amr Tusel.  He's over at the
  Excelsior.  Afra paused, his face expressionless as he looked down at
  Damia.  I think he's been burnt out.
  
       Gollee Gren became instantly alert.  I'll handle it, Afra.
       'Burnt out?' Damia echoed aloud.  'Afra, he was fine!' 'Was he
  fine when you left him, Damia?' Afra asked her softly.  'Did you guard
  your Talent when you made love?' Damia was devastated.  'Nobody told
  me!' 'I did,' Afra said quietly, lips thin.  'I said, be careful.' 'I
  thought you meant-' Damia broke off, finally absorbing the enormity of
  her recklessness.  'Will he be all right?  Will he recover?'
  'Possibly,' Afra hedged.  But she cocked her head at him challengingly.
       'Probably not,' he admitted, recognizing the morality involved.
       'Oh, Afra!' Damia wailed, throwing herself in his arms.
       I'll never love again!
       'I wouldn't say "never", Damia,' Afra said at his driest.
       He picked her up and carried her over to the couch.  'Just never
  be so careless ever again.' He placed her beside him on the couch,
  cradling her torso with his arms.  'Love, Damia, but be caring and
  careful with it.
       No, I'll never love again, Damia mumbled earnestly as her 'voice'
  faded with fatigue.  Afra made no reply, holding the youngster until
  she drifted into sleep.  Then, very carefully, he insinuated a tendril
  of thought to ease her pain.
       Afra was aware of Damia's gaze before he opened his eyes.
       He looked down at her, still resting on his chest and met her
  piercing blue eyes.  He gave her a slight smile.  'Bet your muscles are
  sore.' Damia snorted.  'From sleeping this way or from before?' 'Both.'
  Damia regarded him for a long moment, then admitted: 'It could have
  been you-' Afra silenced her with a finger to her lips.  'Don't.' She
  examined the finger critically, then ducked away from it to kiss it,
  smiling up at him.  The smile faded.
       'Have you heard about Amr?' Afra nodded solemnly.  'He's resting
  now, in hospital.' He looked down at her.  'I will teach you control.'
  Damia bit her lip.  'Would I have done that to you, if we had-' Afra
  shook his head.  'We didn't, Damia.' 'It could have been you!' The
  admission was torn from her lips.  She buried herself against his
  chest.  'Oh, Afra, don't you love me?' Afra cradled her head tenderly
  to his chest.
       'I wanted to, you know,' Damia went on, implacably young and
  naive.  'I tried-' 'I know,' Afra soothed.
       She pulled her head back against his hand to look him in the eyes.
       'You knew?  And you didn't .  . . And I And Amr?' she spluttered,
  growing furious.
       Again Afra put a finger to her lips but Damia wrapped her teeth
  about it, biting hard.  Her eyes locked on his as she bit harder and
  harder but Afra's expression didn't change.  When she tasted salty
  blood in her mouth, Damia spat the finger out.
       Tears dripped out of Afra's eyes as he coldly examined the
  bleeding teeth marks.
       'I'm glad it hurt!' Damia said, hot with fury, with embarrassment,
  with guilt.
       Afra flicked his eyes to her.  'That isn't what hurts, Damia.' She
  broke free of his grasp angrily, strode to the bathroom, pulled on one
  of his long shirts, grabbed a first aid box and threw at him on the way
  out, 'Here!  That's for your hand.  I can't do anything for your
  heart.' The door, being automatic, would not slam but Damia kicked it
  with a resounding thud to achieve the same effect.
       'A word with you, young miss!' The tight voice of Gollee Gren
  shocked Damia so much she jumped.
       'Gollee!  What are you doing here?' she asked, looking around the
  lounge at Callisto Station.  'It's not Dad-' Then she remembered.
       'Amr?' 'He's all right.' Gren dismissed the issue.  He grabbed
  her, dragged her over to a booth, sat down beside her.  'Just what do
  
  you think you are doing, anyway?' 'What do you mean?' Gren swore.
       'After all he's done for you.  He's covered up for your "tricks",
  he's watched over you, lied and you - you're not even worth your name!'
  'Who?' Damia cried in confusion.
       'Who?' Gren snorted.  'Trust you to not know!  Don't you think?
       Don't you see?' He shook his head in a vain attempt to throw off
  his anger.  It did not work.  He let out a deep breath.  'I got the
  pictures back from medics.' He nodded to emphasize his point.  'He said
  that one of the Coonies had bit him but I know those marks.  Even when
  you try to bite his hand off he protects you!' 'afra?' Damia exclaimed.
       'He doesn't even know I exist!  That cold-blooded green-skinned
  yellow eyed-' She searched for further epithets, found none,
  'Capellan!' 'You don't think about anyone but yourself, do you?' Gren
  snapped back.
       'Damia, Damia, poor Damia!' He narrowed his eyes critically at
  her.
       'Well, what about Afra?
       How do you think he felt when his best friend's daughter comes on
  to him?  Don't you know what you did?' 'He turned me down!' Damia
  exclaimed, wondering how Gren could have known that and amazed at
  herself for blurting out such an unsavoury episode.
       'You were as obvious as the sun!  He had no choice, even if he had
  wanted to!' Gren said hotly.  'But that's nothing.
       To punish him for it you go off and maim some poor-' 'THAT'S NOT
  TRUE!' Damia shouted at the top of her lungs, tears of rage rolling
  down her cheeks.
       'Isn't it?' Gren asked quietly.  'Think carefully before you
  answer, Damia Gwyn-Raven.  And when you are done, you go to him and you
  ask him very politely to teach you control.' 'I won't!  Never!' She was
  so furious she whispered, visibly trembling to suppress the things she
  wanted to do, could do to her accuser 'Your parents don't know about
  that night, or Amr, Damia grinned.  'That's normal!' he said, speaking
  as low and as intensely.  'Yet.' He rose, turning back to her in
  parting.  'Now, you apologize to him and you learn from him how to
  control yourself.' 'Or you'll do what?' Damia sneered tauntingly.
       Gren looked her over critically.  'I won't tell your father.' And
  he stomped off leaving Damia to wonder why that promise struck her as
  so sinister.
       '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 any more, 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!' Brian Ackerman caught them up 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 grey, 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 favoured 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 21C 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 these "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 F T & 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-i
  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
  months.
       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' 5 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 'Jeff Raven's own population explosion.
       You watch over all of 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.
       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 furthest human colony from Earth.
       Eventually the League would have sufficient sentries to ring the
  heliopause of every one of its member star systems.
       But 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, devious 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 Aurigae 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 agricultural needs 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 the 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 frick 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 labour!  You leave them both alone!' Damia was
  forced to admit that such an intrusion had been the most shameless
  breach of good manners.  But how 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 sisters, 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
  analyse 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.
       It was no consolation to Damia that her mother, in a rare example
  of maternal solicitude, had warned her of this intense, feminine
  loneliness which she, too, had experienced.
       But Jeff Raven had appeared to breach the Rowan's Tower and the
  Rowan had at least had Afra's company Afra!  Why did her mind keep
  returning to him?
       Damia realized that she was grinding her teeth.  She forced
  herself through the rituals again, sternly making specific thought
  dissipate until her mind drifted.  And, in the course of that aimless
  drifting, an aura impinged on her roving consciousness.  Startled - for
  nothing could be coming in from that quarter of space - she tightened
  her mind into a seeking channel.
       An aura!  A mere wisp of the presence of something.
       Something .  alien!
       Alien!  Damia recomposed herself.  She disciplined her mind to a
  pure, clear, uncluttered shaft.  She touched the aura.  Recognition of
  her touch!  Retreat - return!
       The aura was undeniably alien, but so faint that she would have
  doubted its existence except that her finely trained mind was not given
  to error.
       An exultation as hot as lust caused her blood to pound in her
  
  ears.  She was not wrong.  The trace was there.  And it wasn't Beetles!
       Taking a deep breath, she directed an arrow-fine mental shout
  across the light-years, nadirward, to the Earth Prime Tower in the
  squat Blundell building which housed the administrative centre of
  Federated Teleport and Telepath.
       I've caught something out here, Earth Prime!
       Aurigae Prime, damn it, control.  Control, girl!  Jeff replied,
  keeping his own mental roar within tolerable bounds.
       Sony, but I'm aimed directly at you, Damia replied without real
  contrition.  Her father was capable of deflecting her most powerful
  thrust.
       Thank all the gods for that mercy.  So what have you caught?
       specify!  His tone was official.
       I can't be more specific.  The alien aura is barely detectable,
  coming from four light-years galactic north-northeast, Sector 2.
       I arrowed in once I heard the trace and it responded.
       It responded?  And four light-years out?  Damia, where are you?
       Jeff s tone was suspicious.
       Slightly bond Aurigaen heliopause, she replied, hoping that her
  father had no way of judging just how far she actually was.  I'm
  resting.
       Just how far are you from your Tower?  Jeff demanded, more irate
  father than Earth Prime.
       Only a light-year.
       Leaving the Tower with only a T-6 in control?  I thought we'd
  instilled more common sense than that in your head!
       Let's not get too cocky, Damia.  Those hey-mad colonists are
  having a bad effect on you.
       Damia chortled.  And here I thought the opposite was well
  reported.  Damia knew perfectly well that her father would have heard
  about her exploits with carefully chosen, energetic and chauvinistic
  young engineers and miners.
       But none of them had been the least bit Talented so her affairs
  had not harmed them.  She'd never been able to forget Amr Tusel.  If
  some of her partners thought she would favour their shipments over
  others because of her liaisons, they were soon disabused of the notion.
       In her Tower she scrupulously adhered to FT&T's business.
       You are at least discreet, Jeff admitted, but don't change the
  subject.  Resting is good, but you can achieve as much rest beyond
  Aurigae's moons as you can a light-year out and not risk being
  irretrievable.
       Privately, Damia admitted that his point was well taken.
       I wouldn't have impinged on that aura if I was only beyond the
  moons, Dad.  Aren't we supposed to discover visitors, and she added a
  mental grin for her description, before they reach the hello pa use?
       All right, all right, Jeff said, but Damia knew she hadn't
  convinced him.  Show me, he added, his tone reproving.
       She allowed his mind to join with hers as she led him directly to
  the alien trace.  The aura was palpable but so far away that only the
  extraordinary perception of two powerful minds could sense it.
       I sense anticipation, curiosity, surprise, Jeff told his daughter
  thoughtfully as he withdrew from the tight focus.  And caution, too.
       Whatever it is, is approaching our galaxy.  Damn, why couldn't we
  have at least a few peripheral sentinels for you beyond Aurigae.
       Mechanicals would be no good in this instance, Damia declared,
  irritated by the inference that devices would be more useful than she
  could be.
       That's true enough, though the safest procedure is for mechanicals
  to inform humans.
       So I've stolen a march on those much vaunted DEWs.  And I can find
  
  out a helluva lot more than they could.  Damia couldn't resist
  reminding her father of that.
       Not at any time personally endangering yourself, Prime, Jeff
  replied, colouring the official concern with personal.
       Of course not, Damia replied, fully confident in her own
  abilities.  But if I can establish some kind of communication with
  these visitors, I'll need someone to take over my Tower.  Like Larak.
       I can't spare Larak immediately.  He's training a T-3 to augment
  old Guzman at Procyon Tower.  The old fellow tends to fall asleep and
  great tact is required to keep from irritating or humiliating Guz,
  neither of which temper keeps Procyon operating smoothly.
       I thought you'd a dozen good T-2s coming along, Damia replied, for
  she kept informed of all matters concerning Talents.
       I do, but there isn't a team working smoothly enough yet to take
  over on such short notice.  I'll send you Afra.  He'd be better anyhow.
       Because Afra was involved with the Deneb Penetration?
       Damia asked, slightly supercilious.  And you don't think I'd know
  Beetle stink after a childhood on Deneb?
       Jeff chuckled.  Yes, I suppose you'd have learned that, too.
       Well, I'd rather wait until Larak's free if it's only a question
  of a few weeks.  We've time in hand, I think, before the alien vessel
  gets anywhere near Aurigae's heliopause.  And you know how Mother hates
  being deprived of Afra, Damia added, not quite leeching all the rancour
  from her voice.
       Damia!  and Jells tone crackled with disapproval.  I thought you'd
  grown out of that bit of childishness.  Furthermore, I will not
  tolerate such disrespect of your mother, least of all from you.  He
  paused, leaving Damia in no doubt of his anger, a palpable bridge of
  tension between them despite the enormous distance that physically
  separated them.  By rights, I ought to saddle you with some T-2s and
  let you sweat out their learning.
       Thank you, no, Dad.  Not under the present circumstances.
       And Damia did not bother to hide her dismay at his suggestion.
       Unfortunately the most useful pair are twins and as you never got
  on terms with the way Jeran and Cera operated, I doubt you'd establish
  a rapport with them either.
       Sometimes, Dad, I don't think you like me.
       Of course, I do, Damia, and a swelling of love, affection and
  approval laved her, as your father.  But, and now Jeff s voice turned
  droll, as Earth Prime, I'm as aware of your strengths as your
  weaknesses.  You operate far more effectively with T-3s and under.  I
  just don't happen to have any T-3s but your brother.  There was a note
  of wistfulness in her father's voice that Damia understood all too
  well, to both her amusement and chagrin.
       Your dynastic plans will bear better fruit with Jeran, you know.
       He's been awful cocky lately.  Only don't let him settle for
  anything less than a T4.
       She grinned to herself at her father's startled pause.
       You haven't been eavesdropping again, have you, Damia?
       She parried that surprise with a quick, After Afra reamed me for
  that with Jenna?  Not bloody likely.
       Oh, so it was Afra.  Your mother thought it might have been
  Isthia.  Your grandmother had a rare Talent for knowing when one of her
  charges was up to mischief The trouble with telepaths is that sometimes
  they think too much, she remarked acidly, infuriated afresh to realize
  that her mother also knew of that incident.
       Damia!  Jeff's tone was unusually severe.  Better than anyone else
  in this galaxy, your mother understands your Tower isolation.
       Is that why she handed me over to Isthia to raise?  Damia flashed
  back.
  
       To give you a soft ambience when you were too damned precocious to
  appreciate the dangers of living in the Callisto dome.  And I know you
  remember Afra hauling you out of a freighter a split second before your
  mother was about to launch it to Altair.
       Damia did remember but she didn't like to and she hated for her
  father to bring it up.
       Furthermore, and she had to set her teeth as her father continued
  on that tack, let me try to seal it into your stubborn head that it was
  I who insisted that you go to your grandmother on Deneb, not your
  mother, and it was Afra you were clinging to like a barnacle when it
  came time to be put in the capsule for the trip.  Right now Damia
  particularly didn't like to be reminded of that fact, not when Afra's
  silence had lasted seven months.  Her father sighed, abruptly breaking
  off that familiar lecture.  You and your mother are so much alike.
       Damia snorted.  She was not the least bit like her mother.
       There was absolutely no resemblance between them.  She was Jeff s
  daughter from her slender height to her black hair and vivid blue eyes.
       Jeran, yes, and Ezra, too, took after the Rowan.  But not she.  Of
  course, her mother had an exceedingly strong and diverse psionic Talent
  or she wouldn't be Callisto Prime, but Damia felt that she was just as
  strong, and she had the added advantage of that catalytic ability as
  well.
       Well, Jeff was saying in a resigned tone, you'll see it one day,
  my dear, and I, for one, will be immensely relieved.  Your mother and I
  love you very much and we're damned proud of the way you've been
  managing Aurigae Tower.  Professionally I have no quibbles with you.
       Damia basked in her father's praise.  He didn't give it lightly.
       I'll send Afra on directly, he added, spoiling her pleasure.  I
  can trust his impartiality, and to Damia's amazement, her father
  chuckled.
       She stabbed at his mind to find the basis for the amusement, but
  met a blankness as her father had turned his mind to some other
  problem.
       'Impartiality?  Afra?' The sound of her own voice in the little
  personal capsule startled her.
       What on Earth was that supposed to mean?  Why would Afra's
  impartiality be trusted - above hers - in identifying or evaluating an
  alien aura?
       But Afra was to come to Aurigae.
       After he had broken contact with Damia, Jeff did not immediately
  turn to other problems.  He mulled over the subtler aspects of that
  vivid contact with his daughter.
       Damia's mind was as brilliant as Iota Aurigae, and right now
  blazing with excitement over the contact.  He didn't like her
  recklessness but, in this instance, he could only be relieved that she
  had been in position to catch the aura.
       Odd that she could still be so angry about being sent to Isthia.
       Odder still, that she could still deny that it had been Afra she'd
  clung to, and cried for, not her mother.
       Jeff knew very well that, once Damia had settled in with her
  grandmother and her cousins, she'd been extremely happy and benefited
  tremendously by the Special School for Talent that Isthia had set up.
       Jeff sighed.  The decision to send Damia to Isthia had been one of
  the hardest had ever had to make, personally and professionally.  But
  she'd come early into her extraordinary mental powers, frightening
  everyone on the station with her antics and incredibly dangerous use of
  telekinesis.  Only Afra had any control over her and even his patience
  had ended with her capsule stunt.
       Under Isthia's calm, unruffled discipline, and with a huge planet
  to roam in and myriads of cousins to keep tabs on her, Damia had
  
  learned how to use her Talent without abusing it, herself, and anyone
  in her immediate vicinity.  She became sincerely fond of her
  grandmother and would obey Isthia where she argued every request from
  her parents, especially her mother.  Strange that it was the Rowan whom
  Damia still blamed for fostering her.
       Rowan, Jeff called out to Callisto Tower and sensed that his wife
  was resting as the interchanges on Callisto's cargo cradles filled from
  Earthside.
       Her mind linked with his gladly, just as if they hadn't
  breakfasted together on Callisto a few hours earlier.
       I've a message of extreme importance to impart to you, luv.  Open
  to me.
       Damia's made contact with an alien aura?  The fleeting maternal
  concern was quickly supplanted by professional curiosity as the Rowan
  scanned Damia's recent experience beyond Aurigae.  Of course Afra goes.
       I can't think of anyone better.  Her tone was slightly ironic
  until she caught the thought that Jeff tried to lose.  But why on Earth
  Damia would think that you can't assign Afra wherever he's needed, I
  just don't understand.  Oh, well.  I don't understand that child.  I'll
  take a pair of those T-2s you're training until he comes back.  Twins,
  huh?
       Well, Mauli and Mick have been a superb team, and Jeran and Cera
  accustomed me to fraternal language.  She added with a sigh, I'll miss
  him.
       You always do, Jeff replied teasingly, to divert the Rowan from
  scanning the recent conversation too deeply, Good thing I trust that
  yellow-eyed Capellan -- Jeff Raven, there has never been an improper
  thought between Afra and myself even before you lurched in from Deneb
  Jeff laughed and she sputtered at him indignantly.
       Actually, she continued, it'd be a relief for me to know that
  Afra's out with Damia.  I really do worry that she might get besotted
  with one of those brawny Aurigaen types she plays about with.
       The last thing Afra'd do is interfere with her pleasures.
       The Rowan let out an exasperated sigh.  But those pleasures do
  nothing to relieve her loneliness.  Sometimes .
       I know, said her husband with considerable sympathy and then his
  tone hardened.  She wouldn't BE lonely if she hadn't been so
  heavy-handed with every other high T young male She resents our
  matchmaking as much as I resented Reidinger's.
       There's no guarantee she won't find a Denebian, too, you know,
  Jeff replied, allowing his voice to become so lascivious that the Rowan
  pretended shock.  When can you spare Afra from doing your work?
       Afra?  Doing MY work?  Just wait till you get home.  And she
  pretended to ignore his response to that threat.  Afra?
       Jeff requires your attention.
       Jeff caressed her with a genuinely affectionate thought before he
  felt Afra's mind touch his.
       Are you sure you're still only a T-3?  he asked, surprised at the
  firmness in the Capellan's contact.
       I'm in gestalt, after all, Afra replied, adding a mental shrug at
  Jeff's surprise.  What else could you expect after twenty years of
  proximity to two of the strongest Talents in explored space?  It's no
  wonder I've learned a few tricks from the pair of you.  From the
  expression on Rowan's face, I'd hazard that Damia has lately been
  discussed.  What's she up to now?
       Damia had just returned to Aurigae when she heard the Rowan giving
  the Tower official warning of the transmission of a personal capsule.
       Afra?  Damia exclaimed, reaching back along her mother's touch to
  Callisto.
       Damia!  Afra said warningly but too late.
  
       Without waiting for the Rowan to launch the capsule towards
  Aurigae, Damia blithely drew the carrier directly from Callisto,
  ignoring her mother's stunned and angry reaction to such bad manners.
       Damia regretted her impulsiveness immediately.  But Afra's capsule
  was opening and he was swinging himself out.  She could not have missed
  his trenchant disapproval if she'd been a mere T-15.  He stood, looking
  down at her though she was tall enough to look most men in the eye, as
  imperturbable as ever.  As aloof and contained as always.  Did Afra
  never alter?  Did he never give vent to his feelings?  Did he have any?
       Unfair of her for she knew he did - even if he seemed to expend
  most of them on barque cats and Coonies.  She really shouldn't have
  snatched his carrier from her mother: that had been childish and she so
  wanted Afra to notice how well she managed Aurigae Tower with a minimum
  of Talented staff and a maximum of efficiency.  She sighed for she knew
  she hadn't impressed Afra at all.
       Instinctively, she straightened as if to minimize the difference
  in their heights.  Even so, she still only came to Afra's shoulder.
       'You will apologize to your mother, Damia,' Afra said, his
  unexpectedly tenor speaking voice a curious echo of his quiet mental
  tone.  'Isthia taught you better manners even if we never could.
       'You've been trying to lately, though, haven't you?' The retort
  came out before she could stop it.  Why did she always feel like an
  errant child in Afra's presence?  Even when she wasn't at fault.
       He cocked his head to one side and regarded her steadily.
       She sent a swift probe which he parried easily.
       'You were distressing Jenna unnecessarily, Damia.  She appealed to
  me because she did not wish Jeff to know of your indiscretion.
       'She chose well.' Damia was so appalled at the waspishness of her
  tone that she extended her hand to him apologetically.
       She could feel him throw up his mental barriers and, for a second,
  she wondered if he might refuse what was, after all, the height of
  familiarity between telepaths.  But his hand rose smoothly to clasp
  hers, lightly, warmly, leaving her with the essential
  cool-green-comfortable-security that was the physical/mental
  double-touch of him.
       Then, with a one-sided smile, he bowed to indicate he was
  flattered by the compliment of touching but allowed a recollection of
  herself, clad only in dypers, cross his public mind.
       She made a face at him and substituted Larak's son.
       Afra blandly put 'her' back beside her nephew.
       'All right,' she laughed.  'I'll behave.' 'About time,' he said
  with an affable grin.  'Now apologize to your mother.
       Damia made a face but she sent a suitably contrite message to the
  Rowan who accepted it with only a modicum of disapproval.  When she had
  done that, Damia saw Afra looking about him.  He would have seen
  Aurigae through the perceptions of herself and Keylarion, her T-6.
       The Tower occupied a position beyond the edges of, and on a height
  above, the sprawling colony town which had been built on both sides of
  the river that flowed into Aurigae's southern sea several kilometres
  beyond.  A fine straight road linked Tower and town, but there was
  little traffic on it now in the early evening.
       Unlike other Towers, there was no staff compound, for most of the
  Talents preferred quarters in the nearby town.
       So, late in the evening there weren't even any ground vehicles
  about the Tower buildings and only the two personal capsules in the
  cradling yard.  The sweet-scented breeze sweeping down from the high
  snowy mountain range was lightly moist and the atmosphere had a high
  oxygen content, exhilarating him.  Afra took a deep breath and exhaled.
       'It's a lovely world you have here, Damia.' She smiled up at him,
  her blue eyes brilliant under the fringes of long black lashes.
  
       'Yes, isn't it?  Young and vigorous.  Come see where I live.  And
  see how well all the Coonies have adapted to Aurigae.' She led the way
  from the landing stage to her dwelling.
       Her house, a cantilevered affair on several levels, perched on the
  high plateau above the noisy metropolis.  Its randomly sprawling
  newness had a vitality which the planned order of both Earth and his
  native Capella lacked.  Afra found the view stimulating.
       'It is, isn't it?' Damia agreed, following his surface thought.
       Then she directed his mind to her day's discovery, giving the
  experience exactly as it had happened to her.
       'And the touch is unlike anything I've ever encountered.' 'You
  certainly didn't expect it to be familiar, did you?' Afra asked in dry
  amusement.
       'Just because they originate in another galaxy doesn't mean they
  can't be humanoid, and thus somewhat familiar,' she replied.
       'Dreamer They both heard an excited chatter as they started up the
  last flight of shallow steps to the main entrance to her quarters.  She
  grinned over her shoulder at Afra.
       'They know you're here,' she said just as a tumble of brightly
  furred bodies squeezed out of their special door, sorting into five
  separate entities.  Squealing and clicking with delight, they swarmed
  up Afra's long legs - one Coonie making a splendid leap from the top
  step directly to his chest.  Laughing, Afra reached up to keep the
  daring Crisp from losing her grip on the smooth fabric of his tunic.
       Meanwhile, arthur scrambled to his shoulder, twining his banded
  tail around Afra's neck, just as Merry arrived on the other shoulder
  and Priss and Scrap argued with each other for Afra's crooked right
  arm.
       Merry was disgusted and leapt to Damia's shoulder, scolding her
  siblings impartially as she proprietorially threaded her tail about
  Damia's neck.
       'Aurigae' 5 unscrewed all their training, too,' Afra remarked as
  he carried his squirming load into the house.
       But his smile took the sting from his words.  'I'm positive that
  Crisp and arthur have put on kilos since they left Callisto.
       'They've filled out a lot.  The hunting's good,' Damia said.
       'They're foraging?' Afra was both surprised and pleased.
       Coonies were infinitely adaptable which was why they fared well
  wherever they were raised.  This litter had been born on Callisto under
  Damia's bed, if Afra remembered correctly.  They had always been
  Damia's but had included him in their exuberant affections.
       I'Daily, or should I say nightly?  What they don't eat they
  deposit very carefully in my bathtub - where it's easy to clean up.'
  Damia made a face.  'Are you hungry?
       I've probably interrupted your normal shift.' 'Oh, don't go to any
  trouble for me,' he said, settling on the long deep couch in the living
  area so that he could pet the Coonies who rapturously exposed their
  white-furred bellies for his special attentions.
       'No trouble at all,' Damia replied.  Mischievously she kinetically
  started several cooking operations at the same time, each one a dish
  which she knew Afra particularly enjoyed.  For quite a few minutes, the
  kitchen was full of flying utensils, condiments and raw materials being
  processed.
       'Always the thoughtful hostess,' he said, graciously inclining his
  head.  'How fast is this alien closing on Aurigae?' 'Give me a break,
  Afra!  I only know it's there!  How could I possibly judge relative
  speed?  I've got to establish some frame of reference.
       'Well, you've always been precocious.' He had to duck a vegetable
  peeling which she flung at him in her pique.
       He neatly launched it into the disposal unit.  'Seriously, Damia,
  
  how long do you think you'll need?' Appeased by a reasonable request,
  she considered.  'I should have some idea of relative speed in a week
  or so.
       Maybe even sooner, but I doubt it.' Absently fondling soft, silky
  Coonie bodies, he watched her as she ended the telekinetic preparatory
  ballet of edibles, and began to sample what she was cooking, corrected
  seasonings and added final ingredients.  Like most T- is, she enjoyed
  manual work and kept her house without relying on the mechanicals which
  most households considered essential.  In a very short time, she
  prepared a perfectly cooked, attractively presented meal at which he
  glanced casually, seemingly reluctant to disentangle his hands from the
  Coonies' playful paws and teeth.
       'Scatter, kids,' Damia said, firmly Separating the little animals
  from their willing victim.
       With startled squeaks, the Coonies fled from the couch to
  positions where they turned to glare in her direction, muttering Coonie
  imprecations.  Afra glanced at her, his eyebrows raised in mild rebuke.
       'They had a good romp with you,' she said, 'but I went to a lot of
  trouble to give you a decent meal and I don't like my efforts wasted.'
  She sat down across from him, plate in hand.
       'Your efforts are not wasted,' he said, putting his fork in the
  crispy ginger chicken served with mangetout.
       'Tasty enough.' Damia made a face at him.  "'Tasty enough?"' She
  mimicked him.  'Can't I ever impress you?' she asked, half-wistful,
  half-sharp.
       'Why should you want to at this late date?' he asked, amiably.
       'I've never forgotten our introduction.' And he grinned.
       'Oh, that!' As always, that reminder caused her to flush.
       'It's not fair of you to continually bring that up.  So I smiled
  at you until Elizara took me from you and then began to bawl my eyes
  out.  I was hardly aware of what I was doing, now was I?  a bare hour
  born.' 'My dear Damia,' and he chuckled appreciatively, 'you have
  always been aware of your effect on an audience.
       He bowed his head towards her.  'But let us attend to the business
  at hand.  How can I help you?  Shall I take over the regular Tower
  workload and leave you free for surveillance?' 'I think you'll have to.
       When I got back in from resting, before mother despatched you,
  Federated Mines and Ores notified me of intent to forward nine drones
  to the refinery on one of Betelgeuse's outer planets.' 'Nine shouldn't
  be a problem with David to catch,' Afra replied.
       Damia rolled her eyes.  'Big daddies, every one of them, not those
  small interstellar drones you and Mother play with.' 'The big ones?'
  And Afra regarded her with some concern.  'And they expect you to
  manage such mass with only a Damia grinned with satisfaction at his
  response.  'I always do manage, you know,' she said with considerable
  pride.
       'Still jump-starting other people's Talents?' 'There's nothing
  wrong with that, Afra, if it helps me spin off the workload they expect
  of me.' Afra leaned forward, lightly touching his finger to her hand.
       'There's such a thing as being too stiff-necked proud, Damia.
       Especially as you might put your T-6 at risk of burnout.  Did you
  think of that?' 'Yes, I have, but Keylarion is sturdy.  She doesn't
  have much finesse but she sort of sets her heels down and pushes.'
  Damia gave a little laugh.  'We might need more generators if this
  traffic in big daddies continues.
       'Earth Prime has the right to know when his people are
  overloaded.' Damia found it difficult to evade Afra's yellow eyes.
       'I would have mentioned it if the heavy traffic keeps up, Afra.
       I'd thought of insisting on the linked pod configuration you
  initiated, but it's more a question of mass than convenience.  Up tilt
  
  some dark thought of the big daddies, Keylarion and I have been able
  for all they've asked.' 'At least you had sense to ask for help today,'
  Afra said, and then shook his finger at her, simulating censure.  I
  think I'll recommend that you're allowed a T-4 Ah ah, Damia,' and held
  his finger in a sterner pose, 'I'll have made the recommendation if I
  judge the traffic requires it.
       You won't have to admit you're unable to handle it.' 'I am able to
  handle it,' and she jerked her chin up in challenge.
       'Indeed, but not if you've got to play sentinel, too.  I should
  imagine that your staff will give a collective sigh of relief to know
  you're being reinforced.' Looking down to artistically rearrange the
  vegetables on her plate, she found that Afra was, as usual, correct in
  his supposition.  The tip of his finger touched her chin and, with a
  deft kinetic tilt, he made her look him in the eye.
       tHis mind touch was so sympathetic and understanding that she
  smiled ruefully.
       'I don't have a big staff,' she admitted, adding hastily, 'but we
  really do work well together.  And I haven't heard so much as a wisp of
  complaint at the workload.' 'Then you've a good loyal group who will be
  delighted to see me appear in the Tower to help one and all move those
  ponderously packed pachydermical projectiles.  When we've done that,
  your retiring in your capsule for a spot of peace and quiet will seem
  quite in order.  Right?' 'As always, Afra.
       He regarded her steadily.  'Is that so hard to take from me,
  Damia?' She mushed up the vegetables on the end of her fork and replied
  honestly.  'No, not from you, Afra.  Never from you.  You don't
  change,' she added, rather more tartly than she intended.
       He grinned at her.  'Good old reliable Afra, consistent and
  constant.
       She wrinkled her nose at him, experiencing an odd twinge of regret
  for his flippant self-description.  'You're not that old.' 'No,
  actually I'm not,' he said enigmatically and served himself a second
  helping from her pots and pans.
       That pleased her and she rediscovered her appetite.
       Having Afra recommend what she herself hadn't wanted to request
  restored her self-confidence.  She was exceedingly glad to have Afra
  here just now, and not merely to help her shift cargo that was
  beginning to tax her strength, but because she was still absorbing the
  effect of touching that alien aura.  She was excited, too, that she,
  Damia Gwyn-Raven, should establish such a first contact.  Almost as if
  it had been preordained - though she had never succumbed to the
  immature curiosity that sometimes preoccupied lesser Talents to seek
  hints of their future from clairvoyants.
       'You know,' she began, wanting to clear the air between them
  completely, 'you were right to call me to task for "tasting" Larak and
  Jenna.  But I did want to know how a lasting love feels in the mind.
       So I'll recognize it when it happens.  And what it's like to give
  birth.' Afra raised an eyebrow quizzically.  'And 'Apart from the pain,
  I guess it's rewarding enough.' 'You don't sound too sure.
       Damia cocked her head and traced an involved pattern on the table
  with her index finger.
       'I suspect the firsthand experience is more intense, no matter how
  deeply one scans.
       A trace thought behind her shield, triggered by her observation,
  sent a stab of apprehension through Afra that he barely managed to
  contain.  She was unconsciously censoring, and it had to do with the
  alien aura and with her own desire for the experience of motherhood.
       But trace thought it was, and he had only that nana-second
  impression, tantalizing, terrorizing.
       'You're young yet, Damia,' he said, keeping his voice light, 'and
  
  it's really important for you to consolidate your abilities as a Prime
  before you have conflicting loyalties.
       You know how hard it was for your mother to juggle Prime duties
  and motherhood.' Damia cast him a jaundiced glare.  'Not that old
  homily again,' she said in disgust.  'From Mother and Isthia it's bad
  enough, but not you.  And why does it seem to affect women more than
  men?  Look at Larak: he's got Jenna and he's two and a half years my
  junior!' 'Cera's not involved ---' 'Oh yes, she is, even if he's not
  very Talented.  Oh, is that news to you?' She was pleased to surprise
  him.
       Restlessly, she launched herself physically from the table in one
  lightning move, startling the Coonies who had been nestling in one of
  the lounge chairs.
       'Cera could always keep her own counsel,' Afra replied.
       -'Why is it that Primes have such a hard time, Afra?  We can do so
  much more than .  . .' She discontinued that thought for one of the
  strictest precepts of her upbringing was to avoid the arrogance of
  ability 'Compensation,' Afra said in the languid drawl he reserved for
  these moods of hers.  'There are some experiences in life which are
  worth waiting for.' She whirled, scowling at him, looking even more
  lovely than ever.  'So I should just wait in my Tower?  As Mother did?
       Passive?' Afra let out a roar of laughter that startled Damia as
  much as it did the Coonies.  He laughed until his eyes were tearing.
       'My dear Damia, there is nothing passive about you, or don't you
  remember how you dismissed young Nicoloss 'Nico!  That adolescent
  mess!' 'He's a good reliable T-5 and he's a superb second at
  Betelgeuse.
       'David's welcome to him!' Damia's eyes flashed blue sparks of
  outrage.
       'Well, now, girl, you know you need a steadying hand 'Oooooh!
       Steadying hand .  . . I'll steady you .  . .' and Damia lifted her
  right hand.
       Well acquainted with Damia's tendency to dramatize, Afra deposited
  Crisp in her open palm.  Crisp blinked and cheeped in surprise.
       'Ah, yes, I see I was mistaken,' Afra said as she closed her
  fingers reassuringly about the Coonie, drawing it in to her breast.
       'YOU have the steadying hand.' She regarded him darkly, tapping
  her foot, her lips compressed.
       It had become second nature, Afra decided, to deal with Damia's
  moods.  To be sure, they were more complex since she became interested
  in the opposite sex - or, to be precise, the lack of partners,
  steadying or otherwise.  These times tried his resolve despite the fact
  that his diversions were usually effective.  One day he might graduate
  from the avuncular stance he had had to adopt and be able to give free
  expression to his deep-hidden desire.  But, from the day that Damia's
  imminent puberty had forced him to realize how much she meant to him,
  he had given a great deal of thought to the variables and knew that he
  could only wait.  It was hard.  Certainly as hard as it was for Damia
  to watch others pairing off, achieving the enviable total rapport that
  telepaths enjoyed, and for which she was so eager.  Her very brilliance
  and beauty caused many otherwise willing mates to shy away Nicoloss
  being only the latest one of a long line.  At least she had never
  repeated the Amr tragedy.  Usually she would talk herself out of these
  libidinous moods but tonight Afra sensed a new pulse that was dangerous
  in its intensity.
       'Is that why you so eagerly await the arrival of the aliens?' Afra
  said in his soft drawl, deliberately leeching all emotion out of his
  words.  'On the extremely unlikely chance they're biologically
  compatible?  Do you envision your soul mate winging across the void to
  you?' Her eyes dilated in anger and the hand caressing Crisp stilled.
  
       'That was unworthy of you, Afra,' she said in a hoarse whisper.
       He knew that, but the thought was better aired between them where
  'it couldn't fester in her mind.  He inclined his head in apology
  'Better get some sleep, Damia.  We're pushing big daddies tomorrow,' he
  said gently and gave her a little mental shove towards her bedroom.
       She scowled, still smarting from his facetious observation but
  allowed herself to be swayed by the nudge.
       'Well, you know what a romantic I am, Afra,' she said with a
  rueful grin and hitched Crisp to her shoulder where the Coonie had
  snuggled happily against her neck.
       'And I do need my sleep.  That contact was quite a high.
       No action without a reaction, after all,' she added in a
  philosophical tone but the sadness in her smile touched Afra to the
  heart.
       He nodded understandingly, keeping a tight grasp on his emotions.
       Again Afra caught the unmistakable and unconscious suppression of
  a thought within the maelstrom of her weariness.
       As Damia turned, she made a sweeping gesture at the other Coonies
  and, with squeals of delight, they erupted out of the chair and
  scurried after her.
       Afra dared not relax until he was certain Damia was fully asleep.
       So he tidied away the remains of their meal, filled the Coonies'
  water and dry feed dishes, and then watched the sunset turn the plateau
  a deep tangerine before diminishing in the west.  Brooding over the
  nuances of the evening's conversation, he waited until the roiling
  activity of Damia's mind subsided into the even beat of sleep.  Then
  he, too, went to bed.
       To his surprise and delight, Scrap and arthur appeared in his room
  to sit on his bed, clearly awaiting his company for the night.  He was
  touched by their presence and settled himself down quickly, performing
  the obligatory caresses until they arranged themselves against him.
       Comforting creatures to have.  Not what he really wanted but
  better than nothing.  Carefully, just as he was on the edge of sleep,
  he reinforced his mental screens so that none of his longing for Damia
  would escape.  He wondered, in that honest interval between
  consciousness and dreaming, if he would have enough strength left to
  cope with a third generation of such women.
       The next day, Damia introduced Afra to her Tower personnel.
       Keylarion was visibly relieved to see him for he had been her
  training mentor at Callisto.  How Damia managed with only seven in
  staff, and all under T-8 apart from Keylarion, Afra could not imagine.
       Yet they had; there were no complaints from the Aurigae
  Management.
       Which, in point of fact, being so new a colony, could not have
  afforded the rates a large number of high Ts commanded in FT&T He
  perceived that Damia was popular with her staff, male and female.  The
  T-9 stationmaster, Herault, was infatuated with her, a condition of
  which Damia was clearly unaware while Afra picked it up instantly.  But
  then, he knew the signs so well.  It was also apparent to Afra that
  Inane of them realized that Damia's catalytic gift boosted their
  performance levels above their T-designation.  He was relieved that she
  had finally learned not to reveal that aspect of her Talent.  It had
  taken him long enough to get that message through her Talented skull.
       'I've got the placements for the big daddies, Damia,' Herault
  said, shaking his head.  'And they've instructed us to pick 'em up at
  the mines again.' Damia nodded curtly to Herault, pursing her lips in
  annoyance over that as she glanced over at the generator boards where
  Xexo was monitoring their performance.
       'We'll have full power in another ten minutes.  The two spot's
  going to need servicing soon, Damia,' the T-8 engineer said, shaking
  
  his head at the unwelcome necessity.
       'Blast!' Damia allowed her anger to show.  Afra could scarcely
  blame her.  With what she had to teleport, she'd need all four
  generators giving her top power.  'And they're too broke to buy me a
  spare.
       'Backtrack a moment,' Afra said, holding up a hand.
       'You have to pick up the cargo at the mines?' 'We have to,' Damia
  said with a meditative shrug and a gamine grin.  'They don't possess a
  land vehicle strong enough to transport them even the short distance
  from the mines.' She jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the general
  direction of the rugged foothills behind the town.
       'Nonsense,' Filomena, the T-9 expeditor, said sharply, 'they don't
  want to gouge ruts out of their new roads which they didn't construct
  correctly to carry the heavy loads they ought to have known they'd have
  to transport.
       This IS a mining planet!' afra regarded damia sternly.  'They're
  abrogating FT&T regulations .  . 'I know that,' Damia responded tartly,
  'but,' and she sighed, 'I can try to oblige them and save a lot of
  hassle - which transport would be-' 'To say nothing of the wear and
  tear on you and your staff-' 'Afra!  This is my Tower and I'm running
  it my way.' Afra inhaled deeply.  It was improper for him to challenge
  Damia in her own Tower.  He exhaled, lifting his hands in a gesture of
  yielding.  'I just hope that Aurigae appreciates you.  All of you.' At
  that instant both Damia and Afra heard the generators reach their peak.
       'Well, folks, let's speed the daddies on their way while we're
  fresh and eager.  It's also morning on Betelgeuse so David'll catch
  efficiently.  Afra?' And she led the way into the Tower.
       To his surprise, a second conformable chair stood next to hers,
  complete with a secondary board, screens and a terminal.
       'Thank you,' he said as he settled himself.
       'You deserve no less,' she said at her sweetest and he curbed an
  impulse to 'see' what she was up to.
       'Placements!' Both Tower screens showed the huge ore pods,
  dwarfing the men on the ground in the mine yard, and even the heavy
  cranes and flatbeds that had helped load them.
       Beneath the picture were the coordinates for delivery at
  Betelgeuse's outer planet.
       Betelgeuse Tower, Aurigae here, she said, observing protocol.
       Damia?  Morning, replied David of Betelgeuse.  The refineries have
  been screaming for this shipment.
       You're likely to have a hernia bringing 'em in, Damia said.
       Too much for you, darling?  David asked archly.  Afra knew the
  older Prime enjoyed taunting Damia.
       Not for me, she replied, projecting a broad and confident grin.
       Ready?
       Damia!  Afra sent the warning on a tight shaft, having heard just
  that tone of voice from her mother.
       Don't Afra.  You'll spoil my fun!  Damia shot back and began the
  lift.  Because he'd been forewarned by her mental tone, Afra was ready
  to follow her mind to the immense drones in the yard and felt himself
  strengthened, by the incredible catalytic link she could establish.
       Effortlessly they 'ported the first big daddy towards its
  destination.
       What under the stars are those Aurigaens trying to prove?
       David exclaimed and both of them heard him work to receive her
  'port.
       Your principals were screaming for the shipment, weren't they?
       Damia's voice was smooth and silky with satisfaction.
       Ready number two?
       Ready when you are, and there was determination in David's voice.
  
       By the ninth 'port, Afra knew himself to be tiring and wondered at
  the energy Damia exuded.
       That is the last of such weights I will accept from Aurigae, David
  said.  And I'm registering a complaint against the mines with Earth
  Prime.  I can't imagine why you haven't, Damia.
       I don't mind cooperating with management and industry but nine of
  those is stretching both of us.  Do not, I repeat, do not accept such
  monsters again.  Why, I could shift a battle fleet more easily.
       Damia's grin at irritating David altered to a frown and Afra
  sensed her sudden apprehension.
       A random remark, and those daddies would weigh the same.  You've
  had your fun.  Leave it, Afra shot at her.
       'You do have coffee here, don't you?' he asked, looking about the
  Tower.
       Two steaming cups and a plate of energy biscuits appeared and one
  cup horned in on Afra, the plate following it.
       'You're guest,' she said with an unrepentant grin and a shrug of
  her slim shoulders.  'I don't have enough staff to adhere to strict
  protocol.' Refreshed, they were shortly ready to 'port and receive
  incoming cargo, none of which was anywhere near the weight or mass of
  the morning's first delivery.  Damia worked without affectation, Afra
  was pleased to note: a Prime in easy command of her skills.  There was
  an excellent harmony with every one of her staff.  Aurigae was a more
  than adequate testing ground for Damia.
       Afra wondered if she'd been apprised that she would succeed Guzman
  at Procyon when the old Prime was finally persuaded to step down.
       Despite her youth, FT&T would have insisted on his retirement if
  they'd known how frail the old man was but Jeff Raven, and others,
  conspired to deceive the administration.  And they'd continue to do so
  as long as necessary.
       Shortly, all the incoming loads had been cradled and the light
  afternoon traffic processed.  Damia, her eyes glinting with mischief,
  slid out of the conformable chair and signalled for Afra to take her
  place.  When the focal Talent of the gestalt went from one to the
  other, not even a half beat of the pulse of the Aurigaen Tower was
  missed.  Damia used the Tower exit to reach her capsule and informed
  Afra of her departure.  He let up on the gestalt long enough for her to
  'port her own launch before he picked it up again.  She was gone too
  quickly for him to keep even the most negligible of contacts with her.
       So much for that notion.  However, her absence would permit Afra
  to use gestalt to communicate with Jeff should he need to.  The Tower's
  work proceeded smoothly.  There was, in fact, rather more traffic than
  Damia had anticipated, but no more big daddies, though several medium
  drones of refined material had to be despatched to various
  destinations.  Inbound supplies arrived sporadically but nothing that
  an experienced T-3 couldn't handle.  However, number two generator was
  definitely ailing and Afra was concerned.  Xexo tinkered and fiddled
  with it whenever he could but the machine needed more than adjustments.
       Fortunately, Damia would not require full station power to assist
  her comings and goings so, once the day's work was done, Xexo could
  begin to dismantle it.
       In terms of intergalactic distances, the aliens approached at the
  proverbial snail's pace: by interstellar references, incredibly fast.
       Such a feat argued for a highly sophisticated technical species.
       On the evening of the eighth day, Damia returned from her quest,
  bursting with news.  She 'ported herself from her capsule right into
  the lounge area where Afra was amusing the Coonies.
       'I made individual contact,- she cried.  'And what a mind!' She
  was far too excited to notice Afra's flare of apprehension.  He told
  himself this was just Damia being her usual melodramatic self.  'And
  
  what a surprise he got, she went on.
       From the first words out of her mouth, Afra knew that the mind was
  male.
       'Really?' and he injected genuine interest into his response.  'A
  Prime Talent?' 'I can't assess his abilities.  He's so .  . .
       different,' she exclaimed, her eyes shining and her mental aura
  dazzling with her success.  'He fades and then returns.  The distance
  is still immense, of course, and there isn't much definition in the
  thoughts.  We can only deal in abstracts.' She laughed tiredly.  'As
  scientists have often maintained, I made a start by reciting the
  periodic table of chemicals and basic atomic structures to establish at
  least some level of communication.
       'Surely an intergalactic ship would utilize a more sophisticated
  source than atomic power?' 'I'm sure it would have to, to travel such
  distances,' and Damia threw herself on the long couch, pushing back her
  long hair in a tired gesture before she let her hand drop bonelessly to
  the cushioning.  'I can't be bothered at this stage of interaction to
  deal with minor details.' 'Minor details?' 'Oh, don't fuss, Afra,' she
  said irritably.  'Considering our space travel experts postulate drives
  as far beyond fusion as the wheel from mixed fuel space drives, we can
  posit that they would have to have developed an efficient drive.  At
  least I could project mutually understood abstracts.  I'm exhausted.  I
  haven't had this sort of a workout since Larak and I played dodgeball
  against all the cousins.
       Let me grab a little nap before I contact Dad.' 'Xexo's patching
  that ailing generator.' Damia scowled, then shrugged off that
  complication.
       'All the more reason for me to have an hour's snore.' 'You don't
  snore,' Afra said firmly, giving her a mock stern glare.
       She managed a grin for his loyal denial.
       Afra waited until she relaxed into sleep.  Putting ethics aside,
  he tried to reach this experience in her mind, below the emotional
  level, only to find himself overwhelmed by the subjective.  Damia was
  indulging in a high emotional kick!  He recognized that she had every
  reason to be proud of herself in establishing any sort of contact with
  an alien but he was afraid for her, with a fear deeper than any he had
  ever touched personally or vicariously.
       Afra withdrew, troubled.  Crisp and Merry crawled over to him,
  whining softly as if they felt his concern.  Soothing them, he managed
  to disperse his presentiment.
       He let her wake up naturally and was proud of her now calm and
  balanced mind.  As she 'reached' Jeff, she was totally the Prime,
  giving a considered and professional report of the contact.  Not a
  trace of the excitation Afra had probed coloured her thoughts.  When
  she had finished 'pathing, Jeff inserted a private query for Afra but
  he could only confirm Damia's report.
       He saw no point to mention vague forebodings but he dId mention
  the matter of overweight drones.  Jeff had received a formal complaint
  from David of Betelgeuse and there was to be an official protest from
  FT&T to Aurigae Miners.
       The next day, Damia tossed off the few live 'portations and
  departed for her surveillance.  And Afra contained his presentiments.
       She returned so shining from the second session of communication
  that Afra had to clamp an icy hold over his mental reactions.
       'We're making great progress in conceptualizations,' she told
  Afra, pirouetting with abandon into the lounge and flopping on to the
  long couch, her eyes glowing.  One long tress, half black hair, half
  white, fell across her flushed face.
       'Such as?' he enquired in a politely interested tone.  She was so
  absorbed by her accomplishment that she didn't react to his ironic
  
  tone.
       'Once past simple atomic weights, we've,' the pronoun, an
  innocuous detail in itself, raised Afra's hackles, 'gone on to solar
  systems.  His has twelve planets and two asteroid belts.' 'What sort of
  planet does his species inhabit?' Damia shot him a quick glance, then
  laughed uneasily.
       'That's strange.  We didn't establish that.' 'And how did you
  answer his query about Aurigae?' She was more alert now and her eye
  contact was wary.
       Then she grinned cockily.  'I gave the same detail he did.
       Without, dear Arra,' her use of her baby name for him underlined
  her impudence, 'disclosing any more than the number of planets, moons
  et cetera.  I'm not a fool!' She hauled herself out of her
  semi-recumbent position and made a show of tossing her hair back.
       'You've never been a fool, Damia,' Afra replied coolly.
       'Nor am I catechizing you.  I cooked dinner tonight.' 'Did you?'
  and she seized on that topic with obvious relief.  'You're a better
  cook than any other man I know.' Afra decided that she had redeemed her
  use of 'Arra' with that unsolicited praise.  One day, maybe, they'd
  confront each other as functioning adults .  . . Ruthlessly he
  suppressed the eros and reinstated the philia and began to serve her a
  much-needed meal.
       The third morning, as Damia sat in the Tower, she worked with such
  haste that Afra was obliged to reprimand her.  She gaily corrected
  herself, making far too negligent a response.  Then, eagerly she
  propelled herself out to make the rendezvous.  When she returned that
  evening so tired that she reeled into the room, Afra took command.
       'I'm going with you tomorrow, Damia,' he said firmly.
       'What for?' She glared at him from the couch into which she had
  sunk.  'I'd know the sting-pzzzt of Beetles.  And there isn't even a
  trace of that about Sodan.' 'Sodan?' Damia flushed at the crack in his
  voice but did not evade eye contact with him.  'That's how he
  identifies himself.
       Furthermore, I inserted the concept of other sentient life forms
  and he denied knowledge of any.' Afra decided not to challenge that
  information.  'What do you mean by the sting-pzzzt of Beetles?  The
  Deneb Penetration happened before you were even conceived.' She rose
  and came to sit at the counter where Afra was fixing their dinner
  plates, she gave a casual shrug.  'When we were exploring around
  Grandmother's farm, we often found bits and pieces of Beetle metal.
       Uncle Rhodri was still paying by the weight for their junk.' She
  gave Afra a teasing grin.  'It made a comfortable addition to the
  measly pocket money Isthia allowed us.  Larak and I decided that there
  was sting-' now she wet the tip of one finger and placed it on the
  counter surface, making the 'pzzzt' sound, '-in Beetle metal.  There's
  no sting-pzzzt about Sodan.' She sounded entirely confident.
       It disturbed Afra to know that this entity had a name.
       It made the alien seem amiable/approachable.  Nor could Afra quite
  reason away the unusual lilt with which Damia spoke the name.
       'Fair enough,' Afra said, with an indifference he didn't feel as
  he passed her a plate.  'However, the lack of stingpzzzt is not going
  to reassure Earth Prime.  Tomorrow take me along for the ride.
       There'll be no need to introduce me.  All I need to do is confirm
  your sense of the aura.
       I certainly wouldn't want to jeopardize whatever rapport you've
  managed to build.  He'll never realize I've been there.' afra yawned.
       'Why are you tired?' 'I've been stevedoring all day,' he said with
  a malicious grin.
       'How?  Who?' Damia demanded, indignantly.  'There was nothing
  urgent on the schedule when I went off.' 'No, there wasn't, but there
  
  was a minor mine disaster where the Tower could assist.  Then a delayed
  shipment of spare parts was signalled in from Procyon, and a freighter
  with some perishables and a covey of prospective immigrants came
  through.' 'Damn them!  They were taking advantage of you, Afra!  Towers
  have protocol to avoid collisions and confusions.  Especially on
  inbound 'ports.  Unscheduled shipments ' Then she stopped for he was
  grinning at her.  She let out a gusty sigh.  'I know.' She waved her
  hand irritably.  'Phrases out of mother's mouth.  But Afra waggled a
  finger at her.  'You set the precedent at Aurigae Tower, Damia, by
  being so cooperative that miners and shippers assume that you're ready,
  willing and able when need arises.' 'This smells heavenly,' she said
  artlessly as she loaded her fork.
       'Hah!' Afra said, refusing to be diverted.
       'And it is,' she said through her first mouthful.  'Lovely
  seasoning.
       'Thank you.  By the way, that crew of yours is really excellent.
       Even the generator behaved.  Have some chopped fruit.  Takes the
  edge off that pepper.
       They ate companionably, though Damia's appetite seemed to be
  affected by her fatigue for she usually went for seconds of one of his
  special meals.  She did ask for details of the mine problem - a line of
  ore carts had slipped off the cable, causing an obstruction in the
  shaft which Afra and the Tower folk were able to shift so there was no
  significant loss of time.  When he asked her what else she had
  discussed with Sodan, she had trouble formulating sentences despite a
  resurgence of animation Ion that subject.
       'Don't stand on ceremony with me, Damia, Afra said when she didn't
  even have the energy to groom Merry when the animal brought her the
  brush.  'Here, I'll do Merry.  You go to bed.  Sleep well.
       Such exhaustion for one so vibrantly healthy worried Afra even
  more than her emotional involvement with this Sodan entity.  It no
  longer mattered that the intruder was unrelated to the species that had
  attacked Deneb; he was a menace in himself.
       The next day, after 'porting out medium-sized drones of refined
  ores, Damia told Keylarion to inform any callers that the Tower was on
  hold for repairs to the generator that Xexo now said were critical.
       Then she and Afra settled into their personal capsules.  Afra
  followed Damia's thrust and held himself silent as she reached the area
  where she could touch the aura of Sodan.  To his relief, Damia had no
  hesitation when Afra asked permission to establish a light link in her
  mind.  So she carried them both to the alien ship.  As soon as the
  alien touch impinged on Afra's awareness, much was suddenly clear to
  him: much seen, and worse, much unseen.
       What Damia could not, would not, or did not see justified Afra's
  nagging presentiment of danger.  Nothing out of Sodan's mind was
  visible: and nothing beyond his public mind was accessible.  The alien
  had a powerful mentality.
       As a quiescent eavesdropper, Afra could not probe, but he widened
  his own sensitivity to its limit and the impressions he received served
  to increase his intuition of danger.
       There was absolutely no comparison between Sodan and the Deneb
  invasion species.  Damia was correct in that evaluation.  One
  impression which surprised Afra was that of an almost interminable
  journey.  And excitement at an end in sight.  Yet how Afra could grasp
  that concept from a mind that did not yet speak in a known language, he
  did not know.  But those were the impressions he grasped.
       Damia would not expect Afra to linger once he had satisfied his
  stated errand.  But, fascinated by the contact, he did linger,
  discovering other unsettling aspects.  Sodan's mind, undeniably
  brilliant, was nevertheless augmented.
  
       Afra couldn't perceive whether Sodan was the focus for other minds
  on the ship or in gestalt with the ship's power source.  Straining his
  nerves and senses to the limit without revealing his presence, Afra
  tried to pierce the visual screen or, at least, the aural one.  All he
  received was a low stereo babble of mechanical activity, and the burn
  of heavy elements, the latter sufficiently disturbing in itself.  Yet
  how did a species without a visual faculty function on such a
  sophisticated level?  To be sure, antennae of various sorts relayed a
  tremendous amount of information to an intelligent mind: sensors and
  optics imitated vision but it was the sight of stars that had lured
  Mankind into space.  What had been this alien's goad to cross
  intergalactic space?
       Worried and frustrated, Afra withdrew, leaving Sodan and Damia to
  exchange abstracts that, to him, were also the ploys of emotional
  attraction.  He returned to Aurigae and sought the Tower couch.  He
  felt completely drained by the brief jaunt.  That was in itself
  unnerving.  He'd planned to contact Larak on Procyon without having to
  gestalt.  But he knew that was impossible just then.  Carefully
  assuming a light tone, he asked Keylarion to bring a generator on line
  for him.
       'We've three if you need them,' the T-6 replied helpfully.
       'No, one's enough.' And Afra hoped that it would be.
       For a T-3, one should be sufficient.  He scrubbed at his face
  while he watched the gauge on number one generator climb to sending
  level.  It was not, Afra assured himself, that Damia had deliberately
  concealed anything in her reports to him or to Jeff: she was entirely
  unaware that her usually keen perceptions were fuddled and distorted by
  the fatigue levels caused by contact with this alien.
       And Damia had been spending hours dealing abstracts at Sodan?  He
  exhaled noisily and wondered if a cup of coffee would have a reviving
  effect.  But the needle reached the required level even as Keylarion
  verified readiness to him.
       Even with the gestalt, 'pathing to Larak was an effort.
       Larak, Afra called, leaning heavily into the power and projecting
  his own mental/physical concept of Larak to aid him in reaching the
  boy's mind.
       Man, you're beat, Larak answered, his touch sharp, clear, green.
       Larak, relay back to Jeff that this SodanIt's got a name?
       It's got more than that and Damia is responding on a very high
  emotional level, Afra sighed heavily.  This entity has no resemblance
  to the Deneb Penetration species.  No Beetle sting What?  Oh, yeah, I
  remember.  Larak's projection of a grin was oddly comforting to Afra.
       But there's something very insidious about this Sodan individual.
       A few moments in its company and I'm so shagged that I needed
  gestalt to reach you.
       You?  That was enough to remove the grin from Larak's voice.
       Please inform Jeff that I consider this situation of a highly
  volatile - and possibly dangerous - nature.  I want you out here as
  soon as possible on any pretext so I can get through to Earth Prime
  without requiring either Damia or gestalt.  And- Afra paused to
  emphasize the next request, please ask both Jeff and the Rowan to
  remain available to me on demand.
       What has my darling sister found this time!  Larak responded with
  an impressed whistle.
       Get Mick and Mauli to push you out here as soon as you can relay
  that message, huh, Larak, like a good lad?
       Coming, Larak responded crisply.
       Afra leaned back in the couch and flicked off the generator.  The
  exchange had taken no more than thirty seconds: not long enough for
  Keylarion to take particular note or even log it into the station
  
  records.  Not that Damia would check the station log if she returned:
  she'd be too tired, he thought grimly.  How did that entity cause such
  enervation?  Why?  Afra brooded.  Perhaps he was being over-sensitive
  because Damia was so absorbed by this contact.  He had half-hoped, when
  Jeff told him to go to Aurigae, that he might have a chance to attract
  Damia as he had so long wanted to do.  Perhaps he was acting
  prematurely to call Larak in.  Perhaps he could handle the Sodan mind
  himself.
       No, Afra told himself candidly, not when you're reduced to a limp
  rag after a vicarious touch.  And not with the competition Sodan was
  providing.
       Hey, Afra, what does a guy have to do to get your attention?  was
  Larak's cheery greeting as he bounced up the Tower steps.
       His energy seemed almost obscene to the weary T-3.
       'Knock twice!' Afra replied but he grinned gratefully as he
  extended his hand to the visitor.  The vigour which Larak exuded was as
  much a restorative as the infectiousness of his smile.  The resemblance
  between Larak and his sister was pronounced, even to having the Gwyn
  slash of white in the same position on their black-haired heads.
       Larak was not quite as tall as his sister who was unusually tall,
  and more slightly built than his brothers.  But he had full measure of
  the Raven charm and Afra found the energy to return the boy's smile.
       Hands now touching, Afra conveyed the one impression he had not
  included in the broadcast.
       Damia's infatuated with this peculiarly dangerous alien?
       Larak murmured, surprised, and looked hard into Afra's eyes.
       'Wouldn't you know she'd have weird and exotic tastes!' He let his
  lips turn down sympathetically.  Why can't she pick on the home-brewed?
       He cocked his head at Afra.
       Afra felt it expedient to ignore that comment.  'A very dangerous
  alien, unfortunately.  Do you remember that old scare tale about
  soul-eaters?' Larak rolled his eyes wide.  'You just bet I do.  Damia
  terrorized me into starting a forest fire with that tale of hers.  Wait
  a minute.  You think this alien's a soul-eater?' Larak was almost
  indignant at the notion.  'Hey, Afra, that was kid stuff.' 'I can't
  think of another analogue.  I spent no more than ten or fifteen
  seconds, in a light secondary link, and I had to use gestalt to reach
  you at Procyon.' 'That's not good,' Larak said.  'That's very bad.
       What's wrong with Damia?  Doesn't she realize.  . . No, obviously
  she doesn't.' Larak slid into the second conformable couch, his eyes
  flickering as he considered and discarded thoughts.
       'Damia mentioned the residue you two felt from Beetle artifacts.
       There's something comparable to your sting on board Sodan's
  vessel.
       And it's not comfortable.' 'Fissionables?' Larak asked.
       Afra shook his head.  'It is very alien.  I couldn't define it.'
  'Can Damia?' Afra grimaced.  'She's involved in translating abstracts.'
  'Those'll be a great help if he plans to blow us up.' Larak tensed.
       'What has she said about us?  The League?' 'From what she reports,
  she's been discreet.' 'That's a mercy.' Afra could sense that Larak's
  flippancy disguised a concern for Damia as deep as his own.  Larak had
  always been closest to her.  'I wouldn't mind what they discussed,' he
  said, 'but Sodan leaves her so drained.' 'New kind of weapon - total
  enervation before annihilation?' 'That's not as outrageous as you
  think,' Afra said grimly.
       'There's a tremendous power source in the ship 'There'd have to be
  to push it between galaxies 'But that's all I could sense.  Beyond the
  public mind, I met an impenetrable wall.  Granted, Damia '5 much
  stronger than I am 'But she hasn't tried?' Afra frowned, and rising,
  began to pace restlessly back and forth in the narrow Tower.
  
       Larak held Afra's glance, and then sighed.
       'But there's been no overt act of aggression?' 'That depends on
  what you call "aggression".  I believe that Sodan is subtly trying to
  destroy Damia in the process of this peaceful exchange of culture and
  information.  In my lexicon, eroding her mental capability is an
  assault with intent to maim or kill.' He saw that remark succeeded in
  arousing all Larak's natural fraternal concern and protectiveness.  'I
  could be overreacting.  I'm no pre-cog but there are instances in which
  one doesn't need to be to guess intent.  Judge for yourself when you
  see Damia this evening.' Larak did not bother to shield his anger.  'I
  will but I've never seen you overreact, Afra.  Apart from the danger to
  my sister, just how close is this Sodan to Iota Aurigae?  Close enough
  to recognize this system as Damia's point of origin?' Afra managed a
  wry grin.  'You're a real Tower-man, Lar.' Larak gave a quick
  unhumorous grin.  'A Gwyn-Raven, body, blood and brain!' 'Logically,'
  Afra continued, 'we have to allow him the same sophistication in
  monitoring devices as he has in travel capability.  So he's certain to
  detect sufficient activity on this planet to attract,' and Afra paused,
  searching for the appropriate phrase, 'his attention.  Since a high
  tech society gobbles ores, minerals and rare earths at phenomenal
  rates, it is reasonable to assume that he's crossed to our galaxy to
  find new sources.
       'Are we assuming aggression where none exists?' Larak asked,
  playing devil's advocate.
       Afra paused, 'We could be.  The Beetles made their plans
  exceedingly clear but they might be exceptions to the rule of peaceful
  exploration.  Only I cannot get it out of my mind that the Sodan is
  deliberately depleting Damia '5 energy to reduce her ability to defend
  herself.  And I've never had such a presentiment of danger before - not
  even when I was mind-merged with the Rowan-focus over Deneb.' 'If we
  must eradicate the threat this Sodan entity poses, I'd say it would be
  wiser to do it now, rather than later when he's closer to this system,'
  Larak replied, pressing his lips tight against that expedient.  'Should
  we call for naval backup?' 'Ha!  Sodan'd be orbiting Aurigae before the
  Fleet would bestir itself to action,' Afra replied derisively.
       'Especially right now,' and Larak's grin was amused, 'when they're
  investigating the nibbles at Procyon's DEW system.
       'What?' Afra stared at Larak, struck by a horror of several Sodans
  converging on the Nine Star League.
       Larak was delighted at the effect of that casual statement.
       'They're keeping it to a need-to-know basis but don't worry.  So
  far it's been limited to unidentifiable impingements,' and Larak shook
  his head vigorously to reassure the Capellan, 'and neither the scouts
  nor all that sensitive instrumentation has revealed anything in the
  least bit hostile.  Those sentinels are sensitive enough to be set off
  by spaceflot or cometaries.  This Sodan's modus operandi seems to be
  entirely different.  We Talents destroyed the Beetles more or less by
  ourselves.  I think we can handle this mental giant.
       Afra gave a mirthless laugh.  'We'll be lucky if we can.' He
  nodded briskly when Larak regarded him with astonishment.  'Oh, yes,
  that mind is incredibly powerful.
       Not at all like the Beetles where there were only sixteen control
  beings that had to be diverted.  And, if he has been insidiously
  reducing Damia's strength or getting past her shields .  -' Afra
  paused, adding very softly, his yellow eyes clouded, 'he could quite
  possibly destroy us.' 'Let's get Dad and Mother in on this,' Larak said
  in sudden resolution.
       Together the two soberly presented their conclusions to Jeff and
  the Rowan.
       Surely if you were an alien contacted by a strong mentality, you
  
  would exercise caution in revealing details?  the Rowan suggested.  I
  would, if I met a mind in outer space.
       You did, Jeff reminded her, and I was very friendly indeed.
       Jeff If this Sodan is draining Damia, he means her, and us, no
  good, Jeff went on, speaking in an official tone.  We are agreed that
  Afra does not cry panic unnecessarily so we must act on his
  recommendations and now, before this entity gets close enough to
  investigate the Aurigaen system.  Especially before he discovers the
  Aurigaen system and the rich lodes on that planet.  I'm also keenly
  aware of how little defence Iota Aurigae has against space attack.
       You concur with Afra that he's prospecting for new sources of raw
  materials?  the Rowan asked, in a tone of indecision.
       That's our main push in finding new planets, isn't it?  Larak said
  If Damia is as exhausted as you suggest, Afra, how can we use her as
  focus?  In the first place, she's not likely to agree to take
  aggressive action against an entity she considers friendly.
       She spoke as Damia's mother, not Callisto Prime.
       No, she's not, Afra said sourly.
       And yet we need to use her link to his mind to make our own
  contact.  There's also the point that, Jeff continued, not at all
  liking the expedient, if we do discover, and prove to her, that this
  Sodan entity is truly dangerous, to her, to Aurigae, to us, that we may
  need her catalytic ability to increase our defence against him.
       Each day Damia returns to Aurigae a little more tired than the
  previous one, Afra said slowly.  I was immeasurably drained after only
  a few moments in link.  That's never happened to me before.
       I think Afra's correct to call him a soul-eater, Larak put in.
       There's no such thing, the Rowan said sharply.
       I don't know what else to call him that's as accurate, Afra said.
       Or how else to describe the effect he has on her.
       In any case, Jeff said firmly, I find it disturbing to think of
  her immense natural energy being depleted.
       Highly unlikely.  The Rowan bristled with indignation.
       Let us conclude this swiftly, Larak cautioned them.
       Damia's returning and.  WOW!  Is she dragging!
       Afra suppressed annoyance that the curious childhood link between
  sister and brother gave Larak the edge in sensing her return.  But, as
  Afra reached out to touch her mentally, her aura was very dim indeed.
       He concentrated on the lightning debate that Jeff, Rowan and Larak
  carried on, as decision and strategy were settled in the moment before
  Damia's capsule landed in its cradle.
       'Larak, I couldn't believe I felt your touch,' she cried happily
  as she saw her brother, the picture of casual relaxation, perched on
  the edge of the console.
       'Believe it, sister dear, your favorite bra is here,' he said,
  rising to embrace her.  'This alien sure has got you wrapped up and
  tied like a present.  See how the mighty have fallen.' When Damia
  flushed, Larak roared with laughter.  'I've got to meet a guy who can
  do this to my sister.' 'Really, Larak, how puerile!  You obviously have
  no conception of what a momentous occasion this is.  I've always felt
  that I was given unusual strengths and abilities for a special reason,'
  Damia said, her eyes shining, 'and now I know what it is!' 'The whole
  planet will know in a moment if you don't reduce your output,' Afra
  said sharply, to give Larak a chance to control his shock at her
  extraordinary remark.
       With some resentment, Damia dampened down her emotional
  outpouring.
       'I suppose you arrived with an appetite like a mule,' she said
  with some resignation.
       Larak's expression was a study of innocent hurt.
  
       'I'm a growing boy, and while you're out courting, Afra's getting
  overworked, leaner and hungrier.
       Damia looked guiltily at Afra.
       'You do look tired,' she said with concern.  'Let's all push over
  to the house and have dinner.  Larak, why are you here?' 'Oh, Dad wants
  Afra to pinch-hit on Procyon.  Those two Ts who're buffering Guzman are
  down with one of the local viruses and traffic is backing up.  You know
  we have to jolly Guzzle along but he hasn't much stamina these days.
       He's complained that I'm too young for such responsibility,' and
  Larak's grin was pure malice.  'Say, what's this alien ship of yours
  like?  Crew or full automation for a void trek?' Hand poised over the
  cooking dials, Damia hesitated.
       She regarded her brother with a blank expression.
       'Oh, you men are all alike.  Details, details!' 'Details like that
  may bore you, sister heart, but they fascinate me.  But if you want to
  continue on the abstract level, let me catch such mundane details for
  myself.' 'You can't reach that far.' To Afra her tone was protective as
  well as defensive.
       'Let me hop a ride with you tomorrow, then.' Larak snagged a raw
  vegetable stick from the crisper and seemed more interested in its
  taste than her agreement.
       Damia hesitated, looking for support from Afra, who shrugged 'why
  not' as he followed Larak's example and savoured a crunchy white root
  with a slightly aniseed flavour.  She caught no more than that from
  Afra's mind when she sent a swift probe.  And, he was certain, no more
  than that from Larak's if she tried her brother.  Even as close as they
  were, her probe was a poor imitation of her customary mental dig.
       'C'mon, sis, what's to be coy for?' 'I'm not being coy!' Her
  temper flared in irritation, then subsided.  'It's just that just that
  . . . these are very delicate stages in establishing a rapport
  'Delicate?  Rapport?' Larak blurted out, staring at her as if he
  couldn't believe his ears.  'You're making a first contact, not a first
  date!  That is, if it's even marginally humanoid.
       'His is a true mind, brilliant, powerful,' she said haughtily.
       'The form is immaterial.' 'Oh?' Larak's mobile face expressed
  extreme doubt.
       'Never thought you'd fall for the cerebral type, Damia, not the
  way you've developed.' He eyed her, not as a brother, but as an
  interested male.
       Damia reddened, half with fury and indignation, and half with a
  sudden virtuous embarrassment for her brother's accurate jibe.
       'Ever since you and Jenna propagated a child, you've turned
  insufferable!  Why, if I hadn't been out here, we wouldn't have been
  warned at all.' '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 out of habit.
       Larak and Damia glared at each other, but the long habit --of
  obeying Afra held.
       I'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 on 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 despatches.' '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 got 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 further 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 coloured 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 lift-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-defence 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 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 defence.  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 felter
  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 over stressed Talents.  With Elizarars 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 Dam ia'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 signalled
  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 foetal 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 -. .
       :f 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 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, Damia lives.  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 foetal 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 bitten 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 on to 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 '5
       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 Soda
  n'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 judgement 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?
       Not from what I gathered from Jeff and Rowan.
       Isthia signalled to the medics to administer deep-sleep drugs and
  intravenous nourishment to Damia.
       With great reluctance then, they turned to Larak's shell.
       Because they had to, they opened it and saw with some little
  relief that there was no mark of the violence of his death on the young
  face.  A curiously surprised smile lingered on his lips.
       Isthia turned away in tears and Jeran, too numbed by the total
  tragedy to display his own sorrow, put his arm around her to lead her
  away.
       'Prime,' the captain of the ship said respectfully when they
  entered the control room, 'we have located the debris of the alien
  ship.  Permission to recover the fragments?' 'Permission granted.
       Isthia and I will return to the Tower.  Signal when you're ready
  to be 'ported, Captain.' 'Very good, sir,' the captain said and
  stiffened to a rigid attention.  The unashamed tears in his eyes and
  his very crisp salute expressed wordlessly his pride, his sympathy and
  his sorrow.
       Struggling against a will determined to keep her asleep, Damia
  fought her way to semi-consciousness.
       'I can't keep her under.  She's resisting,' a remote voice rang in
  peals.
       As distant as the sound was, like a far echo in a subterranean
  cavern, each syllable fell like a hammer on her exposed nerves.
       Sobbing, Damia struggled for consciousness, sanity, and a release
  from this agony.  She couldn't seem to trigger the reflexes that would
  divert pain, and an effort to call Afra to help her met with not only
  the resistance of increased agony but a vast blackness.  Her mind was
  as stiff as iron, holding each thought firmly to it as though
  magnetized in place.
       'Damia, do not reach.  Do not use your mind,' a gentle voice said
  in her ear.  She recognized the voice as Isthia's and her grandmother's
  presence restored her wavering sanity.  She felt the touch of Isthia's
  cool capable hands on her forehead.
       Damia opened her eyes and tried to focus on the face above her.
       With trembling, weak hands she pressed Isthia's fingers against
  her temples in an unconscious plea for relief of pain.
       'What happened?  Why can't I control my mind?' Damia cried, tears
  of weakness streaming down her face.
       'You rather stretched yourself, destroying Sodan,' Isthia said.
       'But you did get him, you know.' 'I can't remember,' Damia
  groaned, blinking away tears so she could at least see clearly.
       'Every rating in FT&T does.' 'Oh, my head.  It's all blank and
  there's something I've got to do, Isthia.' Damia tried to rise but,
  though Isthia exerted little pressure, she sank weakly back into the
  bed.  'I've got something I must do only I can't remember what it is.'
  'You did do what you must, dear, I assure you.  But you've suffered a
  tremendous trauma, and you must rest,' Isthia said, her voice in the
  croon that had soothed Damia as a rebellious child.  Cool hands stroked
  her face and she welcomed the relief for her skin felt so hot and hard.
       Each caress seemed to lessen the terrible pain inside her skull.
       'I'm putting you back to sleep now, love,' and Damia felt the
  coolness of an injection pop into her arm.  'We're very proud of you
  but you must sleep.  Only sleep can heal your mind.' "Great nature's
  second course, that knits the ravelled sleeve of care."  What's
  knitting, Isthia?  I've never known.' Even Damia recognized that she
  was babbling as the cool scalliony taste in her throat heralded the
  spread of the drug.
  
       Again, after what seemed no passage of time at all, Damia was
  inexorably forced to consciousness by her indefinably relentless need.
       'I can't understand it,' came Isthia's voice.  This time it did
  not reverberate across Damia's pained mind like tympani in a closet.
       'That last dose was enough to put a city to sleep.' 'She's
  worrying at something and probably won't rest until she's resolved it.
       Let's wake her up and find out.' The second voice was masculine
  and sounded vaguely familiar, also vaguely annoyed.  With a grateful
  smile, she labelled it 'Dad'.  She felt her face gently slapped and,
  opening her eyes, saw her father's face swimming out of an indistinct
  background.
       'Dad,' she pleaded, not because he had slapped her but because she
  had to make him understand.
       'Dear Damia,' he said with such loving pride that she almost lost
  the tenuous thought she tried to hold.
       Her body strained with the effort to reach out only a few inches a
  mind that once had blithely coursed light-years, but she soon managed
  to communicate her crime.
       Larak and Afra!  They were ahead of me in the focus.  I killed
  them when I had to destroy Sodan.  I must have killed them because I'm
  still alive!
       Behind Jeff she heard her mother's cry and Isthia's exclamation.
       'No, no,' Jeff said gently, shaking his head.  He placed her hands
  on his forehead to let her feel the honesty of his denial.  'You're not
  at fault, dear Damia.  Yes, you drew power through the Larak-focus to
  destroy Sodan and succeeded.  Only you were capable of such a
  magnificent thrust!  Furthermore, without you to throw us into high
  gear, Sodan could have destroyed every Prime in FT&T.
       And that's the truth your mother will verify.' Damia heard the
  Rowan murmur affirmatively.
       'But I can't hear anything right now,' and in spite of herself,
  Damia felt her chin quiver and tears of pure terror welled out of her
  eyes.  'Have I lost my mind?' to 'Of course you haven't,' and the
  elbowed Jeff her hair back from her flushed and tear-stained face.
       'You saved us, you know.  You really did.' Isthia moved the Rowan
  gently but firmly to one side.
       'You must go knit some more sleeves of ravelled care, Damia,'
  Isthia said with therapeutic asperity.  'You knit like this,' and she
  inserted a visual demonstration of the technique of knitting into
  Damia's mind.  It was an adroit gambit, designed to fragment
  concentration but Damia saw it for the evasion it was.
       'I must be told all that happened, she demanded imperiously.  A
  wisp of memory nagged at her and she caught it.  'I remember.  Sodan
  made one last thrust at us.  She closed her eyes against that recall,
  remembering too, that she had tried to intercept it and, 'Larak died,'
  she said in a flat voice.  'And Afra.  I couldn't shield in time.'
  'Afra lives,' the Rowan said in a steady voice.
       'But Larak doesn't.  Why Larak?' Damia demanded, desperately
  striving to uncover what she felt they were still hiding from her.
       'Your brother was the focus, Damia,' the Rowan said softly,
  knowing, too, that Damia would never absolve herself of Larak's death.
       'Afra was supposed to be the focus, being the experienced mind,
  but the old bond between you and Larak snapped into effect.  You tried
  to shield Larak but he couldn't draw sufficient help from you.  Your
  father and I also tried to support him but he was the focus.  Without
  you to help, we couldn't even have cushioned Afra in time.  Sodan's was
  truly a powerful mentality.' Damia looked from her mother's face to her
  father's and knew that they spoke the truth.  But a reservation hovered
  in their eyes and their manner.
       'You haven't told me everything,' she said, fighting both immense
  
  fatigue and the drugs.
       'All right, sceptic,' Jeff said, lifting her into his arms.
       'Though there's nothing wrong with your hearing so why it hasn't
  been assailed by his snores, I do not know.
       Everyone else is using ear plugs,' he added as he carried her down
  a dim hall.
       Pausing at an open door, he swung her so she could see into the
  room.  A night light hung over the bed, illuminating Afra's quiet face,
  deeply lined with fatigue and pain.
       Denying even the physical evidence, Damia reached out, touching
  just enough for reassurance the distressed mental rumble that meant
  Afra inhabited his body.
       'Damia!  Don't do that!' Jeff roared, hurting more than her ears
  as he bore her back down the hall to her room.
       'I won't again but I had to,' she sobbed, her head ballooning with
  agony.
       'And we'll make sure you don't until your mind is completely
  healed.  Out you go, missy,' and she was powerless against the three
  minds that reinstated the welcome oblivion of sleep.
       An insistent whisper nibbled at the corners of her awareness and
  roused Damia from restorative sleep.  Cringing in anticipation of the
  return of pain, she was mildly surprised to feel only the faintest
  discomfort.  Experimentally, Damia pushed a depressant on the ache and
  that, too, disappeared.
       Unutterably pleased by her success, she sat up in bed.
       It was night and the gentle breeze wafted scents which she
  recognized as Denebian.  She stretched until a cramp caught her in the
  side.
       Heavens, hasn't anyone moved me in months?  she asked herself,
  noting that her mental tone was firm.  She lay back in bed,
  deliberating.  Poor Damia, she said in a self-derisive tone, ever since
  that encounter with that dreadful alien mind, she's been nothing but a
  T4.  T-9?  T-3?  Damia tried out the different ratings for size and
  then discarded them all, along with her melodrama.  You idiot.  You'll
  never know till you try.
       Tentatively, without apparent effort, she reached out and counted
  the pulses of another - no, two other sleepers.  Afra's was the faint
  one.  But, Damia realized in calm triumph, it was there.  Which brought
  her up sharp against the second fact.
       She slid from her bed to stand by the window.  Sometime during her
  last deep slumber, she - and Afra - had been moved to Deneb, to her
  grandmother's forest retreat.  This room looked out on to the back of
  the clearing in which the house stood.  Beyond the lawn of ever grass,
  beyond the bank of the ttn, - where the forest began her the trail led
  And stopped when she saw the white oblong.  Instinct told her that
  Larak was buried there and the thought of Larak buried and his touch
  forever gone broke her.  She wept, biting her knuckles and pressing her
  arms tightly into her ribs to muffle the sound of her mourning.
       Out of the night, out of the stillness, the whisper that had
  roused her tugged at her again.  She stifled her tears to listen,
  trying to identify that sliver of sound.  It faded before she caught
  it.
       Resolutely now, she laid her sorrow gently in the deepest part of
  her soul, a part of her but apart for ever.  No matter what Jeff and
  the Rowan said, she had caused Larak's death, and maimed Afra.  Had she
  been less preoccupied, less self-centred, she would not have been
  dazzled by the fancy that Sodan was her Prince Charming, her knight in
  cylindrical armour.
       Such a spoiled child she'd been: egotistical, arrogant, proud,
  making demands she had no right to request, wanting privileges she had
  
  not earned, rewards she was too immature to appreciate The whisper
  again, fainter but somehow surer.  With a startled cry of joy, Damia
  whirled from her room, running on light feet down the hall.  Catching
  at the door frame to break her headlong flight, she hesitated on the
  threshold.
       She caught her breath as she realized that Afra was sitting up.
       He was looking at her with a smile of disbelief on his face.
       'You've been calling me,' she whispered, half questioning,
  half-stating.
       'In a lame-brained way,' he replied with a wry half-smile.
       'I can't seem to reach beyond the edge of the bed.' 'Don't try.
       It hurts,' she said quickly, stepping into the room to pause shyly
  at the foot of the bed.
       Afra grimaced, rubbing his temples.  'I know it hurts but I can't
  seem to find any balance in my skull,' he confessed, his voice uneven,
  worried.  'Even as a child, I always had that.' 'May I?' she asked
  formally, unexpectedly timid with him.
       Closing his eyes, Afra nodded.
       Sitting down as if her slender frame might jar the bed, Damia
  lightly laid her fingertips to his temples, and touched his mind as
  delicately as she knew how.  Afra stiffened with pain and Damia quickly
  established a block, regardless of the cost to her own recent recovery.
       She drew away the pain, laying in the tenderer areas a healing
  mental anaesthesia.  Jealously, she noticed someone else had been
  tending the damage.
       Isthia.  . . has.  . . a. . . delicate.  . . touch, too.  He sent
  the thought with deliberate and slow care.
       'Oh, Afra,' Damia cried for the agony the simple phrase cost him.
       'You aren't burned out.  You're no lame-brain either.  As if!
       would let you be.  You'll be just as strong as ever.  I'll help.'
  Afra leaned forward, his face close to hers, his yellow eyes blazing.
       'You'll help?' he asked in a low intense voice as he searched her
  face.  'How, Damia?' Her fingers plucking shyly and nervously at his
  blanket, Damia could not look away from an Afra who had altered
  disturbingly.  Damia tried to fathom the startling change in this
  familiar figure.  Unable to resort to a mental touch, she saw afra for
  the first time with only physical sight.  And he was suddenly very
  different.  Very masculine!  That was it.
       Mi at once, Afra appeared startlingly male to her.
       She was appalled to think that she had blundered about so, looking
  for a mind that was superior to hers: a mind that demanded her respect
  and admiration, that could lead hers, and support her with sure
  understanding and empathy.  And that mind had always been available!
       Every time she had needed it - on Deneb, on Callisto, everywhere
  she'd ever been.  Only she hadn't looked for it.
       'Damia?  Speechless?' Afra teased her, his smooth tenor voice
  tender.
       She nodded violently as she felt his warm fingers closing around
  her nervously plucking hand.  Immediately she experienced a profoundly
  sensual empathy.
       'Why, you wanted me even then, on Callisto, when you denied me?
       Didn't you?  You just waited - and waited .  . . Whatever for?
       I've always needed you, Afra!
       Always!  Why do you think I've been so lonely?' The words burst
  from her.
       With a low triumphant laugh, Afra pulled her into his arms,
  cradling her body against his and settling her head against his
  shoulder.
       'Familiarity breeds contempt?' he asked, mocking her gently with
  her own words 'And how could you - a T-3.  . . manage to mask she went
  
  on, fuelling her indignation.
       'Familiarity also bred certain skills, Damia.' And he chuckled,
  holding her firmly despite her half-hearted attempt to struggle free.
       But he was physically stronger than she imagined, delighted by
  that as well.
       'You and that aloof attitude of yours.  When you wouldn't take me
  on Callisto I was sure it was Mother-' 'Your mother was no more for me
  than Sodan was for you,' Afra said, his eyes stern as she stared up at
  him, shaken by his harsh tone.
       His expression altered again, his arms tightened convulsively as
  he bent his head and kissed her with an urgent, lusty eagerness.
       'Sodan may have loved you, in his fashion, Damia,' Afra's voice
  said in her ear, 'but mine will be far more satisfying for you.
       Trembling, Damia opened her mind to Afra without a single
  reservation.
       Their lips met again as Afra held her tightly in what shortly
  became far more than a mere meeting of minds.
       3" Damia roused the morning, aware first of having slept very
  deeply.  Then of feeling unusually refreshed, relaxed and
  self-satisfied.  Having established those states, she was abruptly
  aware of what had transpired the previous night.
       And sat up in the bed Curled on his side and still sound asleep
  was Afra, his long arms dangling over the edge of the bed.  She
  couldn't see his face but she gave him just the briefest mental touch
  and sighed with relief: his mind-tone had noticeably improved
  overnight.
       That can be a fringe benefit of loving, you know, said Isthia in a
  whispery mental voice.
       Grandmother!  Even as Damia bridled at Isthia's amused
  observation, she also noted that receipt of the carefully tendered
  message caused her mind no pain.
       I would have had to be mute or dead not to hear the way you two
  were vibrating.  Isthia kept her 'voice' quiet but Damia could not miss
  the amused quality of it.
       The two of us?  Then Afra's able to 'path?
       Well, let's just say that there are certain emotions that
  broadcast in spite of themselves.  Just let him find his own balance.
       Isthia appeared in the doorway, a cup in each hand.
       Entering the room quietly, she gave Damia one cup and then went to
  the other side of the bed, to scrutinize Afra's sleeping face.  Damia
  bristled possessively Down, girl, Isthia said with an ironic smile, I'm
  on your side.  Afra has been special to me, too, for vastly different
  reasons.
       Damia wanted to discover them but Isthia waggled a finger at her
  the moment she felt Damia's pressure.
       Don't, Damia.  Enough that I'm on your side.
       Damia tried a different tack.  What did you mean then?
       Let him find his own balance?
       Isthia's expression became rueful.  I couldn't help overhearing
  your very creditable offer to him last night.  But that won't be
  needed.  Nor any notion of yours to sacrifice yourself to restore him.
       Now, now, don't hackle at me.  Professionally, I've every reason
  to believe that he'll make a full recovery, given time and plenty of
  quiet.  That's one reason I convinced your parents to let me bring you
  both here to Deneb.  Callisto's far too frenetic a place for mental
  convalescents.
       Any Tower would be, Damia thought, and sipped at the hot brew,
  eyeing her grandmother speculatively Then what did you mean - you're on
  my side?
       Isthia regarded her with exaggerated incredulity.  You mean, you
  
  think you can jump from mooning over that Sodan character to a liaison
  with Afra and not expect repercussions?
       It's NOT a liaison.  It's a bonding!  Damia said in an unequivocal
  tone.  You should know that Isthia held up one hand in rebuke.  I
  closed my mind when I realized which way your .  . . ah suddenly
  discovered rapport was heading.  I do practise discretion as well as
  metamorphics, you know.
       Mother will object.  Damia gritted her teeth.  During last night's
  passionate consummation, she certainly had had no time to consider
  'repercussions' Well, she has had Afra's support for many years and
  she'll be annoyed at having to replace him but I suspect you'll find
  that your father might have more cogent objections.
       Dad?  Why should he mind?  He's far more likely to suggest that
  Afra will be just the stabilizing influence I need!
       Possibly.
       Damia frowned, regarding her grandmother with apprehension.
       Isthia had a habit of predicting reactions.
       How could they object to Afra?  They both know him so well.
       And he's a T-3.
       He's also nearly a quarter of a century your senior.
       Don't put it like that, Isthia.  It's not as if age makes that
  much difference for Talents!  Damia was openly scornful.  I know Mother
  won't like it.
       Isthia perched on the low chest, sipping her drink.
       Nonsense, although you may hear words like 'backlash',
  'martyrdom', 'self sacrifice', 'compensation'.  You'll improve your
  position if your attitude towards him is devoid of guilt or the least
  tinge of reparation for the Sodan disaster.
       Damia flinched, hunching against the pain of that reminder.
       Sorry, love, Isthia shot back in sincere apology.
       Do they hate me?  For not saving Larak?
       Slipping off the chest, Isthia embraced Damia in tender, loving
  arms.  No, love.  No-one hates or blames you for that.
       Nothing could have saved Larak.  Unfortunately!
       I will never, never, NEVER, let anyone else be focus!
       Damia said resolutely.
       The focus-mind is always at risk in a merge, Damia love, and never
  is a long time.  Don't store guilt for future use.
       Afra stirred and Isthia rose to her feet.
       Get him out of that bed and to my kitchen table.  He hasn't eaten
  properly since we got him here.  And you've both got to start moving
  about on your own.  Now mind, no mental games until I give the
  go-ahead!  Isthia stood, but her piercing gaze and stern face stressed
  that prohibition, and the force of the tone she used, no longer a
  whisper, set Damia's mind to throbbing: the clearest possible
  demonstration of her invalid state.  Then her whisper returned.  I
  shouldn't even be talking to you like this now, but you're able for
  short distances and I wanted to clear the air privately, she added as
  she left the room then.
       Mulling over what Isthia had said, Damia watched as her lover
  restlessly turned on to his back, and flailed an arm against her.  That
  woke him and he shot upright in the bed, anxious eyes seeking hers, a
  hesitant, shy smile on the lips that had tantalized her the night
  before.  She found herself blushing and evaded his gaze.  Giving
  herself a stern shake, she lifted her head and met his eyes.
       Damia blushing?  he teased her, lifting his hand to caress her
  cheek in a lingering fashion.
       'You're not supposed to 'path, Afra,' she scolded, more because
  his 'tone' was so weak compared to the mental touch he had always
  projected.
  
       His expression altered subtly and his hand dropped to her bare
  shoulder.
       My love, I will do what I can with what I have, and his tone
  chided her.  And what I have is much better this morning, thank you.
       'Thank you!' he added aloud and, tilting his head, kissed her
  pursed lips.
       The intimate touch was shatteringly electric and once again swept
  away any half-formed resolution of circumspect behaviour while Isthia
  was in range.
       Hold breakfast, she managed to convey to Isthia on a tight
  thought.
       Was that Afra's soft chuckle for her willing compliance in her
  mind or Isthia's for their delay?
       'Actually, it's lunch,' Isthia said blandly when they finally did
  appear in the kitchen.  It was a very pleasant room, south-facing, with
  windows that opened on to the front with a view of the lane that wound
  through the forestry to the major link road with Deneb City.  Isthia
  preferred to know who was approaching her retreat so that she could
  take evasive action if necessary.  When she had begun a profound
  enquiry into metamorphic treatments, she had needed such a refuge.  She
  had no neighbours nearer than sixty kilometres and that family had
  absolutely no Talent.
       With the courtesy that was second nature to him, Afra settled
  Damia into a chair at the long table that was work-space as well as
  dining surface.  Then, turning his chair around he sat, his arms
  crossed on its back.  He didn't appear to be watching Isthia intently
  but Damia knew that he was.  Of Isthia's earlier observations, Damia
  had only told him that Isthia had said she was on their side.
       One of his eyebrows had quirked slightly and his lips had twitched
  but he didn't make any further comment.  With Isthia's emphatic ban on
  'pathing, Damia did not try to 'hear' what thoughts had crossed his
  mind.
       As Isthia served them coffee, she wondered how her mother and
  father handled that intimate aspect of their life together.  She knew
  they always kept a light touch but, in each other's minds constantly?
       Of course, right now, even the most delicate link could
  exacerbate.
       But she could watch him, learn every subtle nuance of his body
  language: had Afra always had such an expressive face?  Droll,
  humorous, pensive, observant?  Though he was listening to Isthia, he
  winked at her, 'I think you two are now able to handle your own
  convalescence,' Isthia was saying, ladling one of her hearty soups into
  bowls.  She brusquely waved Damia back into her chair when she started
  to rise and help.
       'I've laid in plenty of supplies.  Damia, you are not to "reach"
  for anything yet.  Use the communit,' and she grinned as she pointed to
  the unobtrusive set in one corner of the big room.  'Prosaic, I know,
  and nowhere near as swift as "lifting" something but, if I feel either
  of you "lifting" anything, I'll slap you back into deep sleep again.
       Your minds have to rest to recuperate, have to be free of even the
  pulse of other minds.  You won't be bothered by casual visitors because
  this place is known to be off-limits and I've made it plain that I'll
  flay anyone who disturbs you.  Anything you should require,' and her
  tone suggested that she'd be surprised if she hadn't anticipated every
  need, 'can be delivered.' Afra nodded, glancing at Damia to be sure she
  was as obedient.  'What I don't know is how long we'll be convalescing.
       I have absolutely no idea how much time has already elapsed.
       Damia winced at even that tactful reference and, her appetite
  abruptly disappearing, she put down her spoon.
       Isthia gave one of her evasive sniffs.  'Sleep,' and she bent a
  
  stern look on both Damia and Afra, 'was the best remedy.  You've been
  kept quiescent - when we could-' and there was an element of
  exasperation in her manner as she pinned Damia with her stare, 'for
  sixteen days.' 'Oh!' Isthia laid a comforting hand on Damia's head as
  she put her own bowl on the table and sat down beside her
  granddaughter.
       Afra gave an odd chuckle.  'No wonder my legs are rubbery.' Isthia
  gave one of her sniffs.  'A great wonder you've been able for
  anything!' He refused to rise to the jibe.
       'Mother and Dad?' Damia asked anxiously, irritated that it was
  only now that she thought to enquire.
       'I kept them asleep for four days.  You deflected a lot of that
  final thrust, Damia, and saved them from the worst of it.  Believe me,
  you did,' Isthia added when Damia seemed to droop further, remembering
  who she hadn't been able to save.
       'Who ran FT&T then?' Afra asked in a brisk tone.
       'Jeran?' Isthia nodded.  'With Cera.  They made a formidable
  team.' Afra chuckled.  'I expect they did.  So long as they didn't
  noticeably improve on what Rowan and Jeff can do.' 'Some detractors,'
  Isthia said with a snort of disapproval, 'feel that the Gwyn-Ravens
  have far too much power in FT&T chain of command.' 'Then let them breed
  up their own Prime Talents,' Afra replied abruptly.  'Meanwhile, they
  should be immensely grateful that Jeffs planned for every contingency.
       Who's working Callisto with the Rowan?  Gollee?' When Isthia
  nodded, he shrugged.  'In that case, I have no need to hurry back.
       Frankly, this will be the first proper holiday I've had, bar the
  occasional weekend, since I had the gall to apply to the Rowan
  twenty-eight years ago.
       Damia stared at him, appalled.  'Twenty-eight?' Afra regarded her
  levelly.  'That's right, love.  That's how long I've been Towered.  Not
  that I minded, for I'd nothing else to do with my spare time.'
  'Nothing?' asked Isthia sardonically 'Nothing,' he said, giving her the
  same level regard, 'that mattered.  Unlike you dilettantes, we Tower
  folk become dedicated-' 'I'd call it enslaved,' Isthia said with a sour
  look.
       'Inseparable from the needs and deeds of our particular Tower.
       'Who's managing Aurigae?' Damia asked in a guilty panic.
       Isthia chuckled, her eyes sparkling.  'They're going to appreciate
  you when you return, Damia!' 'They do want me back?  I will go back?'
  She hadn't quite dared to ask yet.
       'Since they have to tailor their exports to the abilities of a
  young T-4
       'Who?' Damia was abruptly jealous of anyone taking over her Tower,
  however briefly.
       'Oh, Capella lent a promising trainee: your oldest nephew, I
  believe, Afra; your sister Goswina's son 'Veswind?' Afra was mildly
  surprised.  'Yes, I suppose he is old enough for responsibility.
       Gossie would be pleased.  I wonder she never mentioned it.' 'They
  wouldn't, would they?' Isthia said in a mildly barbed voice.
       'No, come to think of it,' Afra replied and broke off a piece of
  bread to soak up the soup juices at the bottom of his bowl.
       'How soon?' Damia asked Isthia.
       'How soon what?' 'How soon can I go back to work?' Eyebrows raised
  quizzically, Isthia favoured her granddaughter with a very long and
  piercing look.  Then sent a mental probe that made Damia gasp with
  pain.
       'When you no longer have that sort of reaction, my dear.  I
  repeat, since you have a hard time absorbing the information, you'll
  both recover, and with no reduction in potential.  But it will take
  time, peace, quiet and no messing about.' Isthia waggled a finger first
  
  at her granddaughter.
       'Have I made myself plain?' Damia swallowed, her head throbbing.
       'Completely.' Immediately she felt a kinder touch and the
  throbbing was reduced to a minor ache.
       'Have I made myself plain to you, too, Afra?' Isthia now turned on
  Afra who had gone slightly paler.  'Yes, I see I have.  Now, will you
  both stop worrying about the galaxy and eat my nourishing soup?  You
  need to reintroduce your abused stomachs to real food instead of
  nutrient sprays.  I've prepared a diet sheet which,' and again she
  pinned them with her forceful stare, 'you will both follow
  assiduously.' When they nodded meekly, she went on.
       'I'll leave tomorrow since a third party is unnecessary or should
  be.  You certainly are adult enough, Afra, as well as old enough to
  admit, and yield, to your current physical and mental disabilities.'
  She gave a sniff.  'And to bore each other in close proximity.  Nothing
  like that to demonstrate compatibility.' 'Grandmother!' Damia cried in
  protest for she knew that Afra and she were already bonded.
       'Damia, stop doodling and start eating.  You'll have more soup,
  Afra,' she said in one of her quick shifts of mood.
       'When you've finished, I suggest that a gentle walk about the
  cabin will be about all the physical activity you'll be able for today.
       THEN,' and she shook a stern finger at each, 'you will rest in the
  porch hammocks so I'm sure that you are resting.' 'No quarrel there,'
  Afra said with a droll grin of apology to Damia.
       'Hear me, Damia?  Give him a chance to regain his strength!'
  'Grandmother!' 'Don't grandmother me, young woman.  Learn the joys of
  anticipation!' A slight shake of Afra's head cooled Damia's heated
  response.  And the warm look in his yellowy eyes promised her that he'd
  make it all up to her later.
       'It is peaceful here,' Afra said as he and Damia obediently took
  their stroll.  He had linked his warm long fingers in hers and such
  tactile contact was unusually reassuring, and curiously satisfying.
       Almost as good as the now forbidden mental link would be.
       Especially since the touch-sense of Afra had taken on an added
  dimension - no longer merely cool-green-comfortable-secure: a vibrancy
  threaded through the cool-green, and 'comfortable' had definitely
  lazy-sensual elements, while 'secure' had intensified into a deeply
  rooted foundation that could never be attacked Occasionally Afra's long
  thigh brushed against her leg, and their bodies swayed together, to
  touch at the hip, while her shoulder often encountered his arm.
       Damia took in little of their surroundings during that slow
  saunter: she just revelled in the purely physical contact with a subtly
  altered Afra.  She still couldn't believe her stupidity.  But then,
  Afra'd always been part of her life: how could she have known he'd
  assume such a vital role in the rest of her life?  She refused to
  consider problems.  Nothing must mar this tranquil moment.
       They rounded the corner of the cabin and made for the short flight
  of stairs to the veranda where two hammocks swung idly in the afternoon
  breeze.  The few stairs put an unexpected strain on her thighs.  She
  thought of the big daddies she had once so effortlessly transported.
       Well, she'd do them again!  She was even panting a bit when they
  reached the porch.  So was Afra so she didn't feel quite so decrepit.
       But this was a splendid spot for napping, shaded as it was from
  the direct rays of the sun.
       Afra held the cords of one hammock while she eased herself into
  it.  Then he bent and, at the last moment, altered his target and
  kissed the side of her neck.
       'Your mouth, love, is far too inviting,' he said with a low laugh
  and set her hammock to rocking.
       'Why are the swings set so far apart?  I want to keep in touch,'
  
  she complained, extending her arm as far as it would go towards him.
       He laughed as he settled himself and, with one quick push, set his
  hammock into a gentle swing.
       'We're to rest, remember, love?  And since I want nothing more
  than to be rested ---' and he laughed softly, suggestively, 'I'll
  obey.' Surprising her, Afra began to hum a melody she faintly
  recognized.  And hearing it, she fell asleep.
       Afra almost botched his attempt to invoke that old
  preconditioning: in the first place, he couldn't sing and laugh at the
  same time and then, when Damia's breathing obediently slowed to a sleep
  rhythm, he was both surprised and gratified that that old trigger still
  worked.
       He let the lullaby die away, watching Damia's face which still
  showed the marks of her ordeal and grief.  He hadn't liked to see her
  so painfully thin, either, but Isthia's threatened diet ought to repair
  that damage.  He wished he could restore her as easily as he had put
  her to sleep.
       He sighed, and clasped his hands behind his head, shifting his
  gaze to the cabin's incredibly serene setting.  Gradually he became
  aware of discrete sounds; Isthia moving about inside; insect and bird
  song drifting from the trees; the soughing of the breeze.  He was also
  calm within himself for the first time in years: perhaps, he amended,
  in his adult life.  Certainly since Damia's ripening sexuality had
  stunned him - what was it, only seven years ago?
       Last night had been completely unexpected: a boon he could never
  have anticipated - a boon which might yet cause him more anguish than
  he had already endured.
       And yet, this time Afra Lyon had no intention of standing
  patiently by and permitting Damia's incredible gift of love to be
  wrenched from his grasp.
       Hadn't she come to him of her own volition?  Seen him with eyes no
  longer clouded by old perceptions and the anathema of 'familiarity'?
       And her dear nonsense about sharing her mental strength with him?
       Well, he'd just see if that was ever needed!  How devoutly he
  hoped that Isthia's prognosis was correct!  Keeping up with Damia would
  require Afra Lyon in top form.
       On the other hand, Damia might have turned to him as an anodyne to
  the devastating experience of misjudging Sodan, and Larak's loss.  They
  had been so close, those two.  Had she turned to her oldest and most
  trusted friend only for solace?  No, Afra told himself, he had not
  misjudged the look on Damia's face, the amazement in her eyes as she
  had really looked at him, Afra Lyon, the way her hands had caressed him
  were revelations for them both.  She had undergone a shift, a
  realignment of senses, a translation of preconceptions that had been
  far-reaching.
       That he had shifted from old family friend to potential lover
  years before was immaterial: in her eyes, she herself had made the
  final adjustment to accepting the steadfast and silent love he had for
  her.
       Afra smiled wryly.  He had stunned Damia with his mention of
  twenty-eight Towered years.  But his love had to face the fact that he
  was twenty-four years her senior.  Rowan would mention it and possibly
  Jeff.  He did wonder how they were going to receive the news.  He could
  hear the Rowan roaring - she'd have to break in a new assistant unless
  she could persuade Gollee to stay.  Or install Veswind?
       Would she be willing for another from the Lyon line?
       Afra smiled again as he remembered how often Jeff had teased him
  about starting his own family.  Jeff had never had Damia in mind for
  Afra's mate but would he really object?  Damia was younger by over two
  decades but how much could that matter?
  
       Especially now that Damia had gone through such a tempering and
  maturing crisis.  Afra saw it in the lingering sadness in her eyes,
  heard it in her subtly altered voice, felt it in her abandoned response
  to their impassioned consummation.  He wished she had not been
  subjected to such a harsh, unforgiving, sacrificial rite of passage.
       He could have wished it had been easier on her - but surely both
  Rowan and Jeff would recognize her new maturity.  Afra shifted
  restlessly, his thoughts turning to the unexpected victim.  Dear, dear
  Larak!  That vibrant, amiable, loving boy, gone in a flash of alien
  anger.  Afra forced himself to face that hideous moment, if only to
  defuse the emotional burden, but his mind refused to focus.  In fact,
  it hurt - Afra, came Isthia's admonition, don't think about that yet.
       You can't alter what has happened He didn't try to reach her
  telepathically, just let his reply sit in his public mind.  I must,
  however, confront what did happen and sort it out for peace of mind.
       Not now, not today or for several weeks to come, Isthia replied,
  and what she did next, Afra never knew, but sleep overcame him.  To
  achieve the restoration of her patients, Isthia wouldn't cavil at
  planting a few irresistible suggestions of her own.
       'Tomorrow you can catch your own,' Isthia told them as she served
  them a dinner of fish, tiny vegetables and a salad of mixed greens,
  'and scavenge your greens from my garden.  I ask only that you eat
  everything you catch and pick.  You know the drill on Deneb, Damia.'
  'Waste not, want not,' Damia dutifully chanted as the delectable odour
  of the pan-fried fish made her mouth water.  'Fish is brain food,
  Afra,' she added pedantically.
       'High protein, low fat.  Is there a limit on a day's catch?'
  Isthia snorted.  'Of course not.  I stocked the lake myself so it's not
  part of the official resources.' Damia leaned across the table to Afra,
  her eyes dancing with mischief, 'That means that Isthia reserves the
  right to fish the lake to herself.  Deneb can't use it in time of
  famine.
       'Deneb hasn't endured a famine, has it?' Afra was astonished
  enough to stop eating.
       'Of course not,' Damia said.
       'Famine and planetary emergency.
       'Such as the Beetles?' Afra asked.
       'Exactly,' and Isthia looked slightly grim, 'first they filled our
  lakes with contaminants, then they blasted them dry.  Took years to get
  our reservoirs rebuilt and full.  So a fish-stocked lake can be
  considered a natural resource and could be added to planetary food
  reserves.  Fortunately, I made sure I had a few perks.' 'This isolated
  site is one?' Afra asked.
       'Took me nearly a year to find exactly the right land when the
  grant was bestowed,' Isthia said, 'but it's worth every bit of the fuss
  it caused.' 'Fuss?  With all you've done for Deneb?' Damia said,
  indignant.
       'That's why there was so much fuss,' Isthia replied and related to
  them the struggles she had had with local and central administration,
  builders, naturalists, as well as medical boards which did not want her
  so far from population centres.  'I was blocked on minor points for
  nearly another two years.  But I got the place I wanted, where I wanted
  it, and no-one can revoke my title to it, nor my heirs' 'What do we
  fish for?' Afra asked.
       'Rainbow sparklers,' Isthia replied.  'Bait your hooks and throw
  'em in.  The fish eventually get interested.' 'It's a novel idea to
  catch one's dinner, too,' Afra added.
       'You can, though, can't you?  It's not something Capellans are
  against?' Damia asked, realizing how little she really knew about Afra
  Lyon.
  
       'No,' he assured her with a grin, 'nothing in my upbringing
  prevents me from fishing for food.' 'I'll show you the lake after we
  eat.  There'll be light enough,' Isthia said.  'In fact watching the
  sunset there can be rather spectacular.' And that evening Deneb put on
  quite a display for them.
       The lake was reached by a narrow track that threaded its way
  through a thick stand of Denebian softwoods: single trunk spires with
  short, full-leaved branches.  The lake, dewdrop in shape, was
  deceptively large for Isthia led them out at its narrow end where the
  tributary stream flowed down from the hills to their right.
       'I've constructed a perch,' Isthia said, directing them along the
  bank to their left where several large flat black rocks formed an
  irregular bench.
       Some sort of spidery multi-legged insects skimmed across the lake
  and occasionally an aquatic denizen broke the surface into ripples,
  snagging the water runner.  Sleepy avian and nocturnal bug noises
  punctuated the evening air as they seated themselves.
       Afra threw a jacket across Damia's shoulder, for the air at the
  lakeside was chillier than at the protected cabin.
       She leaned into his touch, avid for physical contact.  He settled
  his arm about her shoulders and drew her against him as if this casual
  sort of contact was long established.
       Afra was having no trouble, she thought, with their new
  relationship.  His fingers pressed against her arm and she glanced at
  him, suspicious that he was disobeying Isthia.
       He bent his head towards her.
       'A touch is just a touch, Damia love, he said quietly, s6 don't
  get fussed.  More than you, I can't afford to risk the healing process.
       Damia shot a quick look at her grandmother who was sitting, with
  the discretion of a duenna, at the opposite end of the rock couch.
       Isthia gave every evidence of ignoring them.  Which, Damia
  realized, was probably genuine.  Isthia would hate having to leave this
  place with its ensured solitude.  She must remember to thank her for
  that sacrifice.
       'Sacrifice,' Damia thought, her heart heavy.  So many little
  things reminded her of Larak.  Once again Afra's fingers took a new
  hold on her arm and she shook her head of such wounding reflections.
       'See!' Isthia pointed at the cloud formation now tinged with a
  delicate shade of peach as the sun began its final descent behind the
  hills.
       So they watched, awed by the beauty, by the silence of the wood
  and lake about them, a reverence for the display and for the
  tranquillity of the night to come.  When the last colour faded from
  cloud and sky, Isthia sighed, a sound of intense satisfaction, and
  rose.
       'Don't stay too long.  There's a chill in the night air, she said,
  and thrusting one handlight at them, she departed, playing hers on the
  track as she made her way back to the cabin.
       For Damia, who had always been physically restless, this sort of
  inactivity was novel, yet she would not have broken the quiet mood for
  anything on any world she had ever trod.  What was even more amazing
  was that she was sharing - truly sharing - this magical serenity with
  Afra.
       From the corner of her eye she snuck a peek at him and saw, in the
  crepuscular twilight, that he reflected her own tranquillity.  Why had
  she never noticed what a strong profile he had: a high straight
  forehead, a straight nose jutting at a fine angle, the generous gap
  between nose and upper lip, and the strong well-modelled wide mouth,
  the firm chin and jawline.  He had nice ears, too.  But there were
  undeniable flecks of white in his blondy hair.  Not much, but
  
  noticeable.
       Self-consciously, she fingered back the white-flecked lock that
  always fell across her face.
       'I've got more white hair than you,' she remarked.
       'But not in the same number of years, love,' he replied equably.
       'Is that going to matter?' she asked anxiously.
       He looked down at her, smiling at her concern.  'It oughtn't but
  it's bound to come up.  Does my seniority bother you?' 'You're always
  "Afra" to me,' she said, surprised at how she identified him within
  herself.
       He chuckled.  'As you have always been inimitably "Damia" to me.
       D'you know?  I heard you protest your birth.' 'That's not fair!'
  She did not like him to remind her of moments like that.
       'When does "fair" enter into any relationship?  Suffice it to say,
  that I have known you since the first breath you drew and, strangely
  enough, it makes you dearer to me.' The look in his yellowy eyes, the
  tenderness in his mouth, the appeal in even the way his shoulders
  inclined towards her, and Damia had to admit that she could have no
  objection to what lay behind that soft declaration 'Oh, Afra!  Why did
  you wait so long?' His lips turned up and his eyes danced.  'I had to.
       Until you were ready to look at Afra.' With such laughter in his
  eyes and mouth, he had a careless boyishness about him that cancelled
  further discussion of age.
       Larak had been little more than a boy at his death.
       Unbidden, the comparison had crossed her mind.
       Afra's hand covered hers instantly.  'I can see that you're
  thinking sad thoughts again, love.  What this time?  Tell me!' Damia
  smiled ruefully up at him.  'As I told you all my small troubles?' 'I'm
  able for the big ones now.
       'I keep thinking of ' She faltered.
       'Larak,' and his fingers caressed her gently.  'I think of him a
  lot myself Damia burrowed her head into his shoulder, hooking one hand
  about his neck as she had done so often as a child.
       But it was not as a child that she clung to him now.
       'I'm told such pain eases with time,' he said quietly, 'and there
  has not been enough of that between us and his death.' Damia sat
  upright.  'Who is taking care of Jenna right now?' Her tone was
  stricken for she had been thinking more in terms of her own grief and
  loss from this wretched Sodan affair.
       'Isthia can tell us .  . . no, don't reach,' he said and Damia let
  out an exasperated sigh.  'We'll go and ask.' 'It takes getting used
  to, this limitation,' she replied caustically 'In a good cause, love,'
  he said and, smoothly rising from the warm rock, pulled her to her
  feet.
       'Jenna?' Isthia said, surprised at the question when they returned
  to the cabin.  'Jeran sent Ezra to her, but she has a big family and
  they're Talented enough to give her comfort and sufficient solace to
  ease her heart.' Isthia's expression altered to one of amusement.
       After all, she has not only her son but also another child on the
  way.' Damia stared at her grandmother.  'Oh!' she exclaimed
  indignantly.
       'Larak didn't?  Why, he's .  . .' She stopped short.  'Under the
  circumstances, I guess I'm glad.  Lord, but we Gwyn-Ravens are prolific
  'Tell me about it,' and Isthia threw her head back and howled with
  laughter.  'Remember, separate rooms tonight.
       I'm not going to explain that to your parents, Damia!' When Isthia
  entered Deneb Tower, her grandson Jeran had just finished with the
  incoming traffic.
       'How are they?' he asked urgently, rising from his conformable
  chair and embracing her.  She rather liked his strong young arms about
  
  her: made her remember Jerry.
       'They will both recover completely,' she said, and then gave him a
  warning glare, 'if they are allowed to recover at their own rate.  No
  unexpected visits, no shafts of enquiry, no exercise of 'path or 'port
  whatever!' 'How's Damia taking that kind of a prohibition?' Jeran
  asked, raising his eyebrows.
       Isthia considered, careful not to let any of her more recent
  conclusions be accessed by her clever Prime grandson.  'Better than
  you'd expect,' she replied, with just a slight emphasis on the pronoun.
       'Of course, once she regains her health-' 'What?' Jeran's
  exclamation of alarm was genuine.
       'Oh, she's battered physically as well as psychically, Jeran.  And
  genuinely distraught about Larak.  It'll all take time Jeran frowned.
       'How long?' Now an FT&T Prime spoke 'As long as it takes, said
  Isthia with a shrug.  'I'd like to reassure Jeff and Rowan-' she added,
  gesturing towards the board.
       'Certainly,' Jeran said, stepping well away from the conformable
  chair.  'It's break time for me anyway.  Will you be going right back?'
  'Heavens, no,' and Isthia grinned as she settled into the chair.  'When
  I meant no mental exertion, I meant none, which includes me leaking
  metamorphic theory all over them.  Physically, they're well able to
  take care of themselves, and each other.' She shook her head, thinking
  of how true that was and trying very hard not to chuckle at her private
  merriment.  'You're stuck with this white man's burden again 'Never
  stuck, Gran, glad to have you any time.
       Isthia snorted, knowing perfectly well that Jeran was rapidly
  reviewing how to conduct his current affair with his grandmother in the
  same house.  'Or, I can always move into Kantria's digs.  Yes, that
  makes sense and she's on the outskirts of the City anyway.  Do be
  tactful and ask her first, Jerry.' She laughed as she caught the
  quickly-suppressed ripple of consternation from Jeran as he hurriedly
  closed the shielded door behind him.  That should divert him
  sufficiently from speculating further about his sister and Afra Then
  she settled back in the chair and, picking up the pulse of the
  generators, sent her mind ranging the long distance to Callisto.
       Isthia?  the Rowan caught her up immediately and did not moderate
  her understandable anxiety.  Damia was foremost in her mother's mind.
       They're both well and they will both recover, Rowan.
       Mother?  Instantly Jeff's mind joined the link.  Without loss?
       Afra's recuperation worried Jeff more but only because he felt
  Afra had been in more jeopardy than his daughter.
       I don't foresee any diminishing in either mind.  As I told you,
  rest from any mental stress, plenty of sleep and solitude will cure
  them.
       Relief flowed from them to her and back again.
       Any idea when their cures will be complete?  Jeff the Prime spoke.
       I haven't a clue, Isthia blithely reassured them and felt their
  misgivings.  Heavens, I've never treated such overextended minds
  before.  Metamorphically, Damia buffered Afra and you two cushioned her
  even as she blocked and destroyed Sodan.
       There was a brief pause.  Does she blame herself for not saving
  The Rowan's voice faltered.
       Yes, but that was inevitable and we cannot spare her that grief.
       You will be surprised when you do see her, and Isthia was rather
  glad there was no-one in the Tower room to see her smile.  She liked
  and admired her son's mate.
       It was scarcely Angharad's fault that she had overcompensated her
  children for the vicissitudes of her early childhood.
       Surprised?  Jeff asked.
       Agreeably, Isthia replied.  She might as well predispose them.
  
       The incident has matured the girl.
       Rite of passage?  Jeff asked.
       A rocky grievous one, to be sure, but considering Damia's 33i
  personality, only that sort of experience would produce the proper
  tempering.
       Aren't you being hard on Damia?  the Rowan began.
       I'm being objective, I assure you.  You should be grateful for her
  fortitude and resilience.  She could have been consumed and broken.
       But she is well?  She will recover?
       Given time.  No more headaches, Angharad, or lapses of
  concentration?  Isthia asked, skilfully diverting the contact into a
  new channel.
       No, because we ve cut down the traffic, Jeff replied brusquely.
       Sometimes FT&T expects too much of its Primes.
       Both of us, and he sent his mother a rueful grin, are letting our
  assistants handle inanimate stuff.  Gives them a feeling of
  accomplishment and us a brief respite.  And Aurigae got their ears bent
  for the sort of loads they were having Damia 'port.  She's not to do
  that again.  You did say that Afra's going to be all right?
       Isthia chuckled.  Oh, you'll notice a change in him, too.
       All for the good.  Then, before her inner amusement broke through,
  she hastily ended the contact.  Goodbye now.  Jeran wants his chair
  back.  I'll keep you informed.
       Because they were so isolated and because they had been in the
  habit of being wide-open in every sense to each other, Damia and Afra
  both experienced the first tendrils of query.
       Damia censored the incident.  Afra ignored it.  Neither mentioned
  it; Damia because she wasn't going to get caught twice the same way;
  Afra because he didn't trust his mind.
       Not only had Isthia left them a diet sheet - easily digestible
  foods at first, graduating to some of her more esoteric and exotic
  combinations - but also she had left them a work sheet.  As her note
  reminded them, the cabin was not automated.
       'Nothing to tax your energies but light chores to keep the place
  ticking over and to combat boredom.' 'I'm not sure that I like her
  going on about boredom,' Damia told Afra as they looked over the
  roster.
       Afra's eyes gleamed, but his finger running down her cheek took
  the sting out of his words.  'We both know our quick-silver Damia,
  restless, curious -'I need rest,' and Damia pretended a haughty air,
  'and I got an overdose of curiosity too recently to indulge in another.
       I shall vegetate, right along with you, Afra Lyon!' 'We are not
  precisely vegetating, love,' Afra said and demonstrated.
       They were, however, scrupulous about doing the various tasks
  Isthia had set: keeping the cabin neat and clean, tending the garden
  planted around it, weeding the vegetable plot, reinforcing the guard
  fencing to prevent forest Damia's eyes widened in protest.  'But you
  are respected life from browsing the young plants, and fishing.  The
  lake was stocked with many tasty varieties.
       Damia liked fishing, liked the excuse to sit beside Afra,
  shoulders and legs touching as they sat on the bank waiting for the
  sparklers to rise to the bait.  The enforced idleness of angling
  permitted Damia to satisfy her insatiable interest in every facet of
  her lover's childhood and early training, though she forcefully
  denounced such heartlessness.
       'I guess I was a lot luckier in my parents than I knew,' Damia had
  to admit when he had finished with his early childhood trials.
       'Even being sent away as an infant to Deneb?' Afra asked, his eyes
  intent on her expression She grimaced with chagrin.  'Yes, I was a
  right wagon, wasn't I?' 'Heavy duty big daddy wagon.' 'You don't have
  
  to agree!' 'Why not?  I knew what you admit to.' 'But you're not
  supposed to agree!' Afra chuckled.  'If it's true, why not?  It's
  perspective that counts, love.  It isn't that I don't know your faults
  as I have tried to admit to mine - it's that I love you more because of
  them.' 'Love me for my faults?  How stupid!' 'Should I ignore them
  because I love you?' 'Well .
       'Nonsense.  It's those odd quirks of yours that are endearing, not
  your very stellar qualities which I respect and admire.  That could get
  tedious 'You mean, boring?' Damia suggested, eyeing him speculatively
  'No, tedious, because then I'd have to watch everything I said and did,
  trying to be equally respectable and admirable.' and admired.' 'By
  you?' His soft voice was entreating and his look made her melt.
       'I think,' she said in a deliberate way, playing with the long
  fingers that held one of her hands captive, 'that I have always admired
  and respected you, Afra.  You always listened to me, even when I was a
  baby.  You always made me feel as if you had time for no-one else in
  the Tower.' 'That's true enough, love.
       'Did you love me then as a baby?' Damia could not quite erase the
  wistfulness.
       'I loved you as a baby, but as a man loves an adorable, winsome
  child.  I love you now as a man loves a vibrant, talented, sexually
  aware young woman.
       'Love me then, do.
       At first, they kept about the house.  Afra taught Damia how to do
  complicated origami until she was almost as fast fashioning them as he
  was.  She taught him - or tried - to ride ponies from the small herd
  that often drifted to the lake in the evening.  He had to keep his long
  legs either drawn up, nearly under his knees, or straight out on either
  side of the pony or they would drag on the ground.  Damia found either
  position hilarious but mastered her mirth rather than prejudice Afra
  against the ponies as transportation.
       As physical strength returned, they ranged wider; in part in
  response to the list of Isthia's chores.  She was keeping track of some
  Earth species which had been judiciously added to Deneb's ecology.  One
  such species were breeding pairs of raptors which had been established
  in the rough hills above her cabin.  Isthia wanted to check on the
  nests and the success rate of fledging.  With her maps and backpacks of
  food and trail supplies, Damia and Afra took advantage of a fine bright
  morning to accomplish that task.
       'You have the longest legs,' Damia told him, somewhat admiring
  them, lightly haired, well-shaped, sinewy and tanned from long sunning.
       'Nice knees.' 'I can say the same of yours, love,' he responded
  equably.
       'Can't I ever get a rise out of you?' 'Oh, you do indeed,' Afra
  said mischievously, 'you do indeed.
       'I didn't mean that!  But you never lose your temper, or is that
  your Methody upbringing?' 'Losing one's temper over a trifle would
  definitely be considered unmannerly,' he replied.
       'Maybe I'm the one who should have been raised by your parents,'
  she said with some exasperation.
       'No, love, no!' he replied so fervently that she turned to look at
  him over her shoulder and managed to collide with a tree.  'Are you
  hurt?' 'What?  From that little bump?' she demanded, annoyed with
  herself for being so clumsy.  The sapling had caught her from cheek to
  knee and the impact had stung.  She rubbed herself fiercely, gave the
  tree a pat.  'I probably hurt it far worse.  Look, I've taken off all
  its new growth!' 'Hmmm, so you have.  Let's hope Isthia does not
  intimately know every tree she planted.' Damia watched her way after
  that, wondering just how the bruises would come up.  But shortly she
  was far more interested in the beautiful landscape for they had left
  
  the sheltering belt of forestry and were out on the rough hillsides,
  stepping from rock to grassoid clump, or cutting through a bracken-like
  vegetation which, bruised by their hiking boots, gave off a pungent
  astringent odour.
       They rested often, in deference to slack muscles and their
  convalescent state, but by midday had reached the craggy outcroppings
  where the raptors had nested.  Using the high-power binoculars, Afra
  located the right cliff and the first nest 'No birds, no egg shells.
       Is that good?' He passed the glasses to her 'We might try looking
  at the base of the cliff,' she said after a careful sweep.  'Seems to
  me the raptors clear the debris from the nest.' They had to climb over
  uneven ground to reach their objective but found nothing beyond
  fragments of shells and bones, many of those cracked for the marrow.
       They pushed on to examine the other four nests Isthia had listed
  and found two more before they came across a gushing mountain stream
  where they decided to eat their lunch.  They had appetite for
  everything they'd thought to bring, washed down by the clear cold water
  of the creek.
       Then they went on, still climbing up the tumbled greystone cliff.
       When they finally came out on the height, Damia paused and,
  shielding her eyes, turned slowly, taking in the panorama below and
  almost all around them.
       'It's breathtaking,' Afra said.  'I'd forgotten there could be so
  much world to see from one spot.
       'It's a far cry from Callisto, that's for sure, Damia replied.
       'And yet,' she added loyally, 'I'm fond of that moon!
       All the world I knew until I .  . .' she cut off, frowning.
       'What's wrong?' She was turned towards the rise beyond the saddle
  on which they stood.  She bit her underlip, puzzled, twitching her
  shoulders restlessly.
       'There shouldn't be any more.  There shouldn't be any more here.
       'Any more what?' 'Well, I've got to go see, don't I?' she said
  enigmatically.
       'See what, Damia?  I can't read your mind, you know.' 'You don't
  really want to, Afra, but you'd best come see.' She started scrambling
  up the steep rock face and gestured for him to follow.
       'what should!  be looking for?' he asked tactfully.
       'You should be sensing it,' she replied, her tone almost angry.
       'Beetle stuff.  Don't you feel the 'Sting-pzzzt?' he asked, half
  amused.
       'Yes,' and she was very angry, 'the sting-pzzzt.  It's very loud.'
  Afra paused, trying to sense what she did.  'I hear insects buzzing.'
  'No, you feel Beetle metal.  Look around, do you see any insects up
  this high?' Now that Damia had mentioned it, he didn't, but she was
  setting quite a pace and he had to work to keep up with her.  When they
  reached the top of the next rise, he looked about him expectantly but
  Damia turned right and started purposefully up the next slope and
  abruptly halted, staring at a groove in the fine grey granite - a
  groove that was not natural and from which protruded a ragged shaft of
  metal.
       The buzz that Afra had thought insectoid was louder, and every
  breath he drew had a sharp metallic taste to it.
       'Sting-pzzzt is really accurate, he said, gazing down at the
  artifact.  Then he paced it out, along the impact split in the rock.
       'Fifteen metres visible.' He knelt down and, somewhat gingerly,
  poked his finger at the nearest surface.
       'Part of a hull?' 'Looks like it,' Damia replied, beginning to
  take an interest in it.  'Pitted.  I didn't think there'd be anything
  left to find.  My Uncle Rhodri spent the last nine years of his life
  tracking pieces down.' 'This is a rather inaccessible spot,' Afra
  
  observed.
       Damia sighed.  'We'd better get back and report this.' 'Why?  It's
  been here twenty-odd year' 'One reports finds like this.  And it's
  awfully near the fourth raptor nest.' 'There'd be a problem?' Damia
  shot him an irritable glance.  'Can't you taste it in the air?  Feel
  it?  Can you imagine what effect it would have on hatchlings?' 'There
  is one?' He curbed a growing irritation with her cryptic remarks.  'I
  may have helped blast Beetles out of the sky but that contact was at an
  exceedingly long range.' 'Well, there's nothing long range about the
  way this metal affects me,' she replied tersely and started to climb
  down.  'I can't get away from here fast enough.' 'Oh, is that what's
  wrong with us?' 'Yes, indeed!' She snapped that out, almost spitting
  the ds at him.  'Let's get away from here!' Her tone was desperate.
       He bit back an angry comment about how fast she'd climbed to get
  to the artifact.  Damia did not slow her descent until they were back
  at the stream, panting for breath and sweating with exertion.
       'I think that's far enough,' she said in gasps and flopped down by
  the stream, to splash water on her face and neck and then grinning with
  a return of good humour, at him.
       They both drank deeply, washing the metallic aftertaste out of
  their mouths.
       'Why did you let me eat all my lunch?' Damia asked.
       'I'm starving.' 'I saw some berry bushes,' Afra suggested.
       'Hmm.  Good idea.  Sorry about the temper, Afra, but Beetle metal
  really agitates.' 'What I find amazing is that it retains that effect
  so long.' Damia grinned.  'Uncle Rhodri was determined to find out why.
       He wasn't sure if it was caused by emanations of the alien ore or
  vibrations induced by the Beetles for defence.  He suspected the latter
  since it would be very difficult for attackers to approach the vessel
  when grounded.' 'What was his final conclusion?' 'Oh, he died before he
  arrived at one.  High Command took over the project.  They're still
  here.  They're the ones I'll call when we get back to the cabin.
       C'mon.
       Though Afra did not protest the brisk pace Damia set back to the
  cabin, they were both exhausted when they got to the clearing.  Afra
  paused long enough to get a drink but Damia went immediately to the
  communit and dialled the number.
       'Damia Raven-Lyon,' she said to his astonishment and delight,
  'I've found an artifact, buried in the hills above Isthia Raven's
  cabin.' She gave them the coordinates from Isthia's map.  'Yes, it's
  still emanating.  Couldn't leave the area fast enough.  You could land
  a vtol on the saddle below it.  Yes, about fifteen metres long, maybe
  more.  It buried itself into the ravine.  Looks like hull.' She
  grimaced.  'Feels like hull.  Yes, of course, we'll be here.' Afra
  handed her a cool juice drink as she replaced the handset.
       'Damia Raven-Lyon?' he asked softly as he slid an arm about her
  shoulders to pull her close.
       She gave him a sideways glance, her blue eyes sparkling in her
  tired, sweaty face.
       'Well, it'll be obvious!' An officer rang through, requesting
  permission to land at the cabin clearing.  On the porch to greet him,
  Damia and Afra saw the giant removal unit, the jagged hull piece
  suspended from massive cables, as it thumped ponderously east towards
  the naval research facility.  One of the escort vehicles peeled off and
  landed.
       'That was a grand find,' the lieutenant-commander said, beaming
  from ear to ear as he presented himself and saluted smartly.  'Thought
  we'd gathered up all the debris.  Let us know if you find anything
  else, will you?' Damia felt a convulsive shudder go down her backbone.
       'We certainly will.  Don't want so much as a sliver of that stuff
  
  nearby.' 'How do you mitigate the effect, Commander?' Afra asked.
       'What effect, sir?' The man was surprised.  'Oh, you'd be Talented
  then.' He gave them a slightly patronizing smile.  'Doesn't affect us
  types at all.  But I'd heard it can be pretty potent for sensitives.'
  Fortunately he turned away then, and trotted back to his skycar.
       'The nerve ---' Damia began.  'Potent for sensitives Indeed.'
  Afra chuckled.  'At least we know we're sensitive again.
       Damia blinked.  'I hadn't thought of that aspect.' Then her face
  brightened.  'D'you think that means we're healed?' 'On our way to it,
  certainly.; The dreaming began that evening.  And, at first, Damia did
  ascribe it to the alien metal.  Yet these weren't nightmares: more
  pictures imposed on her dreaming mind, a kaleidoscope of images.  She
  didn't wake in an uneasy state of mind, but she could vividly recall
  the night's fantasies.
       She did get in touch with Isthia, mentioning the Beetle find and
  its effect on them.
       'I would say that you are healing well.  Don't rush it, Damia.
       Too much is at stake.' 'We've been here seven weeks.' 'Bored yet?'
  'Grandmother!  I'm not bored.  D'you want us to go back and see what
  effect the Beetle fragment had on the last nest on your list.
       'Hmmm.  Yes, there could be problems.  Leave it until the next
  good rainstorm, let that taint wash away.  You don't need alien
  pollution at your stage of repair.' 'Are you so eager to get back to a
  Tower, Damia?' Afra asked when she broke the contact.
       She chuckled.  'No, I'm not.  Nor am I bored.  Isthia say 'I heard
  her-' 'Afra!' Concerned, Damia seized at his shoulder.
       'I'm not deaf and Isthia was perfectly audible without any
  "sensitive" assistance.
       After two weeks of nightly episodes, Damia was getting worried.
       Her uncle had never been able to explain how the Beetle metal
  could continue to emanate but he had insisted that all fragments be
  contained in shielded bunkers with six-foot walls of the toughest
  plascrete.  He had recommended that those with any vestige of Talent be
  barred from the research compound.  But the substance of her nocturnal
  images held neither threat nor malice.  In fact, they seemed to repeat
  in a pattern, unusual enough in itself, and gradually the pattern
  became so predictable that Damia could step from one sequence to the
  next .
       as if she were turning pages.
       Easing from their bed early one morning, Damia slipped to the
  kitchen and dialled Isthia's number.  Her grandmother was an early
  riser.  Contact came on the third ring.
       'Grandmother, did Uncle Rhodri ever discover a long term
  contamination from Beetle metal?' 'What do you mean exactly?' To Damia,
  her grandmother sounded so casually alert that she felt no further
  reluctance in bringing the phenomenon up.
       'I've had dreams for the past two weeks, ever since that hull
  piece was found, only they're not threatening, or evil, or particularly
  unnerving.  They are repetitions of the same images.
       'What images?' And again Isthia's detached query suggested to
  Damia that the phenomenon might not be limited to herself.
       'I get a pleasant setting, then figures - too distant and fussy to
  be described - coming up a long road to another group of six figures.
       Both sets sit down.
       The atmosphere is peaceful and it seems to be as if the two groups
  are talking.  Then the visitors, for that is the impression I get of
  them, turn and go back the way they came to what looks like a vessel of
  some kind.' 'What kind?' 'I can't discern that, Isthia.  I just
  identify it as a vehicle.  An opening appears and the visitors go in
  it.
  
       Then everything starts all over again.  Now, tell me that other
  people are having this same dream?' 'I am,' Afra said, having entered
  the kitchen quietly.
       'Afra says he is.' 'That doesn't surprise me, Damia.  What does
  surprise me is that you two would be among those contacted.' 'Those?
       How widespread is this?' Damia wasn't certain whether she was
  relieved or annoyed.
       Isthia chuckled.  'This time it's not just the females who're
  getting it.' 'WHAT?' Damia beckoned urgently for Afra to come closer so
  he could hear what Isthia was saying.
       'Well, your Uncle Ian as well as Rakella and Besseva have been
  having much the same nightly visitations.  Yours are the clearest.'
  'You said "contact" a minute ago?' 'I did, and that's what I think it
  is now that you've amplified what the others only guessed.' 'I'm not
  sure I like this,' Damia said, noticing that her hand was beginning to
  tremble.  Afra put his arm about her waist, and the other hand on her
  shoulder, steadying her.
       She leaned back against him.  'What does Jeran think?' 'Ah, that's
  it.  Jeran isn't included in the chosen,' Isthia said.  'Of course, he
  spends most of his free time with a blonde he's courting.' 'He's
  serious?' 'I suspect so.  When Jeran makes up his mind, he's
  unswervable.' 'Have you asked him to try?' 'To dream requires sleep,'
  Isthia said pointedly.
       Afra smothered his laugh in Damia's loose hair, pressing his face
  against her neck which he then nibbled.  She jerked her shoulder,
  giving him a hiss to behave.  He was totally unrepentant.
       'So what do we do?  Have you told my parents?' 'Hmmm, no, not yet.
       It's been too nebulous.' 'I can also hear what the Rowan and Jeff
  would say, Afra remarked, projecting his voice so Isthia heard him,
  'about a third Denebian Penetration.' 'It's not penetration,' both
  Damia and Isthia said together.
       'Really?' Afra regarded his lover with quickened interest.
       'An interesting reaction.
       'Plainly dream-generated,' Isthia added.  'Look, since you've been
  having these visitations, and clearer ones than anyone else, I think
  I'll join you there, if you don't mind .
       'If you wouldn't be bored sis the jibe.
       'My dear, boredom has a certain appeal for one who has never known
  what it was.  Now, go get me some fresh fish for lunch.' She broke the
  contact.
       'I'm not sure I like this,' Damia said, replacing the handset.
       'Why?' And Afra turned her around in his arms, to hold her
  comfortingly against him.  'I had no impression Damia could not
  recognise danger or menace or jeopardy.  As you did, I had the feeling
  of visitation, a peaceful one.' Cushioned against her lover's body,
  Damia sagged against him, unconsciously seeking reassurance which he
  willingly gave.
       'I'm not sure I'm up to another visitor,' she said glumly.
       She gave a second convulsive shudder.  'The last one cost us too
  much.' 'What?  My brave Damia sidestepping a challenge?' 'Your cautious
  Damia not rushing in, blind,' and her tone was sardonic.
       'Let's see what Isthia says.  Meanwhile, I could use some coffee,
  and maybe even some breakfast before we go fish for her lunch?' 'You're
  trying to make light of this whole thing,' Damia accused, pushing away
  from him.
       He disclaimed that immediately.  'Far from it.  The prudent would
  examine the whole imposed dream sequence with an open mind 'If we're
  allowed .  --' Almost absently, Damia began to prepare the coffee and
  other elements of a breakfast.
       'We must be, if we've had the clearest dreams 'But they began the
  
  night we found that Beetle artifact 'They did at that,' and Afra
  frowned over the coincidence as he took the skillet from her hand and
  started cooking the eggs.  'We'd best weed that front bed, too, or
  Isthia will have words about negligence.' It afforded Damia some relief
  to yank out weeds and fork up the soil to be sure she'd got the root
  systems as well.  And, although Damia enjoyed fishing, today it was
  only a way to pass time until Isthia came.  As is sometimes the case
  when one doesn't care, the fish bit well and they landed ten good-sized
  white-bellies before they realized they had more than enough.  When
  Isthia arrived with both Ian and Rakella, they had just enough.
       Afra hadn't seen Ian for quite a few years and he was surprised at
  how much the young man resembled his older brother.  Though he had not
  quite the same forceful personality, he had sufficient of the
  inimitable Raven charm.
       'Niece, you've improved past all recognition,' he said, dropping
  the flat black carrying case to warmly embrace Damia.  After giving her
  a rib-cracking hug, he held out a hand to Afra.  His eyes were somewhat
  paler a blue than Jeff's but as full of vitality, good humour and
  delight in their company.
       'I second that,' Rakella said, kissing Damia's cheek.
       'You were in a woeful state when you got here.  I helped nurse
  you, or did Isthia ever bother to mention that?' She did not bear much
  resemblance to her older sister, Isthia, but the family stamp was in
  the set of her eyes and her generous mouth.
       'For that, my deep gratitude,' Damia said, 'for I've no
  recollection of much beyond the most thundering headache imaginable.'
  Isthia clapped her hands sharply together four or five times - claps
  which Damia heard echoing in her skull and proceeded to order them to
  gather at the dining table.
       Damia noticed that she was also doing a quick check of her
  premises as she shooed them into the dining-room.
       'White gloves, Grannie?' 'I wouldn't need them,' Isthia replied
  blithely.  'Look, Ian has some sketches to show you.  See if you
  recognize anything from them.
       'They're pretty vague,' Ian said, obediently opening the portfolio
  he had brought with him.  He slid pencilled drawings out, across the
  sleek surface of the table, so that some faced Afra and others Damia.
       'I don't always sketch what I dream but, by the fourth or fifth
  repetition, I felt I had to.' Damia held up one, showing the long road
  and the two blurs of figures.  'That's exactly what I see, only, there
  are at least twenty figures advancing and only six receiving, as it
  were.' 'Six?' Isthia looked pleased.  'That's us, counting in Besseva
  who couldn't come today.' 'And we're all high Talents, aren't we?'
  Damia said, glancing at her grandmother for reassurance.  Isthia gave a
  wave of her hand, dismissing Damia's self-doubt.
       'Why isn't Jeran affected?' Ian asked and, when Isthia smothered a
  laugh, he added.  'Oh, I suppose that would affect his judgement, if
  not his receptivity' 'So what exactly is this?' Damia asked almost
  petulantly.
       'Has it anything to do with that nibbling on the DEW net off
  Procyon?' Afra asked, startling Damia.
       'What nibbling?' Afra regarded her steadily for a moment.  'Larak
  mentioned it.  The Fleet had been sent to investigate and found
  nothing.' 'From Procyon to Deneb is a long distance, Ian said
  thoughtfully.  Damia caught her breath.
       'True, but longer distances have been covered recently,' Afra
  replied and Isthia nodded.
       'And with devastating effect,' Damia said, feeling a tense anger
  and denial building in her.
       'Is it wrong to suppose that all .  . . ah .  . . visitors have to
  
  be unfriendly?' Afra asked calmly, reaching under the table to put a
  steadying hand on Damia's leg.
       'We've had more of the one than the other,' Isthia replied mildly.
       'I'd certainly prefer that Deneb wasn't always the target.' 'It
  wasn't,' Damia said in a flat hard voice.
       'Two out of three are not good odds,' Rakella said drily, 'but are
  we sure what these dreams mean?  That there's some other species out
  there, asking to visit?' Isthia gave her sister a sharp look.  'Is that
  how you'd put it?' 'I think I would,' Rakella said after considering
  her reply.  'The dreams have not been threatening.  They have been
  quizzical.  Yes, that's the word I want, quizzical.  Like neighbours
  who do not wish to intrude but would like to make friends.
       'I find myself in agreement with that,' Afra said.
       'And I,' said Ian.
       Damia stared at the sketch, at the clump of figures struggling up
  the hill towards those waiting at the summit.
       She waved at the drawing.  'I don't know if I want to understand
  that.  I don't know if I'm afraid of what we will discover.' 'That, at
  least, is honest,' Isthia said but there was approval in her
  expression.
       'Only a fool doesn't learn by mistakes,' Damia said in a bitter
  tone and felt Afra's fingers tighten, this time warningly, on her
  thigh.  'Well, we should profit by my mistake in this.  They seem to be
  offering something, too.
       'On the contrary, Damia, Sodan offered nothing.  And he took
  subtly and brutally - all your energy, your strength, and your
  perception,' Afra said, his tone very gentle, his eyes entreating her
  forgiveness for his candid words.
       She stiffened, catching her breath until she could not deny the
  love, encouragement and understanding which flowed into her mind from
  all those around the table.
       Afra's fingers dug into her thigh, rousing her from her bleakness.
       'And my brother,' she added.  'Why should we believe this - this
  intruder is any different?' 'Well, for one thing, whoever they are have
  had the courtesy to request admission into this system,' Isthia said.
       'That's my interpretation of the dream sequences.
       'Who - what - are they?' Damia asked bluntly.
       'We'd all like some reassurance on that score,' Isthia said.  'On
  the way out here, Ian, Rakella and I worked out a plan.  Ian's willing
  to be subject and Rakella and I will implant a response to the dream
  sequence which ought to give our visitors - not invaders, I think - an
  answer to their query Damia regarded her young uncle with admiration
  and some consternation.  He was by no means as strong a Talent as she
  was, nor had he spent much time developing his innate Talent.  But she
  held back her protest.  She had no wish to tempt a repetition of the
  Sodan affair.  She did give Isthia a long and worried look.
       'Shouldn't we inform Earth Prime?' she asked.
       'I'd rather we had something more concrete than a nebulous pattern
  of dreams,' Isthia replied.  'Jeff's still trying to calm everyone
  down,' and then she laughed, 'and help Cera deal with the Procyons who
  feel she is far too young to be responsible for that system 'Cera's the
  most responsible of us all,' Damia said indignantly.
       'Exactly,' Isthia said, smiling at her granddaughter.  'But you
  can quite appreciate why we must be circumspect with this latest-' She
  jiggled her hand, searching for the appropriate word.
       'Flap?' Afra suggested blandly 'Flap'll do.  There're only the six
  of us, having the dreams.  Now if more had been involved - even just
  Jeran-' 'Good al' prosaic Jeran,' Ian said disparagingly and Damia
  suppressed a giggle.
       'Isn't he just,' Isthia said at her mildest.  'At any rate, until
  
  I feel we have sufficient evidence to require an alert of any degree, I
  think we keep this among ourselves.' She sent a querying look around
  the table.  'Very well then.
       We'll proceed with Plan A. And when is lunch going to be ready?'
  Of them all that evening, Ian seemed the most relaxed as he submitted
  to the hypnotic session, woke, joked that he didn't remember a thing,
  and ate a huge supper, consumed most of a bottle of Isthia's treasured
  pre-Beetle vintages before taking himself off to his bed.  During the
  afternoon, Afra and Damia had brought two conformable chairs into Ian's
  room where Isthia and Rakella could be comfortable during their vigil.
       Damia had been generous to her own wine glass at dinner but she
  found it difficult to relax once she and Afra had gone to bed.  She
  couldn't find a comfortable position though she tried several as
  surreptitiously as possible, not wanting to rouse Afra.
       'I can't sleep either,' Afra said, though even his quiet tone
  startled her in the dark room.  He turned her on to her back and
  gathered her into his long body.  'Shall I sing you a lullaby?' 'I'm
  not a baby any more, to be lulled asleep by a song, she protested but
  she did not resist his comfort and settled her head on his chest.
       To her surprise, not only did he begin to sing softly but also he
  rocked her gently against him.  And, before she could protest his
  nonsense, her eyes got too heavy to remain open and her mind darkened
  responsively.
       This time she seemed to be awake even as she started the visitors'
  dream sequence.  And Ian's drawings became part of it - part of it,
  expanded by it and interpreted in it.
       The long uphill road was a dark one, many stars above it, passing
  by in an endless stream.  A small globe appeared and the visitors
  abruptly stopped their upward progress.
       Then, very carefully, several visitors picked the globe up and put
  it to one side for it apparently impeded their forward progress.  Then
  the file of visitors became twenty separate figures: long, thin, with
  spindly anterior segments which propelled them and upper extremities
  which were held forward in entreaty.  The dream seemed endless to the
  sleeping Damia and she felt exhausted by its length, fervently wishing
  for action.  There had been some before.
       The visitors had reached the top of the hill and met the six.
       The six also extended long, thin limbs but, though they advanced a
  few steps towards the visitors, no real progress seemed to be made in
  establishing a contact.
       Contact!  Damia woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in the
  bed.
       What is it, Damia?  Afra asked her, and the question was repeated
  by Isthia.
       We aren't making contact.  They wish to make contact.
       Then she covered her face with her hands and dropped her head to
  her bent knees, shuddering violently.  She felt Afra's arms enfolding
  her and she leaned into his protective clasp.
       'It's all right, Damia,' Isthia said, gliding into the room.
       'What did Ian dream?  Did your plan work?' Afra asked her.
       'I don't know yet, she said, sitting down on the side of the bed
  and stroking her granddaughter's hair.  'It's all right, pet.
       'I'm not a child any more, Grandmother,' Damia murmured and gave
  one last shudder before she looked up.
       'It's contact they want, though.  Afra?' He shook his head.  'I
  only dreamt the usual sequence.
       When Ian finally woke the next morning, he had done no more than
  that.  'I tried, Mother,' he said ruefully.  'I knew I had something to
  tell them all night long but I couldn't get a word in edgewise.' Damia
  felt close to panic and that must have shown in her face for both
  
  Isthia and Afra moved to touch her reassuringly.
       'I don't want this,' she told them, 'I don't want any part of it.'
  Then, before she could see the pity in their faces, she slammed out of
  the house and down the narrow track to the lake.
       She had been sitting for a long time in her favorite fishing site
  before Afra joined her.  She could hear him coming, 'heard' his
  anxiety, too.
       'I'm a coward, Afra,' she murmured when he reached her spot.  He
  hunkered down beside her and his 'concern' was a shield between her and
  the reality she wanted to escape.
       'No, but you're understandably cautious.  I think we ought to
  inform Jeff, especially when you had such a definite response.
       'It was Ian who was supposed to get one.  I'd rather it was he,
  anyway.  I didn't handle the last one very well.' 'Isthia doesn't want
  you to handle this one at all,' Afra said, a little ripple of amusement
  in his voice.
       Surprised, she looked up at him.  'And?' 'Despite what you may
  think of your initial attempts at establishing contact with an alien
  life form, you handled the actual link extremely well.' 'You have the
  nerve to tell me that?' Shock poured through her and she stared at Afra
  as if she had learned nothing of the man in the past two months.
       'Telling the truth doesn't require nerve, love,' he said with a
  little laugh.  'The problem lay in Sodan and his long-term plans, not
  in your management.
       'I don't believe what I'm hearing.
       'You should,' Afra said blandly.  'You had bridged a communication
  gap and had established frames of reference.  You've always had that
  gift.  Look at how well you get on with barque cats, Coonies and the
  pony.  Not to mention how good you were at teaching.  Or have you
  forgotten Teval Rieseman?' "'Friends don't throw rocks"!' 'These may be
  friends.  And you have to learn their language to translate their
  message.
       Damia took in a long breath, held it, seeking that younger
  so-self-confident self.  Sodan had damaged more of her essential being
  than she'd realized.
       'He has certainly robbed you of self-esteem and confidence,' Afra
  said.  'I'd hate to think he'd won on that vital count.' She stared at
  him, her beloved with whom she had shared so much, and here he, Afra
  the cautious Capellan, was suggesting that she -'You're the only one of
  us who could make the contact they wish-' 'But-' 'I'm serious, Damia,'
  and Afra nodded his head urgently, 'you're the only one capable of
  doing it.' 'Only if you're with me 'That plea came out of her mouth
  before she could stop it.
       'I'd insist on inclusion.' I'll be coming, too, Isthia said.
       Are we allowed to think again?  Damia asked sarcastically I
  applaud it.
       Was that what your clapping meant?  Afra asked as he locked eyes
  with Damia.
       They were both answered by Isthia's laugh.
       I had to be certain you'd obey my injunction, so I added a
  deterrent.  Please come back to the house, Damia, Afra.  Her request
  bore no hint of command.
       Sighing at the inevitable, Damia got to her feet and, with Afra's
  long fingers twined in hers, made her way back to the house.
       'Are we telling Earth Prime now?' Damia asked as they joined
  Isthia in the kitchen.  Neither Rakella nor Ian were present.
       'No, not yet.
       'Is that wise, Isthia?' Afra asked.
       Isthia leaned forward across the table, still littered with Ian's
  sketches.  'Look, you two, I have survived two invasions of a highly
  
  inimical force, bent on total destruction.  I do believe I can tell the
  difference when - ah - visitors do come in peace.' 'Remembering that
  the reason for most stellar travel is to provide colonists and mineral
  wealth for the explorers?' Damia asked cynically.
       'I don't have much precognitive Talent,' Isthia surprised them by
  saying, 'but what I have is straining to make that contact.  Ian's
  dream last night did have one positive result,' and she flicked one of
  the drawings on the table towards them, 'if you'll notice the stars?'
  Damia drew the sheet towards her, frowning, for the seemingly random
  scatter of stars gradually became familiar to her.
       'These are the constellations above Deneb !' 'Exactly.  And this
  globe has protuberances suspiciously like the DEW sensors beyond the
  heliopause.' 'Oh,' and Damia's single syllable came out on a long sigh
  of denial 'That's not so far to take a personal capsule.  Is it?'
  Isthia asked softly.
       'No,' Afra replied equably.  'Damia went much further than the
  heliopause to reach the Sodan entity.
       'I'm not sure,' and Damia spaced her words carefully, 'that I
  could go that far again.' 'Ah, but you won't be going by yourself,
  pet,' Isthia said comfortably.
       'I shouldn't be going at all.' 'That's why you must,' Afra said,
  gently pushing his index finger into the soft part of her arm.  She
  felt not only the vibrancy of cool-green but a resolution she could not
  fight.  She'd been terribly wrong once, and Afra had suffered.  Afra
  and Larak.  She must trust Afra now if his feeling was that strong.
       Isthia was shaking her head slowly.  'I wish we had a reliable way
  to convey a response.
       'What do you mean, Isthia?' Afra asked.
       'I mean, I send a message by Ian and Damia gets the answer.
       'Send the question by Damia then.' 'If Damia doesn't mind ' Isthia
  looked hopefully at her granddaughter and Damia conceded gracefully.
       'Then we'll try it tonight.' 'Why wait until tonight?' asked Afra.
       'Sleep seems to be the vector,' Isthia said.
       Afra chuckled.  'Then Damia can go to sleep.  'I what?' Afra rose,
  took Damia by the hand and, with a perplexed Isthia following, stalked
  out to the corner of the porch where the hammocks swayed gently in the
  breeze.
       Afra sat Damia down in one, picked her feet up and motioned for
  her to get comfortable while he set the hammock swaying.
       'I can put Damia to sleep any time,' he said, grinning broadly.
       'Now, wait a minute-' but Damia's protest was cut off as Afra
  began to croon the same song he'd sung her to sleep with the night
  before.  She had no choice in the matter but her last outraged thought
  was that she'd settle this with him when next she was awake.
       The sequence started instantly, only this time Damia took control
  and, as the visitors made their way up the hill, she separated a figure
  from those at the top and walked it down towards the visitors.  She
  stopped it at the globe.  Then, beckoning broadly to them, she urged
  them to follow her back up the hill.  She was then back at the start of
  the dream and repeated her reassurance, to be sent back to the
  beginning at which point she was becoming rather annoyed that they
  couldn't get so simple a message.
       She woke up grumpy, her head foggy with sleep.
       'Afra Lyon, you stop doing that to me,' she said, shaking a finger
  under his nose.
       'Works, though, doesn't it?' He was not the least bit repentant.
       'How?' asked Isthia, mystified, but she regarded Afra with
  considerable respect.
       'Goes back to when Damia wouldn't sleep at night.
       The daycare Talent and I used a prudent post-hypnotic suggestion
  
  and, with a bit of rocking and a line or two of a lullaby, Damia would
  drop off to sleep just fine for her mother' 'And it has lasted this
  long?' Damia was incredulous.
       'I've proved it.  Mind you,' and Afra's voice held the note that
  meant he was teasing, 'I wish I'd been fore thoughtful on other
  matters.
       'As well you weren't,' Damia said direfully.
       He helped her up out of the hammock and hugged her.
       'So, tell us what happened?' Isthia asked, getting back to the
  more important matter.
       'I told them we'd meet them at the DEW, and indicated that we'd
  welcome them.  That's what you wanted, wasn't it?' Isthia nodded her
  enthusiasm.  'Now, do we get Jeran 5
       assistance?' 'We'd have to explain everything,' Damia said with an
  exaggerated groan.  'You know how Jeran is.  A, B, C and D!' 'Damia,
  did you feel threatened by the dream?' Afra asked, no hint of levity in
  his expression.
       'No.  I'd like to believe Isthia's intuition is correct.' 'Like to
  believe?' Isthia asked.
       Afra held up his hand.  'That's fair, Isthia.
       'I suppose so.  Well, let's tell Ian and Rakella.  We'll need
  their help anyway.' The one vehicle at Deneb Tower which could carry
  three long bodies was a medium-sized rescue pod with four conformable
  seats.  It had probably been left behind by a liner for its engine was
  missing but it still had working directional thrusters.  They put in
  fresh oxygen tanks and dusted down the console, rather pleased to have
  a vehicle that had standard communications as well as a viewplate and
  external sensors.  Jeran was not on duty, which was no problem as Ian
  and Rakella knew how to run up the generators.  Damia could feel her
  palms sweating and her stomach was griping badly as she settled herself
  into her chair, Isthia on one side, Afra just behind her.
       'I'll make the lift,' Isthia said, settling her hips deeper into
  the seat.  'You're completely cured, Damia, but you save your strength
  for the contact.' Damia had a moment of panic for that decision, but
  Isthia had never lied to her and probably wasn't now.  It just would
  have been so reassuring to push off again, as she used to do so
  blithely.
       You could now, too, love, said Afra in a fine thin tone.
       He reached forward to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
       Relax!
       She was quivering with tension and forced herself to unwind.  She
  could, however, sense the rising keen of the generators and felt Isthia
  tense as she waited for exactly the right mo She launched them, a good
  strong thrust that Damia could objectively admire.  It was good to be
  in deep space again.  And then the pod's proximity alarm beeped
  urgently.
       'Bring up the screen, Damia, Afra said, leaning forward to peer
  over her shoulder, 'There it is!' cried Isthia, unnecessarily pointing,
  her expression exultant.
       'It' was not a large ship, which immediately encouraged Damia to
  believe in amicable motives.  'It' was also a deep-space craft, having
  the usual haphazard design of ships that were never intended to land.
       It did have what looked very much like weaponry: wide-mouthed
  orifices that were stained with old fires and long snouts pointing
  outwards and looking effective.
       Ian, turn off the DEW, Isthia said.  We don't want the Fleet
  charging out here and blowing us and our visitors up.  Yes, that bunch
  of toggles under the red rimmed glass panel.  Turn 'em all off.  The
  disconnection won't show up for an hour or two.
       At which time we'll know one way or the other 'I think I have to
  
  go to sleep again,' Damia said drily.
       'Will just the song do it, Afra?  These seats aren't made for
  rocking.' 'I could rock the pod,' offered Isthia.
       'We'll try without that, thank you,' Afra said and, with his hand
  on Damia's shoulder, began to sing the potent lullaby.
       She knew she was shaking her head as sleep once more claimed her.
       The pattern was gone.  Instead she was inside the other ship,
  looking out at her tiny cargo pod.  This time other figures were
  clearly visible and they were definitely alien.
       Despite their unusual appearance, she could sense no danger,
  nothing 'heavy', only relief.  The 'visitors' looked to be tall though
  she had no gauge by which to compare them, save the bulky equipment.
       They did not sit, but stood on the three rear appendages, stubby
  legs which ended in splayed feet with three thick 'toes'.  The upper
  limbs had five longer digits, one on each side of a squat 'palm' and
  three along its top.  The heads were long, tapering to what appeared to
  be a muzzle but she could not see a mouth.  One eye of a composite
  nature crowned the thick 'head'.  There seemed to be dorsal ridges
  along the backbone.  Maybe one of the three feet was actually a caudal
  appendage.
       Their skin or pelt, she couldn't discern which, was sleek and
  varicoloured, ranging from greys through green, brown and a slaty blue.
       Some were definitely taller than others but she didn't think the
  smaller ones were immature or of another sex.
       Instantly her dream self turned towards a flat surface, set at a
  distance above the deck.  This surface abruptly lit up and images began
  to form.  More of this species, racing to enter what she had to
  identify as shuttles.
       These took off into space and she watched them link up with larger
  versions of the ship she was dreaming on.  In a massed array, this
  fleet left its orbit, obviously in battle readiness.
       To her shock, she saw their objective: a Beetle Hive Sphere.  She
  watched the battle, saw 'her' ships being destroyed, saw the Hive
  Sphere send its fighters out, watched them being destroyed and then,
  with great relief, saw the Hive ship suddenly explode, sending huge
  chunks spinning off, sometimes colliding with 'her' ships and
  demolishing them.
       Abruptly those scenes segued into huge fragments turning end over
  end against .  -- Suddenly the background changed and it was the
  Denebian system from which the twisted detritus escaped.
       Then all the dream figures turned inwards to face her and she was
  overwhelmed with a sense of urgency, of interrogation, of fear.
       In yet another wrench of perspective, she was back in the pod,
  crying out.
       'They know about the Beetles.  I saw them destroy a Hive.  Then
  there was all this debris spinning in space, away from Deneb.' She
  turned first to Isthia and then to Afra for a reassuring interpretation
  of what she'd seen.
       'Are they warning us then?' asked Isthia.
       'No, they know we've been attacked and survived, as they have
  survived,' Damia said, choosing her words slowly.
       'Then what do they want of us now?' Isthia wanted to know.
       'Just don't put me back to sleep again,' Damia said flatly,
  rubbing at her temples.
       'It seems an admirable way of communicating between species,' Afra
  said, teasingly, but he patted her arm sympathetically.
       'The universe doesn't have to be full of species who are
  inimical,' Isthia said.  'Perhaps what these folk need are allies
  against the Hives.  We've survived an attack so we'd make good allies.'
  'They've certainly gone to great lengths to explain,' Damia admitted.
  
       She was beginning to believe that Isthia could be right.  Her mind
  had not been overwhelmed or raped during this closer encounter.  They
  had managed to convey vital information.
       'Isthia, can you put me into a hypnotic sleep?' Afra asked.  'I
  was part of both mind-merges: the first Rowan focus, and then the
  B-Raven section that sent the Hive Sphere into the sun.  I can at least
  give them our battle account.' Then he settled himself in the
  conformable and linked his hands across his thin waist.
       Damia had an impulse to protest but Isthia unfastened her safety
  harness and drifted to Afra, holding herself down with one hand while
  she placed the other firmly on his left temple.  Afra seemed to
  collapse into sleep.
       She turned to look out at the visitors' ship, now noticing how
  pitted its surface was, how worn and scratched the symbols on what she
  took to be its bow.  There were other ideograms elsewhere, some more
  legible than others.  A complicated language rendered in bars and dots
  and occasionally cross strokes.  Not as complex as some of Earth's
  oriental scripts, if that was the right word for them.
       'How long did I sleep that last time, Isthia?' 'About half an
  hour.  I didn't think to time it,' she said, floating back to her own
  chair.  'Fascinating.  Absolutely fascinating.' Then she let out a big
  sigh.  'I suspect my son is going to be vastly annoyed with his old
  mother,' and the eyes she turned on Damia hadn't the slightest gleam of
  repentance.  'I really should have taken training much earlier.  I
  could have been Deneb's Prime.' Damia regarded her grandmother with
  wonder, 'We tend not to make the most of our chances,' she went on.
       Extending a hand, she lightly touched Damia's arm.
       'Make the most of yours, dear child.  But then, you are, aren't
  you?' 'Do you think they are emissaries of an altruistic species?' 'I'm
  quite attached to that notion,' Isthia said comfortably.  'I wish we'd
  thought to bring some provisions.' Damia laughed.  'This was sort of a
  scramble.  Oh ho!' Her throat went too dry for more words and she could
  only point at the vessel which was clearly moving under power.
       'Let's get out of its way,' Isthia said and frantically reached a
  hand out to Damia.
       Damia, following Isthia's thought, pushed the pod back so
  forcefully that the vessel became only a darkness.
       'Not that far 'It's following us,' Damia decided after a moment's
  observation.  'What is Afra telling them to do?' 'Come on in, the
  water's fine,' Isthia replied facetiously.
       'This must be the right way to handle this.
       'I thought it was, too.
       'This time it is right, Damia.' 'Yes, it is,' Afra said, though
  his words were slightly slurred.  'At least I have extended the
  invitation.  I've no gauge to guide me but they appeared to be amazed
  at how we conduct our battles.  I think that's a good impression to
  give them 'Now, what do we do?' Damia asked, watching as the alien
  vessel continued to close with them.
       'Now, we inform Earth Prime that we have concluded opening talks
  with an alien species,' said Afra so calmly that Damia knew he was very
  nervous.
       Deneb Prime Jeran gave them a prolonged demonstration, at the top
  of both lungs and mind, of what they might expect from Earth Prime.
       The local Fleet Commander appeared at the Tower, apoplectic to
  have found an alien ship orbiting the planet when the warning system
  hadn't so much as burped.
       I TOLD YOU WHY IT IS NECESSARY TO PURSUE THIS COURSE OF ACTION,
  Afra roared with such vehemence that Isthia and Damia regarded him with
  astonishment.  Cut off in mid-spate by Afra's uncharacteristic bellow,
  Jeran glared at the Capellan.
  
       'You had no authority to do so,' Jeran said in a terse tone,
  clipping his words; expression and stance illustrating his indignation.
       'He obeyed me,' Isthia said calmly and took the conformable seat.
       Ian and Rakella were still backed in the corner where they had
  retreated from Jeran's angry harangue.
       Somewhat to her surprise, Damia could regard the scene with
  objective detachment - or perhaps, she amended, she was merely too
  stunned by the whole episode to be able to react.
       Jeran turned on Isthia.  'Grandmother,' he began.
       'Did you bother to inform Jeff or have you just been enjoying this
  exhibition of vituperation too much?' Isthia had a distinct gift for
  putting people in their places.
       'I have first,' Jeran said in a loud voice, enunciating very, very
  clearly, 'to ascertain just what has transpired before I can send a
  rational report.  They,' and he jerked his head at his uncle and
  great-aunt, gave me some boodle-hoop about dreams and being called.
       Dreams, and his scorn would have scarified a lesser personality
  than Isthia Raven, 'hardly constitute an intelligent reason for
  admitting strangers past our perimeter defences.' 'The dreams
  constituted a contact which cleverly surmounted a language barrier,'
  Afra replied, 'and provided us with sufficient information to wish to
  investigate more thoroughly, up to and including personal
  confrontation.' Jeran stared at him, his nostrils flaring, fists on his
  belt, one foot tapping as he struggled to leash his temper.
       'Between Isthia, Afra and myself,' Damia said coolly, rather
  delighted to see her phlegmatic brother moved to temper, 'you must
  admit, Jeran, that we would have experience in recognizing threat.
       This species does not pose one.  In fact, hostility is furthest
  from their thoughts.  Their worlds have suffered from Hive attacks.
       They urgently desire to know how we repelled the Leviathan.' 'As I
  was part of that assault, I explained how we contrived,' Afra went on
  conversationally.  'The Mrdinis were very impressed that we had needed
  no recourse to armaments to destroy it.' Jeran rolled his eyes, noting
  the distraught expression on the commander's face.  'That was even
  stupider, Afra.
       Giving away information about our defence?  That's the most
  horrendous breach of security that --- that - Words failed him.
       WE'RE COMING IN, and Jeff's words rang in everyone's ears.  Damia
  had to blink, because her father's bellow did not reverberate in her
  head.  She glanced anxiously at Afra who closed one eye in reassurance.
       You see, you can even take my son's bellow without wincing, Isthia
  said in a finely-tuned thought.  I did make one slight error though,
  and Damia and Afra turned to her in surprise for her expression was
  fleetingly rueful.  I set a sending constraint in your minds so you
  wouldn't inadvertently 'path, but I didn't restrict receiving.  Never
  thought you would be in receipt of anything.  Everyone knew not to
  'path you until I gave permission.
       So that's how we were able to receive the Mrdinis' dreams, Damia
  said and hid her smile behind her hand.  How reassuring to know that
  you can be fallible, Grandmother.
       The opposite would make you unbearable, Afra added with no
  rancour.
       'I simply don't understand your reasoning in this,' Jeran was
  saying, 'any of you.  Especially you, Damia, since you nearly-' WE
  WON'T GO INTO THAT,JERAN!  Jeff's forceful words echoed and Jeran bowed
  his head, scowling blackly at the floor, around him, at anything but
  his sister.
       Jeran didn't have to say it out loud, Damia thought bleakly,
  though she was grateful to her father for stopping him.
       The Mrdinis are an entirely separate affair, Isthia said gently.
  
       Entirely, Afra added and twined his fingers in hers.
       Damia shifted restlessly, knowing that Jeran would not be the last
  to remind her of that Sodan stupidity.  When Afra also edged slightly
  in front of her, Damia realized his intention.  It wouldn't be the
  first time he had protected her from her father's censure but this time
  she would take her fair share so she eased forward to close the gap.
       Abruptly the largest cradle in the Tower yard held one of the fast
  Fleet courier vessels and the orbital alarms indicated the emergence of
  four large ships in space above them.
       'They are upset,' Isthia murmured, grinning.
       Damia envied her grandmother that superb self-confidence but,
  oddly enough, she began to feel more positive about her part in this
  encounter.
       Wearing a ferocious scowl, Jeff 'ported into the Tower, the Rowan
  beside him.  The next few seconds were full of such heated exchanges of
  accusation, refutation and explanation that Rakella, never a strong
  Talent, folded against Ian, moaning.
       'Oh, do cool it, Jeff,' Isthia said commandingly, her blue eyes
  flashing with a reciprocal outrage.  'I most certainly do want you and
  the Rowan to enter into discussion with the Mrdinis.  That's what
  they're here for.  Both Afra and Damia support my evaluation that these
  are allies, not aggressors.  We exhibited reciprocal good faith by
  inviting them within our defences.' 'That's why I'm raging, Dad.
       Letting aliens into Deneb's skies is totally irrational!' Jeran
  exclaimed, gesturing wildly.  'We haven't yet got over the psychic
  scars of the Beetle Penetration and then my grandmother-' 'One unarmed
  vessel?  One small unarmed vessel is no threat.  It is usually regarded
  as an emissary,' Isthia replied, her patience fraying.  'Oh, do be
  sensible, Jeff.' 'Sensible is using the channels and procedures that
  are set up to deal with occurrences of this sort, Mother,' Jeff began,
  his temper only just contained.
       'Wait a moment, Jeff,' the Rowan said thoughtfully, 'Isthia may
  have acted impetuously but I can sense the Mrdinis.  They are very
  open.  I'm not getting a shred of hostility from their minds and
  there's certainly nothing "heavy" on this alien ship.' Her glance slid
  across Damia and back to Jeff.  'I'd know,' she added gently, putting
  her hand on Jeff's arm so that the contact would emphasize the
  impressions she had lust gained from her mental probe.
       Jeff regarded his wife for a long moment and then the anger seemed
  to drain out of him.  He gestured to Jeran to relax and smiled
  reassuringly at the pallid Rakella whom Ian was supporting.
       'Who made first contact?' he asked, looking from his mother to
  Afra and then Damia, where his gaze lingered.
       'We all had contact,' Isthia said, 'though Damia's was the
  clearest.
       Jeff nodded, accepting the statement without challenge.
       'I put a restraint on them 'pathing,' Isthia went on, in a
  slightly apologetic tone, 'but I forgot to inhibit receipt.
       Damia would, of course, be both more receptive and more vulnerable
  in post-convalescence.' Isthia shrugged.  'After two weeks of nightly
  dream sequences, I had to accept the fact that the pattern could not be
  random, had to be an imposition.  I couldn't establish a source for it.
       I was more than surprised when first Rakella, Besseva, then Ian,
  and finally Damia and Afra informed me that they were also receiving
  similar sendings.' Jeff turned to Jeran expectantly: his eldest son
  shook his head.
       'I can't imagine why Jeran didn't receive, too,' Isthia remarked
  drolly.  'But he didn't.  We six got together, to compare notes, and
  tried to figure out a response to what was patently a friendly
  overture.  Damia volunteered.' When the Rowan looked apprehensive,
  
  Isthia raised her hand in a placating gesture, I would scarcely undo
  the patient work of several months, Angharad.  Knowing the martial
  mind, I decided that we'd check as far as we were able to.  The Fleet
  takes so long to mobilize, doesn't it!  So we made visual contact,
  established communications and extended an invitation to the
  emissaries.  Now you, Fleet and the League can handle future
  negotiations.' She let out a sigh as she propelled herself out of the
  chair.  'Now, it's been a busy few hours and I look forward to some
  unstructured sleep.  Come, Damia, Afra!  We'll all rest better back at
  the cabin.  I don't want you exposed to the emotional levels that will
  shortly be rampant around here.' Then she turned to Ian and Rakella.
       'You two come as well.  You look as shagged as I feel.  See you
  later, dears,' she said, blithely flinging her fingers at Jeff and the
  Rowan.
       'Come on!' and she imperiously gestured for obedience to her
  orders.
       'Dad, Mother,' Damia said with a tentative farewell smile.
       As soon as Isthia had admitted to fatigue, Damia had felt it
  creeping along her nerves.  Not disastrously, merely informing her that
  rest was a good idea.  Swift on that thought, she felt Afra's agreement
  and they both 'pathed back to the cabin's main room.  Isthia, Ian and
  Rakella arrived more prudently on the lawn and joined them inside.
       'Plainly you've recovered when you can 'port that neatly,' Isthia
  said with an approving nod.  'Now, what shall we have for lunch?' Jeff
  and the Rowan asked permission to join them late that evening.
       'Damia, Afra, we've got to whip up a meal,' Isthia said with a
  show of energy.  'Neither of them have eaten all day.
       I wonder if we have anything left after that mountain Ian and
  Rakella put away at noon.' Damia scurried about the kitchen, checking
  what was available, remembering that her father was only out of temper
  when he was hungry.  He may have absolved them of an impulsive act in
  contacting the Mrdinis, but she was certain that some reckoning was
  due.
       Jeff doesn't hold grudges, love, afra murmured, winking at her.
       'Shall I uncork some of that excellent mountain white of yours,
  Isthia?' Isthia grinned.  'Clever Afra.' Five minutes later, the two
  Primes arrived on the lawn and, daringly, Damia 'felt' for their mood.
       Both her mother and father were tired but their public thoughts
  were tinged with a satisfaction that bordered triumph.
       'Well?' Isthia said, handing each a glass of the chilled white
  wine as they reached the porch.  She gestured for them to be seated
  while Damia offered the small hot pastries she had managed to prepare.
       Jeff took a sip of the wine, smiled and nodded appreciatively at
  his mother.
       'One of these days, Isthia Raven, you're going to land out on a
  limb I can't get you off of,' he said and then he relented.
       Isthia looked smug.  'I told you they were not hostile.
       Did you have pleasant dreams?' she added slyly.
       Jeff laughed and even the Rowan began to smile.
       'A novel but effective means of communication.  You should be
  astonished to learn, Mother, that we also got Commander Curran in on
  one conference.  . . with Rowan doing the hypnotic link.
       The Rowan chuckled.  'I don't know who was more surprised, him, me
  or them.  But the conference sank all his irs, ands and buts.' 'So you
  can now support our contention of their peaceful intentions?' Isthia
  asked.
       'Indisputably,' Jeff said, leaning back in his chair.
       'Commander Curran will so inform High Command and put forth an
  urgent request for priority conferences.' Then Jeff looked keenly at
  Damia.  She returned his gaze calmly, keeping a firm grip on her
  
  emotions and hectic thoughts.
       'They asked for you, Damia.' 'It's too soon .  . .' the Rowan
  began.
       'No, it isn't,' Isthia said, smiling to soften her contradiction.
       'There's nothing wrong with Damia's mind, I assure you.  She is
  completely recovered.  So is Afra.' Damia glared at her grandmother for
  the sly smile on her face.
       'I'm relieved to hear that the Rowan began again and then broke
  off, staring at her daughter.
       Damia felt her mother's mental 'nudge', verifying Isthia's medical
  clearance, felt her mother's inability to get past her shields, 'heard'
  her mother's annoyance alter to irritation.
       'Possibly you will also be relieved,' Afra said as he moved to
  stand behind Damia, his hands lightly clasping her shoulders.  She
  could feel the intensity of his emotions and knew that he had opened
  his mind, and his heart, to the two Primes.  ' to know that Damia and I
  enjoy a meeting of minds.' Her mother turned white and her hands
  grasped the arms of her chair as she stared back at them.  Damia
  received a shaft of denial coloured by a sense of betrayal before the
  Rowan exerted a clamp on her emotions.  Her father did not have quite
  so violent a reaction but surprise was uppermost in his mind, and
  consternation, before he closed off.
       'The bonding is remarkably complete,' Afra went on in his quiet
  voice.  Only Damia knew that he was trembling, for she could feel it
  through his hands on her shoulder.
       Once she would have been defiant and hurt that her parents had
  shut their minds to her.  'Though I have known my own heart on this
  score since Damia returned from Deneb, I could do nothing until she
  recognized in me a genuine suitor.' 'I do not feel alone any more,
  Mother,' Damia said with gentle intensity.  'Please understand that.
       You should understand that!' 'But with Afra?' cried the Rowan.
       To everyone's amazement, Jeff started to chuckle, rubbing the side
  of his face in a restless gesture and shaking his head.  Then his
  chuckle became more relaxed and his shoulders shook with genuine mirth.
       'How often, Rowan dear, have we told Afra that he should form an
  alliance?
       How often have we tried to find the right person for him?
       Not to mention trying to pair Damia off to any young, and Jeff
  emphasized the adjective, 'Talent we could find.
       Come, now, Rowan love,' and he leaned across the distance that
  separated them, 'it's a surprise, even a bit of a shock, but who better
  than Afra?  If you consider it objectively?' Jeff rose then, and took
  the few steps to the couple.
       He kissed his daughter in the most benevolent fashion though he
  also subjected her to the most intense probe.
       Then he embraced them both warmly, his blue eyes sparkling with a
  mixture of amusement, surprise and Damia noted with intense gratitude
  acceptance.
       'Mother?' she asked, timidly extending a hand in the Rowan's
  direction.
       'I just don't understand it, the Rowan said, not looking at
  anyone.  'I've known Afra for twenty-eight years and I never expected .
       . .' She halted.  A rueful look crossed her face and, with a huge
  sigh, she regarded them.  'Afra, you have always been part of our
  family, a cherished friend.  But it's going to take me a little while
  to get used to thinking of you as a son-in-law.' 'Well, don't make a
  big thing of it, Angharad,' said Isthia, who had maintained a tactful
  silence long enough.
       'You certainly know that Afra doesn't jump into things 'Oh, but he
  does, and has,' the Rowan replied, jerking her chin up and reminding
  
  Afra of exactly how he had come to Callisto Tower.  Then, with a
  characteristic twitch to her shoulders, she began to relax.  'It'll
  still take some getting used to.  And,' she frowned with some
  petulance, 'I'll have all the bother of training a new assistant.  I'm
  not sure I'll forgive you for that, Damia.' 'I thought Gollee Gren was
  working out well for you, Afra said.
       'Oh, well enough,' and the Rowan dismissed that notion with a
  flick of her hand, 'but he's just not you!' 'I could remain at
  Callisto,' Afra offered and Damia caught her breath, not finding that
  solution palatable at all for reasons she could not immediately
  identify.
       'No, no,' and Jeff waved that aside, and he began to pace up and
  down the porch.  'Afra and Damia have to stay here with the Mrdinis so
  he couldn't come back to Callisto for a while anyhow: at least not
  until verbal communications have been established between our species.
       You work far better with Gollee than you know, luv.  Once you
  accept that the appointment is permanent, you'll relax into a good
  partnership.  Have you any more of those hot pastries, Damia?  I'm
  starved.  Never thought sleeping half the day would increase my
  appetite.' He turned his charismatic grin impartially on all.
       'Oh, you!' his wife said, exasperated as well as out manoeuvred.
       If the subsequent excellent meal had its moments of tension,
  Isthia deftly turned the conversation back to the Mrdinis and how to
  improve communication with them.
       'Always supposing that I'm not kicked out of my Tower for this,'
  Jeff said.
       'They couldn't, could they?' Damia asked, appalled at the thought.
       'Not likely,' Isthia said tartly.  'They need him, and you all,
  too much.' 'Well, getting Curran on our side is a distinct advantage,
  considering his initial reaction at Deneb Tower,' Jeff replied.
       'There'll be the usual bureaucratic waltzing about,
  throat-clearing, data-collecting, hemming-hawing, all that fugue,' he
  went on, pushing back from the table, tilting his chair on to its back
  legs, and ignoring his mother's disapproving glare.  'However, their
  final analysis will have to be that getting a powerful ally in the
  Mrdinis compensates for any eccentricities.' 'Remember to mention,'
  Isthia said with one of her enigmatic smiles, 'that the Mrdinis made
  the initial contact.  And, by the way, did you find out why the Mrdinis
  approached the Denebian system?' 'Yes,' replied Jeff, his expression
  lighting with a grin.
       'Remember in the initial battle how we flung the one ship back the
  way it had come?  As a warning?  Well, Mrdinis had been monitoring the
  Leviathan, to be sure it wasn't headed in the direction of their
  colonies - and they've been extremely candid about how many they have
  and what systems they've explored - so they saw the ship return.  Which
  evidently those ships don't do.' 'That made the Mrdinis very interested
  in whoever had been so bold,' said the Rowan, her eyes gleaming as she
  took up the tale.  'They took a fix on the Leviathan's course and
  direction but had to return to their home planet for instructions and
  provisions.  The instructions took longer than the provisioning,' and
  she grinned maliciously.  'I suspect there might also have been a
  perfectly understandable reluctance to annoy a species that could lob
  back a Beetle scout ship.' 'Which is one reason why they were hanging
  about beyond the heliopause when they found the DEW devices, Jeff went
  on.  'They weren't even sure they'd got to the right place because, at
  first, they couldn't find any trace of the Leviathan.  In their
  lexicon, Hive ships are invariably victorious.' He turned to Damia and
  Afra.
       'It was your discovery of the Beetle hull fragment, and then its
  transportation back to the City, that registered on their equipment.
  
       They've been probing every planet in the system: probes that were
  too small to register on the DEW net, but sensitive enough to pick up
  traces of Beetle metal.' 'So that wretched artifact prompted the
  dreams,' Damia said.
       'Exactly.  So the Mrdinis broadcast to this area, hoping to make
  contact with minds that were, as they put it, sensitive to and repulsed
  by Beetle metal.' 'We were so lucky to be able to turn that Leviathan
  from Deneb,' the Rowan said, shaking her head at the narrowness of that
  escape.
       'But we'll make that extremely clear when we speak to the League,'
  Jeff went on.  'The Mrdinis gave us chapter and verse on Beetle
  colonization procedures: brutal.  If we hadn't held .  . .' He reached
  out, cupping the Rowan 5
       silvered head with a grateful and affectionate hand.  'The Beetles
  are compulsive colonizers, driven by the fact that the queens tend to
  massacre each other, the winner devouring the eggs of the loser.  To
  prevent that, Hive ships leave the home world - and the Mrdinis are
  still trying to locate that system - and find likely worlds.  First,
  scouts are sent off to locate planets.  On finding one, ships are
  despatched to 'prepare' the planet for occupation, which means, ridding
  the surface of any other life-forms.  The Beetles are basically
  vegetarian.  The initial force lands and begins digging out caves for
  the Mothers' eggs.  When the Hive ship arrives at the prepared planet,
  the ships transfer the eggs to the caves: then they are free to repeat
  the process.  When that planet can support no further Hives, the Mother
  ship is stocked up with appropriate workers, and they go on the prowl
  again.  According to the Mrdinis, there are far too many Mother ships
  roaming in space.  The incredible part is that the Nine Star League has
  only had the one incursion.
       'That's not good news,' Isthia said.
       'Not at all,' Jeff replied.  'We've been far too complacent and
  our luck could run out anytime.  That's one reason the Mrdinis had been
  so urgently trying to warn us, despite their apprehension about our
  abilities.  The Deneb DEW net is all well and good, they tell me, but
  we all know that not all the League systems are protected.' He frowned,
  ducking his head as he paused in reflection.  'You know, Damia, Afra,
  there's no reason you two couldn't as easily work with the Mrdinis
  language people on Aurigae as here on Deneb .
       'First, we have to get League permission, Jeff,' the Rowan
  reminded him.
       He waved aside that contingency.  'I only need to get a few
  sensitive senators to sleep with the Mrdinis and we'll get some
  immediate action.' 'Senators?' Isthia gaped at her son, her eyes bright
  with merriment, 'Sleeping with Mrdinis?  Jeff, you are the living end!
       'So long as I'm still living in the end, I don't care what it
  takes to get the necessary done.  But we can't have a weak link in the
  defensive chain and a T-4 isn't sufficient to protect Aurigae.'
  'Remember that nibble at the DEWs in Procyon, was that the Mrdinis?'
  Afra asked.
       'I haven't established that yet, Afra,' Jeff replied, 'but it
  certainly wasn't the Beetles.  They'd've just plunged through the
  system.' 'Dad,' Damia began hesitantly, 'there's no chance, is there,
  that the Leviathan could have got a message back to other Hives when
  Mother and you destroyed it?' Jeff shook his head and gave a cynical
  laugh.  'You mean, like "stay away from here - bad vibes"?' As she
  nodded, the Rowan answered with a shake of her head.  'No, we had the
  minds paralysed and nothing left the Leviathan when the Raven-merge
  plunged it into the sun.  The Mrdinis believe that the Beetles are
  fearless.
       They are also numerous.' Her expression turned grim.
  
       'Their basic drive is species-propagation, nothing more.
       Jeff turned to Afra.  'Your account of our self-defence made a
  tremendous impression on them, and reinforced their desire for an
  alliance with us.' 'Oh?' 'They've been battling the Beetles' incursions
  for a long time - how long we haven't established yet - but a long
  time.  So far they've found only one effective way to destroy a
  Leviathan,' Jeff replied, 'and that at great loss of life.  It involves
  suicidal missions of cruiser-class ships diving into the Hive and
  blowing it up.  They have to send as many as forty such ships in the
  hope that one will survive to penetrate the Mother Hive.  That's why
  they want desperately to know how we effected such a kill.' Jeff
  grinned.
       'Yes, it worked that one time,' Afra began.
       'If necessary it will work again,' Jeff said.  'The Beetles have
  no imagination.  They just keep on repeating what they've done before.'
  'Nothing succeeds like success?' asked Isthia drolly.
       'Theirs or ours?' the Rowan responded.  'Successful or not, I
  really wouldn't like to have to make a career of merges that
  exhausting.' 'Wouldn't be exhausting now, luv,' Jeff said in an offhand
  manner.  'We've three times as many top Talents now as we had then.' He
  snapped his fingers carelessly.  'We could take out as many Leviathans
  as we needed to.' 'Jeff!' the Rowan exclaimed in rebuke.
       'How much mental power do the Mrdinis have?' Afra asked, curious.
       'They understand mind power, but I don't think they are developed
  enough for a mind-merge or a focus,' Jeff said.  'They have been
  successful with one or two other species in dream communications.  We
  seem to be the most advanced species they have met.  That's another
  reason for their jubilation.  And, frankly, mine.  I welcome,' and when
  Damia felt his eyes on her, she was aware of his compassion, 'the
  chance to make contact with an alien species.
       I will have no hesitation in recommending to the League that we
  move forward to an alliance with no hesitation and great haste.  We are
  aware of the dangers of the Beetles and we cannot be complacent behind
  the DEW.' He let his chair down with a thump and stretched his hand
  across the table to Damia.  'You're needed at Aurigae, daughter.
       It's also a very handy place to send the Mrdini delegation for
  language study.  And,' then he flashed her a grin, 'I'm not as
  hard-hearted as that old geezer Reidinger was.  Afra can keep you
  company 'Father,' Damia began formally with a twitch to straighten her
  shoulders, 'why would the League trust me with Aurigae?' Jeff Raven
  blinked in surprise.  'Why shouldn't they?' Then he gave her one of his
  lopsided grins.  'The miners have been griping over your absence
  something fierce.' Damia felt her mother's touch, gentle but
  authoritative.
       'I think Damia is concerned with the report on Sodan, Jeff,' the
  Rowan said.
       'Oh,' was Jeff's response, his blue eyes clouded and his face
  expressionless as he said, 'Earth Prime reported to the Nine Star
  League that Aurigae Prime contacted an alien ship and, on discovering
  its hostile intentions, requested sufficient Prime assistance to
  destroy the intruder, an action that took the life of Larak
  Gwyn-Raven-' He paused and both he and the Rowan looked towards the
  peaceful spot where their son was buried '-and severely injured Damia
  Gwyn-Raven and Afra Lyon.' With an abrupt change, Jeff regarded his
  daughter with his usual charm.  'Why?' Damia faltered, as much because
  she felt the ache of Larak's loss as because she didn't want to admit
  how Jeran's remark in the Tower had affected her.
       'Jeran,' the Rowan said cryptically and Jeff nodded with
  understanding.  'You two have never quite mended your sibling quarrels,
  have you?  Well, Jeran is only human Isthia rolled her eyes.  That is
  
  still debatable.
       'And you did,' the Rowan said bluntly, 'run roughshod over his
  authority by contacting the aliens without notifying him.' 'We didn't
  know where he was,' Isthia said slyly 'Oh?' Jeff asked and, as he
  regarded his mother, his eyes became intensely blue.
       Grinning, she waggled a rebuking finger at him.  'Let's not try
  that on your mother, dear.
       Jeff threw back his head and laughed.  'I shouldn't, should I?'
  'You're nearly as arrogant and audacious as Pete Reidinger was, Jeff
  Raven,' Isthia went on.
       'He is not,' the Rowan said loyally.
       'Not around me, he isn't,' Isthia said.
       Earth Prime, and Jeran's formal address reached all the telepaths,
  you are requested to return to Deneb Tower.  Fleet and League
  representatives are urgently requesting transfer to Deneb to discuss
  the' alien situation.
       With a sigh, Jeff heaved himself to his feet, extending a hand to
  the Rowan to help her to rise.
       'No rest for Earth Prime, arrogant or audacious,' he said, putting
  on an air of martyrdom and letting his back sag as if he supported an
  unmerciful burden.  'Will you two be ready to go back to Aurigae
  tomorrow?' he asked in a serious tone.
       'Yes, of course,' Damia said, nodding her head just as Afra,
  beside her, murmured agreement.  His fingers squeezed her.
       'Excellent.' Jeff bent to kiss his daughter's cheek, then slapped
  Afra's shoulder with every evidence of his usual affection for the
  Capellan.  'That'll soothe ruffled feelings: Gwyn-Ravens nobly respond
  to the demands of their League!' In taking her leave, the Rowan gave
  Damia a brief caress on the cheek, her grey eyes thoughtful.  'It will
  take time, you know,' she said, twitching her eyebrows in annoyance.
       She turned to Afra.  'Gollee Gren is good but he just doesn't have
  your subtlety.' She sighed.  'But I'll manage.
       Jeff laughed, gave his mother a swift hug and kiss, and, folding
  both arms about his wife, 'ported out of the kitchen.
       'Show-off,' Isthia muttered before she turned to regard Damia and
  Afra with a speculative gaze.  'Wriggled your way out of that one,
  didn't you?  Nothing like an emergency to get a family to close the
  gaps, is there?' 'Isthia,' Afra said, drawling her name reprovingly,
  his expression amused, 'if Jeff is arrogant and audacious, what are
  you?' 'An interfering mater familias,' Isthia retorted with an
  unrepentant grin.  'I'll clear up here.  You two have a lot to organize
  before the morning, as well as getting a good night's rest.' 'I can
  always try a lullaby,' Afra said and ducked away as Damia swung at him,
  only half in play.
       He continued on out of the kitchen, down the corridor to their
  room and she followed.
       'Afra, is there any way of cancelling that dratted command?' she
  asked.  'It could become exceedingly awkward.' 'Why?' and Afra's yellow
  eyes danced with amusement.
       'It's been exceedingly useful of late.' Then his expression
  altered to one of sudden and delighted comprehension as he sent a quick
  probe which Damia, laughing, did not resist.
       In a swift stride, he closed the gap between them, pulling her
  into his embrace with one arm while he laid the other hand on her
  abdomen.  'So!  How could I have missed this?' Shyly she smiled as she
  looked up at him.  'Too many lullabies.' Supremely content, she nestled
  against him.
       They were turned towards the window from which she could see
  Larak's grave.
       'Can we call her Laria?' she asked softly.
  
       Afra held her more tightly, opening his mind as completely as she
  had hers in this special moment, letting her see how long he had
  yearned for a child of his body - for her child; the blazing joy that
  burned through him for the gift of her love, for the new life within
  her, for the end of his solitude.  For all this new and unexpected joy,
  and a restatement of the devotion that was so strong a bond now between
  them.  Within him now swelled the resolve to manage a third generation
  of Rowan women.
       'I'm glad we have a meeting of minds on that score,' she murmured.
       And because she felt his urgency rise to hers in that deserving
  and marvellous moment, their agreement was shortly expressed in another
  fashion, immensely satisfying to both.
       THE END
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Vault2.0.-.Fiction-and-audiobooks/Books/M/Mccaffrey, Anne/Anne McCaffrey - Tower Hive 2 - Damia.pdf