TEXT:      The Rowan
       by
       Anne McCaffrey
  The Talents were the elite of the Nine Star League.Their
  gifts were many and varied,ranging from the gentle telepathic,
  to the rare and extremely valued Primes.On the Primes rested the
  entire economic wealth and communications systems of the
  civilised worlds.But Primes were scarce-only very rarely was a
  new one born.And now on the planet Altair,in a small mining
  colony on the western mountain range,a new Prime existed,
  a three year old girl-trapped in a giant mud slide that had wiped
  out the rest of the Rowan mining community.Every Altarian who
  was even mildly talented could 'hear' the child crying for help,
  but no one knew exactly where she was buried.
  Every resource on the planet was centred into finding 'The Rowan'
  the new Prime,the first ever to be born on Altair,an exceptionally
  unique Prime,more talented,more powerful,more agoraphobic,more
  lonely,than any other Prime yet known in the Nine Star League.
       Born on April 1st, Anne McCaffrey has
  tried to live up to he auspicious natal day.  Her first novel was
  created in Latin class an~ might have brought her instant fame, as well
  as an A, had sh~ written in that ancient language.  Much chastened, she
  turned t' the stage and became a character actress, appearing in the
  first successful summer music circus in Lambertsville, New Jersey.  She
  studied music for nine years and, during that time, becam~ intensely
  interested in the stage direction of opera and operetta ending that
  phase of her experience with the stage direction of the American
  premiere of Carl Orff's Ludus De Nato Infante Mirificu.
       in which she also played a witch.
       By the time the three children of her marriage were comfortable~ in
  school most of the day, she had already achieved enough success with
  short stories to devote herself full time to writing.  Her firs novel,
  Restoree, was written as a protest against the absurd and unrealistic
  portrayals of women in the science fiction novels of th~ fifties.  It
  is, however, in the handling of broader themes and th~ worlds of her
  imagination, particularly the two series (Helva, Th' Ship Who Sang, and
  the twelve novels about the Dragonriders o: Pern) that Ms McCaffrey's
  talents as a storyteller are tees' displayed.  One of the world's
  leading science fiction writers, she has won both the Hugo and Nebula
  Awards, the E.E. 'Doe' Smith the Golden Pen, and has been seven times a
  winner of the Scienc' Fiction Book Club Award.
       Between her appearances in the States, England, Europe Australia,
  New Zealand and Alaska as a lecturer in seconder, schools and
  universities, and guest-of-honour at science fictior conventions, Ms
  McCaffrey lives in a house of her own design Dragonhold-Underhill
  (because she had to dig out a hill on he, farm to build it) in County
  Wicklow, Ireland.  She runs a privat livery stable and her
  three-day-event horses have been successful in international
  competitions.  She does not do the competition riding, she hastens to
  add, but enjoys the success of horse and ride, and the occasional
  canter on her favourite mount, a black and white mare named Pi.
       Of herself, Ms McCaffrey warns: 'My eyes are green, my hair is
  silver and I freckle; the rest is still subject to change without
  notice.' Ms McCaffrey graduated cum laude from Radcliffe College
  majoring in the Slavonic Languages and Literatures.
       Anne McCaffrey's books can be read individually or as series
  
       However, for greatest enjoyment the following sequences are
  recommended:
       The Dragon Books
       DRAGONFLIGHT DRAGONQUEST DRAGONSONG DRAGONSINGER: HARPER OF PERN
  THE WHITE DRAGON DRAGONDRUMS MORETA: DRAGONLADY OF PERN NERILKA'S STORY
  and THE COELURf DRAGONSDAWN THE RENEGADES OF PERN ALL THE WEYRS OF PERN
  CHRONICLES OF PERN: FIRST FALL.
       Crystal Singer Books THE CRYSTAL SINGEr KILLASHANDRA CRYSTAL LINE
  Talent Series TO RIDE PEGASUS PEGASUS IN FLIGHT
       Tower and the Hive series
       THE ROWAN DAMIA DAMIA'S CHILDREN Lyon's Pride
       Individual Titles
       RESTOREE DECISION AT DOONA THE SHIP WHO SANG Written in
  collaboration with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough POWERS THAT BE POWER
  LINES POWER PLAY
       THe ROWAN
       Anne McCaffrey
       CORGI BOOK.
       THE ROWAN
       Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press
       Copyright ~ Anne McCaffrey 1990 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.
       Conditions of sale 1. This book is sold subject to the condition
  that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold,
  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.
       Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd, 61-63
  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, William
  PickerinY Drive.  Albanv.  Auckland.
       Respectfully dedicated to fay A. Katz because we enjoy a meeting
  of minds (well.  most of the time)
       Prologue #
       Numerous Summits of the late 80s and 90s, governments turned to
  other researches and the western world's space program began to catch
  up with Soviet experiences.  What few people knew was that Talents were
  instrumental in the promulgation of honest monitoring of the
  disarmament and monitoring processes, thwarting many attempts to
  
  subvert the program.  Many Talents lost their lives to secure the world
  peace which enabled humans to turn their energies and hopes to space
  exploration.
       More Talents were mustered to colonize this solar system and to
  bridge the gap between this and other systems with habitable planets
  When young Peter Reidinger made the first mind machine gestalt, pushing
  a light spacecraft by telekinesis from orbit to Mars, a new era dawned
  for the parapsychic Talents in which they found themselves celebrated
  instead of shunned, admired instead of feared, and necessary to every
  aspect of the surge forward from the crowded and resources-poor planet
  Earth.
       To extend the interstellar gestalt, special installations were
  built for the Talents, terraformed habitations on Earth's Moon, Mars's
  Demos, and on Jupiter's Callisto From these stations were kinetically
  launched the great survey and exploration ships that colonized the nine
  stars that had G-type planets, suitable for humans.
       Though the Talents abhorred notoriety and opted for political
  neutrality, it was inevitable that their abilities should contribute to
  the stability of the interstellar government.  'Probity and neutrality'
  was both motto and method and a new kind of honest diplomacy resulted
  in spite of attempts to subvert the Talents.  Many Talents died rather
  than dishonor their calling: the few who were corrupted were so swiftly
  disciplined by their peers that such treachery was eschewed as
  profitless.  The Talents became' incorruptible.
       The need for Talent became chronic, far outstripping the supply.
       For those potential few, the training was arduous; the rewards did
  not always compensate Talent for the unswerving dedication required by
  their taxing positions.
       PART ONE ALTAIR
       Torrents of rain covered the western side of the great Tranh
  mountain range of Altair, streaming in muddy runnels down slopes
  already saturated with nine days of steady precipitation.  The sturdy
  minta trees were bloated and their root systems bulging to the surface,
  adding the slime of their overload of sap to the rivulets which
  increasingly dislodged the shallower root systems of the few brush
  varieties that could flourish in such rocky soil.
       Little brooks matured into streams, then rivers, into cascades of
  increasing volume and force, filling up blind canyons until such
  deposits also overflowed.  And the minta slime seemed to grease the
  watery ways.
       After seven people had slipped and broken bones on the main street
  of the Rowan Mining Company's small settlement, the manager had ordered
  miners and their dependents to curtail all outdoor activities and
  arranged door-to-door deliveries for supplies, using the Company's
  sturdy hopper vehicles.  Operations in the several producing shafts had
  already been suspended when the pits began filling.  When the unceasing
  torrents began to interfere with transmissions, there weren't even
  entertainment circuits to amuse those immured in ever-dampening and
  cramped quarters.
       In the same lugubrious vein, Met reports gave no hope of an
  alteration in the deplorable conditions.  The records show that, on the
  tenth day, the mine's manager asked his home office in altair Port for
  permission to evacuate all nonessential personnel until the weather
  improved.  His report pointed out that the accommodations were rather
  primitive and had not been constructed with excessive rainfall in mind.
       He cited an alarming number of respiratory ailments among his
  people, almost epidemic in proportion.  Enforced idleness and
  substandard conditions had also seriously undermined morale.  He put in
  
  an urgent order for pumps to drain the shafts when, and if, the rain
  ever did stop.
       The records showed that the directors debated withdrawal.  That
  particular installation of the Rowan Company was only just showing some
  profit which would be wiped out by the cost of a perhaps unnecessary
  expense.
       Meteorology was duly consulted and long-range satellite forecasts
  indicated that the rains were to abate within the next seventy-two
  hours, though arctic and antarctic pole conditions did not suggest any
  break in generally overcast weather, much less sunny intervals, within
  the next ten days.  Approval to evacuate was withheld but advice on
  treatment of the respiratory complaints and appropriate medication was
  dispatched immediately to the Rowan Company's coordinates by the FT&T
  Prime.
       It was early morning when the mudslide began, so high above the
  plateau on which the Rowan camp stood that it was not detected.  A few
  people were already cautiously abroad, using their assigned hour with a
  hopper to do necessary errands, to the small infirmary for medicine for
  their sick, to the commissary for supplies.  By the time the
  instrumentation in Operations registered the incident, it was already
  too late.  The entire western face of the mintaclad slope was in
  motion, like a tsunami of mud, rock, and pulpy vegetation.  Those
  outside saw their fate bearing down on them.  Those inside their homes
  mercifully were unaware.  Only one, a child still in the hopper while
  her mother carried her parcels quickly through the unabating rain to
  the house, escaped the disaster.
       The sturdy little hopper was borne up on the lip of the sludge
  river, its ovoid shape an advantage, its heavy plastic hull slipping
  over, under, and along the inexorable slide of heavy, wet mud.  Its
  occupant was bounced about, bruised, and knocked unconscious as the
  hopper rolled and caught, was freed and carried over a precipice, its
  fall cushioned by the mud that had preceded it.  Nearly a hundred
  kilometers from the Rowan camp, it became wedged on an outcropping,
  covered by the vast river of sludge as the slide flowed on until its
  impetus was dissipated into the long deep Oshoni valley.
       The crying began sometime after the mud ceased its downward flow.
       A pleading, quavering appeal to a mother who did not answer.  An
  announcement of hunger and hurt, sporadic at first, then increasingly
  insistent.
       Abruptly the cry was cut off, and a whimpering took its place, a
  whimpering which rose in volume and intensity.
       Was silenced again, during which time everyone with a psi rating
  of 9 or more experienced relief, for the nondirectional sound grated on
  the mental ears of the sensitive.
       Throughout the settlements of Altair, a search was conducted to
  discover the injured, abandoned, or abused child whose distress was
  being broadcast planet wide.
       'I've children of my own,' the Secretary of the Interior Camella
  told the Police Commissioner as the Colonial officials met in the
  Governor's office in emergency session, 'and that is the cry of a
  frightened, hurt, hungry child.  It's got to be somewhere on Altair.
       'We've done street searches, checked the hospital records of any
  potential psi children born within the last five years .  . .' He shook
  his head over failure.  He didn't himself have any Talent but he had a
  great respect and admiration for those who did.
       'The crying pattern, the incoherency, the repetition, suggests an
  infant of two or three years,' said the Chief Medical Officer.  'Every
  sensitive on my staff has been trying to make contact.' 'What I don't
  understand is why it cuts off so suddenly,' the Commissioner said,
  riffling through the reports he'd brought with him to show the extent
  
  of the search.
       Opened for colonization a scant hundred years before, Altair did
  not have a large population - the present density surrounding Altair
  Port and City amounted to some five million, two hundred and
  fifty-three thousand, four hundred and two people.  Another one
  million, seven hundred thousand and eighty-nine people were beginning
  to carve additional settlements, generally mining concerns exploiting
  the mineral and ore wealth of the great planet, across the planet's
  immense main continent.
       'Reports are a bit slow coming in from all the Claims,' Secretary
  Camella said, her voice puzzled.  'That freak weather pattern is moving
  eastward towards us.  But we must identify the child: Someone this
  strong so young must be carefully monitored.' Involuntarily she glanced
  out toward the FT&T installation at the far edge of the Port Space
  Field.  A puff of dust, followed rapidly by half a dozen more,
  indicated that the incoming freight was being racked up by the kinetic
  abilities of Altair's major asset, Siglen, the T- 1 Prime.  Her mental
  kinesis augmented by a gestalt with the powerful generators that
  encircled her installation, Siglen could pick up messages from as far
  away as Earth and Betelgeuse, could locate and land freight drones as
  easily as others lifted the ordinary artifacts of everyday living.
       Mankind's exploration of Space had become feasible because the
  major psionic Talents of telepaths and teleporting kinetics were able
  to span the vast intersystem distances, providing reliable and
  instantaneous communication between Earth and its colonies.  Without
  the Primes in their tower stations, constantly in mental communication
  with other Primes, able in the gestalt to shift both export and import
  material, the Nine-Star League would have been impossible.  The Primes
  were the kingpins of the system.  And such Talents were rare.
       Without the Federal Telepath and Teleport network, Mankind would
  still be trying to reach its nearest spatial neighbors.  The Earth
  Government, once a centralized, world-wide authority had finally been
  achieved, had ordained an irrevocable autonomy to FT&T, thus ensuring
  not only its impartiality but its effectiveness in keeping contact with
  the now far-flung colonies of Mankind.  When the Nine-Star League had
  been formed, it had ratified that autonomy so that no one Star System
  could ever hope to control FT&T, and with it, the League.
       Most communities took pride in the number and variety of Talents
  among their inhabitants.  The fear and distrust of paranormal abilities
  had been submerged by the obvious benefits of employing Talented folk.
       There were, of course, many degrees of Talent, with micro- and
  macro applications.  Naturally, the stronger Talents were the most
  visible and the rarest.  The strongest in each area of expertise were
  accorded the title of 'Prime'.  The rarest of Primes were those who
  combined telepathic and kinetic abilities and became the main link
  between Earth and the planet on which they served.
       'We may well be witnessing the emergence of a Prime!' Interior
  couldn't quite stifle that burgeoning hope and the somewhat vain dream
  that this new Talent might eclipse Siglen.  She might be Altair's
  greatest asset but a prickly one.  Camella had to deal with her and
  found no joy in that aspect of her duties.  Her predecessor, now
  happily fishing in the eastward foothills, had christened Siglen 'the
  space stevedore', an epithet which Interior tried very hard to forget
  in Siglen's more trying moments.
       For Altair to have produced a Prime Talent so soon would be most
  prestigious.  If the child's potential was properly developed, and the
  strength inherent in its manifestation augured well, Altair would
  attract the best sort of colonist, hoping that something in the
  atmosphere of the planet nurtured Talent.  (No-one had ever proved that
  connection.  Or disproved it.) Altair had been fortunate enough to have
  
  a reasonable range of Talents in the original complement of settlers:
  precognitives; clairvoyants; 'finders' with strong metal and mineral
  affinities who had discovered the high-assay ores and useful minerals,
  increasing Altair's exports; the usual range of minor kinetics, macro
  and micro who could shift, connect or manipulate things; a good range
  of the healing Talents, though no Primes yet, in the medical field, and
  the more ordinary empaths who were invaluable in any sort of employment
  which might generate boredom or minor dissension.  Empaths and precogs
  were also members of the Constabulary arm of Civil Government, not that
  there was much criminal activity on Altair: people were generally far
  too occupied in carving out their personal bailiwicks on Altair's broad
  and fertile acres, or exhuming its hidden treasures.  The planet was
  too new to have developed the 'civilized' crimes of densely populated
  and deprived urban areas.
       Altair was lucky in its spatial position in the Nine-Star League
  and, because it was central to several new colonial ventures, had been
  one of the first colonies to receive a full Federal Telepath and
  Telekinetic Station with a Prime telepathic kinetic, Siglen.  That
  advantage had greatly boosted Altair's appeal to both individuals and
  industrial concerns.  To have developed a Prime Talent would fill the
  Governmental cup to overflowing.  So the Secretary of the Interior
  turned to the Medical Officer.
       'That's all well and good, but first we have to have the child,'
  the Medical Officer said, voicing her very thought though the man was
  unTalented.  Then he cleared his throat testily.  'My advisors suggest
  that the child is injured - yet there's been no report anywhere in the
  medical system of a wounded or shocked infant victim.' 'Demonstrably
  there IS one,' the Governor said, bringing his fist down on the table.
       'We'll find it, and know why an infant was allowed to cry so long
  without attention.
       New lives are the most valuable resource this planet has.
       Not one should be squandered.
       A wail, a piteous, mind-scoring wail cut through his rhetoric.
       MOMMEEEEE!  MOMMEEE!  MOMMEEEE, WHERE ARE.  . . The plaint was
  abruptly severed.
       In the ensuing silence, the Secretary pressed careful fingers
  against temples which still reverberated from that mental shriek.  The
  most perfunctory of knocks was made at the Council Chamber door which
  opened to admit an anxious administrative assistant.
       'Secretary, Siglen wishes urgent communication with you.
       Interior exhaled in relief.  Siglen could as easily have inserted
  her message into Interior's mind but the Prime was a stickler for
  protocol - for which the Secretary now blessed her.
       'Of course!' The screens all around the Council room came on,
  lending considerable immediacy to this event.  Siglen made few demands
  on the Council.  Now, as the angry woman stared out at them, her eyes
  seemed to penetrate deep into the thoughts of each of those present.
       Siglen was a slab of a female, soft from a sedentary life and a
  disinclination to exercise of any kind.  She was in her Operations
  room, the hum of the gestalt generators a background noise.
       'Interior, you are to find that child wherever she is, and
  discover who has abandoned her and deal with them to the full extent of
  the law.' She had large eyes, her best feature, and they were wide with
  indignation and frustration.  'No child should be allowed to broadcast
  on such a level.  I cannot keep interrupting my flow of work to deal
  with what is clearly a parent's responsibility' 'Prime Siglen, is it
  fortunate that you are free to contact us 'I'm not at all free.  I'm
  falling behind on today's shipments .  . .' She gestured impatiently
  behind her.
       'That simply is not good enough.  Find that child.  I can't waste
  
  time silencing her.' Interior muttered something dire under her breath
  but composed her expression, and sank her thoughts.  'We were about to
  ask you to help us find Siglen's indignant expression interrupted her.
       'I?
       assist in finding a child?  I assure you I am no clairvoyant.  I
  will endeavor to keep her quiet enough to allow me to discharge my
  duties to this planet and the service to which I have committed my
  life.  But you .
       and a bejeweled finger, its tip enlarged by perspective so that
  the whorl pattern was clearly visible, 'will locate that appallingly
  bad-mannered infant!' The contact was abruptly cut.  The child began to
  whimper and that was also abruptly cut.
       'If she keeps shutting the child up, how are we going to find
  her?' Interior asked sourly.  'You've had your clairvoyants on it,
  haven't you?' she asked the Commissioner.
       'Indeed I have, but you know as well as I do,' he replied somewhat
  defensively, 'that a clairvoyant requires "something" on which to
  focus.' 'Yegrani didn't,' the Medic said ruefully 'Yegrani's been dead
  for years,' Interior said with real regret and then caught a look on
  the Commissioner's face.
       The wail began again, piteous, gasping, begging for help.  They
  could hear it falter, pick up again with an overtone of outrage.
       'Ha!  Siglen's met her match.  She can't silence the brat.
       'It's not a brat,' Interior said, 'it's a frightened child and it
  needs all the help we can muster.  Look, these days children are simply
  not left alone for .  . 'she checked the digital on the wall, '. . .
       days.  There has to have been an accident.  You have no reports of
  any in Port or City, let's concentrate on the Claims.  There are quite
  a few isolated mining settlements on this planet where a child might be
  left alone.  Don't we have reports of an unseasonal rain in the west?'
  'Five thousand miles is a long way to "throw" a mental cry,' the
  Governor remarked, then looked startled at what his own words implied.
       'My word!' 'Indeed there could have been an accident.  Earthquake,
  or flood perhaps with the recent appalling rainfall.' Interior rose
  resolutely, nodding courteously to the Governor.  'We have the
  resources, people - let's use them.' As they all left the chamber for
  their own offices, Interior caught the Commissioner's arm.
       'Well?  Is Yegrani still alive somewhere?' Being careful to check
  that no-one had heard her or paid them any particular attention in the
  general departure, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod.  'Surely
  she would help us save a young life?' 'Under the circumstances, she
  might very well, but she's outlived Methuselah by another lifetime and
  hasn't much strength.  We'd best try to narrow the search down to one
  area.' That took less than an hour once every element of civil service
  became involved.  First satellite pix were reviewed and the 150
  kilometer-long swathe of destruction could not be mistaken.  Interior
  herself phoned the industrial concern which had laid claim to that
  section.  They were swift to open records to the Incident inquiry.
       They had not heard from the mine manager and were beginning to be
  concerned.
       'Not concerned enough to send us an alert, I notice, Interior
  remarked caustically.  Then she turned to the Commissioner.  'What I
  don't understand is why you didn't have a registered precog on this
  disaster.
       'It isn't what could be called a gross personnel disaster, he
  replied with a look of chagrin.  'I mean, I know a substantial number
  of people have obviously lost their lives but their deaths don't affect
  all Altair in a knock-on situation.  Unfortunately.  Then, too, most of
  our precogs have urban affinities,' he added apologetically.
       'I think I'll introduce a fine for companies that do not keep in
  
  twenty-four contact with their field installations,' muttered Interior,
  jotting down a note in capital italics.
       'Say again?' 'Look!' she said as the Company's personnel files
  scrolled past.  'Fifteen kids between the ages of one month and five
  years.  How much detail does your clairvoyant need?' 'I don't even know
  if she'll help us,' the Commissioner said ruefully.  'She hasn't opened
  a connection to my calls.' The crying started up again, was cut off,
  and continued with a desperate edge to the wail.
       'That child is growing weaker,' the Medic exclaimed as he barreled
  into the Incident room.  'If she's buried in a mudslide, she's got no
  food or water - and maybe not much air left.' The printer murmured to
  itself, smoothly extruding new copy.  Interior bent over it, groaning
  with a note of despair in her voice.
       'I ordered a comparison survey of the terrain before and after the
  slide.  There' re ravines fifty-meters deep now with mud and debris.
       The slide is sixty-klicks wide in places.  If she's buried in any
  depth of mud, she'll be asphyxiated soon.  Particularly if she keeps
  crying like this, using up her oxygen.
       The Commissioner moved to a console, gesturing for the others to
  step back.  'I'm adding a Mayday to her private code but whether she'll
  answer or not 'Yes?' The guttural voice dwelt on the sibilant.  No
  picture appeared on the screen.
       'Have you heard the crying?' 'Who hasn't?  I could have told you
  Siglen wouldn't help.
       It's beyond her capabilities.  Bouncing parcels from place to
  place requires no finesse, since the gestalt does all the work.' As
  there was no visual contact, the Commissioner rolled his eyes at the
  bite in Yegrani's tone.  For years, there had been enmity between the
  telekinetic and the clairvoyant, though the Commissioner happened to
  know the original fault was more of Siglen's making than Yegrani s.
       'There is fear that the child is running out of air, Yegrani.  The
  mud is fifty-meters deep in places along a 150-klick swathe.  We've
  plenty of.
       'Look to the left above the Oshoni valley, on a ledge,
  approximately two klicks from the tongue of mud.  She's not deeply
  entrenched but the hopper skin has been fractured and sludge is oozing
  in.  She is frantic.  Siglen has done nothing to reassure the child as
  a sensitive, caring person would have done.  Guard this one well.  She
  has a long and lonely road to go before she travels.  But she alone
  will be the focus that will save us from a far greater disaster than
  the one she has escaped.  Especially guard the guardian.' The
  connection severed but as soon as Yegrani had 'sighted' the child's
  position, the Secretary of the Interior had forwarded a printout of the
  conversation to the rescue teams, waiting in their special vehicles.
       The Governor himself requested the launch and gave Altair's Prime
  the coordinates.  She did not ask how they had been obtained but
  faultlessly sent the mission speeding to its destination.
       'Did she mean "left" looking at the bloody thing, on its left?'
  demanded the captain as the rescue team emerged after their journey.
       Their shells had slid to a halt on the valley floor, just where
  the out thrusting 'tongue' of mud ended.  'Phaugh!' he pinched his
  nostrils, 'the stench of minta's enough to choke you!  Let me see that
  geo print.' 'The ledge should be there!' his second in command
  exclaimed, pointing to their right.  'Solid ground, too, from which to
  work.' 'Get the two klick fIx,' the captain ordered, pointing to the
  scan operator.  Stay off that mud!  Anyone who falls in has to walk
  home.' The team scrambled to the stone out thrust above the ledge and
  brought their detectors to bear in careful sweeps.  An intrusion was
  detected approximately ten meters out in the mud.  The medic extended
  his sensitive equipment and caught vital signs.  The digger boom was
  
  rigged and swung out.  Two volunteers, on cables linked to the boom,
  descended into the ooze above the point of detection and began to
  shovel the muck away.  As fast as they shoveled, the uncooperative
  sludge slid back in.
       'I want that suction tube and now!' cried the captain, inwardly
  well satisfied with the instant obedience to that order.
       The hopper, wedged on to the outcropping, was not deep and once a
  large enough surface was cleared, the tractor beam was attached.  It
  fought the suction of the mud while the shovel team worked with
  desperate speed, muttering about kinetics never being where you needed
  them.  Suddenly sufficient air got under the hopper to break the seal,
  and only the quick reflexes of those on the bank kept the craft from
  colliding forcefully with the tractor arm.  The little vehicle swung
  and bumped about before finally settling to solid ground.
       Mud sheeted off the hull and oozed from the fracture, as the
  entire team watched anxiously.  How much of that stuff had seeped into
  the interior?  Everyone was immensely relieved to hear a thin,
  tremulous cry, mental and physical.  As one, the team attacked the
  battered door to wrench it open.
       'Mommie?' A tattered, bruised, mud-encased child crawled to the
  threshold, sobbing with relief, squinting in the sudden daylight.
       'Mommie?' The team medic leapt forward, radiating reassurance and
  love.
       'It's all over, honey.  You're safe.  We've got you safe.' She
  pressed the hypno spray to a muddied arm before the child could realize
  that her parents were not among those clustered around the hopper.  At
  that, the sedative was not quite fast enough to allay the anguished
  mental yowl which all Altair heard from the orphaned Rowan child.
        'We've done as much as we can,' the Chief Medical Officer said
  in a slightly defensive tone.
       'We know you have,' Interior replied, radiating all the approval
  she could project.
       'The fact remains that the Rowan child is not cooperating,' the
  Governor remarked with a rueful sigh.
       'It's only ten days since the tragedy,' Interior added.
       'And there are definitely no relatives to take charge of her?' the
  Governor asked.
       Interior consulted her records.  'We have the choice of eleven
  parents of similar genotype because many of the miners were from the
  same ethnic background.  The Company headquarters did not keep backup
  files of the infirmary records, so we don't even know how many children
  have been born since the camp was established ten years ago.  So, no
  immediate relatives.  There are doubtless some back on Earth.
       The Governor cleared his throat.  'Earth has more high ranking
  Talents than any other planet.' 'We do indeed need to guard our natural
  resources, Interior replied with a slight smile.
       'Let it be noted and so stipulated in the records of this meeting
  that the .  Rowan child,' he had paused for someone to supply a name,
  'is henceforth a Ward of the Planet Altair 4. Now what?' and he turned
  to Interior.
       'Well, she can't stay indefinitely in the Pediatrics Ward,she
  replied and turned to the Chief Medical Officer.
       'My chief therapist says she's basically recovered from shock.
       The lacerations and hematoma sustained in the slide have healed.
       She has also managed to block all memory of the disaster but she
  can't quite delete the fact that the child had parents, and possibly
  siblings.' He nodded as the others murmured against more repressive
  measures.  'But .  . .' and he spread his hands, 'she is parentless,
  and although the T-8 junior therapist has managed to .  . . to deal
  with the general telepathic "noise", the child's control is limited and
  
  her span of concentration woefully short.' Everyone grimaced, for the
  entire planet was still favored with outbursts from the Rowan child.
       'Does she receive as well as broadcast?' the Governor finally
  asked.
       The Medic shrugged.  'She must or she wouldn't hear Siglen.' 'Now
  that is something that has to be stopped,' Interior said, setting her
  lips in a firm line before she went on.
       'Slapping the child down for perfectly normal.
       'If loud,' the Governor amended.
       exuberance - which you must admit is a welcome change from the
  crying - is going to inhibit what Talent the child has,' Interior went
  on.  'Siglen may be a Prime T&T but she doesn't possess a single neuron
  of empathy, and her insensitivity to the child's situation borders on
  the callous.' 'Siglen may have no empathy,' the Governor said, a
  thoughtful look filming his gaze, 'but she has great pride in her
  profession and she has already trained two Primes to their current
  responsibilities at Betelgeuse and Capella.' Someone grunted cynically.
       'She's the most logical person in this system to undertake the
  rowan child's education.' 'She's been made a Ward of Altair,' Interior
  stated, sitting erect with opposition, 'and no-one's likely to contend
  that.  She'd have more kindly treatment on Earth at the Center.  They'd
  care about her.  I vote we send her there.  And as soon as possible.'
  Lusena had the task of explaining it all to the Rowan child.
       The T-8 had been working steadily with her, playing games to get
  her to speak with her physical voice, rather than her mental one.  Once
  the child was recovered from the physical effects and the sedative
  dosage had been reduced, Lusena had taken her to select a pukha toy
  from the hospital's supply.
       Pkkhas, deriving their name from the imaginary companion
  discovered by needful children, had become widely used in pediatrics.
       They could be programmed for a variety of uses, but more often
  were used in surgical and long term care with great effect and as
  surrogates for intense dependency cases.  The Rowan child needed her
  own pukha.
       Considerable thought had been given to its programming: its long
  soft hair was composed of receptors, monitoring the child's physical
  and psychic health.  It could, receiving danger signals from the Rowan,
  initiate pacifying sentiments, encourage conversation and, of paramount
  importance, moderate the little girl's mental 'voice'.  It also
  responded with its soothing, rumbling purr when the little girl became
  restless or distressed.  although Lusena and the pediatrics staff would
  adjust the pukha's programs throughout its usefulness, every sensitive
  on Altair knew when the Rowan christened it 'Purza'.  Her silvery
  laughter was a great improvement over whimpering, and almost everyone
  was sympathetic to the little orphan.
       Siglen's personal assistant, Bralla, a T8 empath, certainly was
  and did her best to soothe her mistress - who could, Bralla had
  admitted to the stationmaster, be more juvenile at times than the Rowan
  child.
       'Siglen might benefit by having a pukha herself,' Bralla told the
  stationmaster, for Siglen had been extremely irascible when the Rowan
  child's babble intruded on her concentration.
       Gerolaman snorted.  'The kind of cuddling she wants she'll never
  get.' And snorted again as Bralla frantically signaled him to guard his
  sentiments.
       'She's not really a bad person, Gerolaman.  Just.  .
       'Far too accustomed to being THE most important person on the
  planet.  She doesn't like competition, not no way, no how.  You
  remember that dustup with Yegrani?' 'Gerolaman, she's not deaf!' Bralla
  rose, 'She's about to need me.  See you later.' Purza was not always
  
  the key to exemplary behavior for a three-year-old.  Siglen's
  intolerance, even with Bralla's discreet assistance, fell all too
  frequently on the Rowan child.  Finally, the Secretary of Interior
  decided that someone had to do something about Siglen, and it was going
  to give her intense personal and official satisfaction to do so.
       'Prime Siglen, a matter of urgent importance, Interior said as
  soon as the T- 1 came on screen.  'We have been able to divert a
  passenger ship tomorrow to collect the Rowan child.
       'Collect her?' Siglen blinked in astonishment.
       'Yes, we shall get her out of your hair by noon, so you will
  kindly see that her remaining hours on Altair are not punctuated by
  your reprimands.' 'Remaining hours on Altair?  You must be insane!'
  Siglen's eyes widened with shock and horror, and her fingers stopped
  fondling her sea-jewel necklace.  'You can't expose a child .  . . a
  mere infant .  . . to such a trauma.' 'It seems the wisest course,'
  Interior replied grimly, shielding the real reason.
       'But she can't go.  She's Prime potential .  . .' Siglen
  stammered, her complexion ashen.  She released her necklace to grip the
  edge of the console.  'She'll .  . . she'll die!  You know as well as I
  do,' and Siglen's words crowded each other out of her mouth, 'what
  happens to the truly Talented in space .  . . I mean, look at how ill
  David became.  Remember how devastated Capella was.
       To subject an infant.  . . of unknown potential.  . . to such
  mind-destroying trauma!  Why, you must be mad, Interior.  You cannot!
       I will not permit it!' 'Well, you're not permitting the child to
  exercise her Talent.  She'll get expert attention and training on Earth
  at the Center.' 'You'd abandon that child of Altair, you'd send her
  away from kith and kin 'She doesn't have any on Altair,' Interior heard
  herself saying, and then realized that Siglen was about to launch into
  one of her attitudes.  'Prime Siglen, it is the order of the Council
  that the Ward of Altair be transported to the Earth Center - with your
  well-known delicacy of kinesis on the passenger ship which has been
  diverted to Altair for that purpose.  Good day to you!' As soon as the
  image on the screen was erased, Interior turned to the Medic and
  Lusena.  'I'd've thought she'd flip the kid out to the ship without its
  having to land!' 'Is there any foundation in what she said about David
  of Betelgeuse and Capella?' asked the Medic frowning.  He'd been a
  minor medical administrator ten years ago and not privy to details of
  that period.
       'Well, none of the Primes travel well, and none of them ever
  teleport themselves any great distance,' Interior replied thoughtfully.
       'But the Rowan child will be a lot better off away from Siglen's
  sort of discipline.' 'I'll just get back,' Lusena said, rising and
  looking apprehensive.  'She was napping but I'd hate for her to wake up
  and find me gone.
       'You've done marvels with her, Lusena, Interior said warmly.
       'You'll find a tangible reward from the Council when you've
  delivered her safely to Earth.' 'She's a taking little thing, really,'
  Lusena said, smiling with affection.
       'A bit odd-looking with that whitened hair and those enormous
  brown eyes in that thin face,' and the Medic looked uncomfortable.
       'Gorgeous eyes, lovely features,' Interior said hastily to cancel
  Lusena's dismay at the Medic's blunt description.
       'And you'll be all right with her tomorrow?' 'I think the less
  fuss made the better,' Lusena replied.
       All the fuss the next day was due entirely to the Rowan child's
  total reluctance to enter the passenger vessel.  She took one look at
  the portal of the ship and dug her heels in, literally and mentally.
       From her mind came a single high note of abject terror.  From her
  lips a monotonous, 'no, no, no, no, no.' Purza, clutched so tightly
  
  around its middle that Lusena feared for some of its programming, was
  purring in loud response to the little girl's distress.
       'Sedation?' the ship's medical officer suggested to the distraught
  Lusena, who vainly tried to persuade her charge that no danger existed
  on this ship.
       'We might have to keep her sedated the entire trip,' Lusena
  murmured.  'Even the most intensive therapy does not seem to have
  significantly reduced her trauma.  It's entering a ship that's upset
  her so.  Not that I blame her.' One moment she had her arms wrapped
  about the struggling body, the next moment the Rowan child had
  disappeared, even the pukha discarded in her haste.
       'Oh, my word, where can she have gone?' Lusena cried in panic.
       I warned you, came the ominous voice of Siglen.  The child
  shouldn't leave Altair.
       Lusena's attention was caught by Siglen's phraseology, mindful of
  Yegrani's clairvoyance.  'She has a long and lonely road to go before
  she travels.' 'Oh, lords above,' Lusena murmured, her sympathies
  entirely with the child.
       Nor will you force such a young and powerful mind to leave the
  planet of her birth, Siglen intoned.  Then she added, sounding almost
  sympathetic, especially as she has just proved that she is telekinetic
  as well as telepathic.
       'But that child has got to receive proper training,' Lusena cried,
  suddenly fearful for her.
       And I, mindful of my responsibility to my Talent and to preserve
  this planet's resources, will undertake her education.
       'Not if you treat that child the way you have been, Siglen,'
  Lusena cried, startling the people on the boarding way as she waved her
  fist in the air There was an audible pause, a thickening of the air
  about the small group, a palpable silence.
       She has been a very naughty, badly behaved little girl, was the
  somewhat chastened reply.  She must learn manners if she is to be my
  pupil.  But I will not have her terrified out of her mind by traveling
  in space.  You will be reassigned as her companion, Lusena.
       'Guard the guardian,' Yegrani had said.  Lusena had not had the
  slightest notion that events would conspire to appoint her to that
  gratuitous position.  She sighed but, when Secretary Camella implored
  her to be the Rowan's nursemaid, she agreed.  She genuinely cared for
  the little orphan who needed a staunch friend to deal with the stresses
  and tensions which Lusena could foresee without a vestige of
  clairvoyance in her Talent.
       Go and collect her from your room in the hospital, Siglen told
  her, but rather more politely than she usually delivered orders.  That
  seems to be the only place she knew to go.
       'I'll collect her,' Lusena said, scooping up the pukha.
       'But you had better be kind to her.  Don't you dare be anything
  but kind to her, Siglen of Altair!' Of course, I will be kind to her,
  Siglen said, chidingly.
       What is her name?
       'She calls herself,' and Lusena paused significantly, 'the Rowan.'
  She felt the slightest resistance and opened her mouth to retort.
       She'll find something else more suitable when she has been in my
  Tower awhile, was the soothing answer.  Kindly bring the Rowan to me
  now, Lusena.  She is weeping on a very broad band.
       In point of fact, the Rowan child did not take up residence at
  Siglen's Tower for nearly nine years.  Lusena had two children of her
  own - a girl nine and a boy fourteen with minor but valid Talents.
       Lusena urged the Secretary of the Interior to let her keep the
  Rowan at home, taking a temporary leave of absence from the Port
  Hospital.  It was a pleasant enough house which was, as most Talent
  
  residences were, already shielded.  Lusena distrusted Siglen for no
  reason she was ever able to articulate so she accepted, even encouraged
  the procrastination for a variety of excuses: hers and Siglen's.
       'The child isn't really settled yet after that fright.  'She's
  just getting over a cold.' 'I'd hate to disturb her just yet, she's
  integrating so well with her play group.' 'Her current teaching program
  ought not to be interrupted.' 'She would miss the support and
  companionship of Bardy and Finnan.  Next year Siglen never protested
  too hard: adding her own delays.
       There would have to be a suitable apartment for her student, as
  she felt the child would be more comfortable away from the busyness of
  the Tower and all the bustle of her support staff coming and going.
       When Interior ordered plans to be drawn up for the facility,
  Siglen found exception with each submission, sending the plans back for
  minute revisions.  The exchanges continued for nearly two years before
  the foundations were laid.
       Meanwhile the Rowan became integrated into Lusena's family, for
  Bardy, the daughter, and Finnan, the son, were old enough to be kind
  and naturally caring of the waif.  The Rowan played with non-Talented
  children her own age in a specially supervised group and learned NOT to
  manipulate her peers.  Most of them were so 'deaf they were unaware of
  her subconscious attempts to control them.  Their unawareness also
  resulted in making the Rowan vocalize in their presence.  Toward the
  end of that first year, the Rowan would occasionally prop Purza on the
  sidelines of particularly active games but otherwise the pukha was
  within fingertip reach.  Three times the feline had to be peeled from
  the sleeping child to replace its furry covering, worn or damaged
  receptors, and to update its programming.
       Siglen did keep her promise about not suppressing the Rowan,
  though she sent pointed enough reminders that she was keeping her word
  and that Lusena and the others had best see to it that the Rowan did
  not distract her.  As the Rowan matured, outbursts diminished.
       Gradually, Purza spent more and more time on a shelf in her room,
  but was always on the pillow beside the Rowan at night.
       On the day that the Rowan finally came to live with the Prime, she
  did not appear to be in awe of Siglen.  She clutched Purza tighter to
  her side as the Prime towered above her, smiling in the fatuous way of
  someone unaccustomed to young persons.  Secretary Camella of Interior,
  who had driven Lusena and the Rowan to the Tower in her own vehicle,
  wanted to strangle Siglen.
       'Aren't we a little old to be dependent on a stuffed animal?'
  Siglen asked 'Purza is a pukha and she's been mine a long time, the
  Rowan answered, hefting the pukha behind her in a proprietary way.
       Both Lusena and Interior tried to warn Siglen, but the woman was
  concentrating with formidable intent on the Rowan.  Lusena caught
  Bralla's eye and the woman raised her eyebrows in a despairing arc.
       But she stepped forward.
       'Siglen, do show the child the quarters you have arranged for her.
       I'm sure she'd like to get settled.' Siglen flapped one beringed
  hand to silence Bralla.
       'A pukha?' 'A specially programmed stabilizing surrogate device,'
  the Rowan explained.  'It's not a stuffed toy.' 'But you are twelve
  now.  Surely too grown-up to need that sort of infantile pacifier.' The
  Rowan was polite - Lusena had drilled her in courtesies, vocal and
  mental - but she could be as stubborn as Siglen, though she would never
  be as insensitive.
       'When I no longer need Purza, I will know.' Then she adroitly
  added, 'I really would like to see my room.' And the Rowan smiled
  hopefully.  She had a particularly endearing smile and harder hearts
  than Siglen's had been beguiled by it.
  
       'Room?' Siglen was affronted.  'Why, you have an entire wing to
  yourself.  With every amenity that I myself enjoy.
       State of the art, as well, though some of my equipment will soon
  need replacement.' She gave Interior a pointed glance.  Then she led
  the way, heaving herself from side to side in a most remarkable gait.
       Siglen was quite tall, dwarfing the slender child beside her: Nine
  years had added more soft flesh although the increase was not apparent
  with the sort of loose garments she wore.  But it showed when she
  moved, making an effort of even a short walk.
       Interior mused that Siglen was putting herself out in this initial
  contact and hoped that the child, who displayed considerable empathy,
  would be responsive.  As she fell in step with Lusena and Bralla, she
  was uncomfortably aware of the ludicrous comparison between the
  rake-thin Rowan and the massive Siglen and hastily recited a
  mind-clogging nonsense verse.  Hopefully, Siglen was too busy
  impressing the child with her generosity - all paid for by the Treasury
  - to hear peripheral thoughts.  Neither Siglen nor the Rowan had
  communicated on a telepathic level, but then it had been drilled into
  the Rowan that, vis-a'-vis, she must use voice address.
       'You will report to me daily now, between 10.00 and 14.00 for
  instruction.  I have had a special room added to my Tower where you can
  observe without interfering in the daily routine.  It is most important
  . . . what is your name, child?' 'The Rowan.  That's what everyone
  calls me,' and Lusena knew that the girl had picked up Siglen's not so
  carefully concealed disapproval, 'the Rowan child.  My name is
  therefore the Rowan.
       'But surely you know what name your parents gave you?
       You were old enough at three to know your own name, for goodness'
  sake.' 'I forgot it!' And the Rowan made that a positive enough
  termination of such questions that Siglen was taken slightly aback.
       'Well, well, well!' She repeated the word a few more times before
  they all reached the entrance to the Rowan's wing.
       The Rowan's startlement was apparent in her rigid posture as she
  peered through the door panel Siglen opened.  Interior and Lusena
  hurried up and were equally stunned.
       The entrance hall was grand - that was the only word for it, with
  hidden lighting to emphasize its opulence, the formal, rigid chairs
  made of exquisite woods, the equally fragile tables set with either
  statuary or arrangements of static flowers, picked at the moment of
  bloom perfection and held eternally at their peak.  Walking carefully
  across the intricately mosaic floor, the amazed trio entered the
  reception room, its walls adorned by the sort of gaudy, big floral
  print that Siglen preferred.  The room, which would have been spacious
  if it had not been so cluttered, was crammed with twisted-ware stools,
  two- and three-seat couches, arranged in conversational groupings:
  tables set everywhere, squatting in corners, nestled against the
  couches, their surfaces and shelves filled with what looked like
  Interstellar Bazaar items, some undoubtedly valuable enough, Interior
  thought, but none of it the sort of furnishing or adornment suitable to
  a young girl.  The walls were hung with artwork from every star system,
  judging by the variety of styles and mediums, but crowded frame to
  frame so that the eye could not fasten on anything.  Down one corridor
  was a small kitchen, an ornately claustrophobic dining area, and two
  guest bedrooms en suite.  Down the other was an almost barren 'library'
  with shelves and worktops, and a swimming pool, plasgrassed, far too
  shallow for an active and accomplished swimmer like the Rowan.
       With a final flourish and in anticipation of effusive praise,
  Siglen waved her large hand across the admit-panel of the bedroom she
  had created for the Rowan: a yellow and peach confection box of frills,
  doodads, and so many embellishments the necessary pieces of furniture
  
  were disguised.
       'Well?' Siglen demanded of the Rowan, having taken the silence for
  amazement but needing some verbal gratification.
       'It is the most incredible apartment, Prime Siglen,' the Rowan
  said, turning slowly around and clutching Purza to her breast.  Her
  eyes were wide, glittering with an emotion that Lusena hoped the child
  could contain.  The Rowan swallowed noticeably but managed to say
  clearly, 'I appreciate all your efforts.  This is worth waiting for.
       Really, you have been extremely generous.  It is all too much!'
  Lusena shot the Rowan an alarmed shaft of appeal, hoping the girl would
  stop there.  Twelve-year-olds are not the most tactful creatures.  The
  Rowan was avoiding Lusena's eyes.  Indeed she kept looking around her,
  as one item after another caught her attention.  Lusena was counting
  heavily on the Rowan's empathy.
       'You have been exceedingly thoughtful and kind,' the Rowan went on
  and approached a low bed, smothered in bright satin pillows, some of
  which colors clashed with the yellow and peach of wall, carpet, and
  furnishings.  She rearranged one pillow and planted Purza on it.  'We
  shall be immensely comfortable here, won't we, Purza?' Thus addressed,
  the pukha whirled and made a sound that was certainly not a purr,
  definitely a comment.  Eyes dancing with mischief and suppressed
  laughter, the Rowan swiveled to Lusena.  'I think the power strands
  need replacing.  That's no purr!' At once Lusena and the Secretary of
  the Interior distracted Siglen, who looked about to say more on the
  subject of dispensing with the pukha, by effusively complimenting her
  on the magnificence of these quarters, so much time spent on thoughtful
  details, and where did Siglen manage to find so many unusual things.
       Just then, a porter brought in the trolley containing the Rowan's
  effects, two carryalls, and five cartons of books and educational
  disks.
       'Ah, are these all you have?' Siglen asked in a disparaging tone,
  glancing accusingly first at Lusena and then at Secretary Camella.
       'The Rowan was awarded an adequate stipend above and beyond her
  living expenses but she doesn't make use of it,' Camella said
  defensively.
       'She isn't an acquisitive child,' Lusena said at the same time.
       Siglen made a noncommittal noise.  'I shall leave you to get
  settled.' She patted the Rowan on the head and turned, so she did not
  see the expression on the girl's face although both Lusena and Interior
  did.  Lusena moved to the girl and Interior thought she'd better make
  certain that Siglen left before the Rowan exploded.  Hastily, she
  closed the bedroom door behind her.
       When Interior got back, the Rowan was bowling with laughter,
  rolling on the bed, clutching a now purring Purza in her arms.  Most of
  the satin pillows had fallen to the floor.  Lusena was collapsed on a
  chair, tears of laughter streaming down her face.  Secretary Camella,
  who had expected rather a different scene, sank to another chair,
  grinning with relief 'I simply don't believe that woman,' Lusena
  finally managed to gasp.  'This .  . . this bordello ambience .  . . is
  suitable for a twelve-year-old girl?' 'Don't worry, Rowan,' Interior
  promised, 'you can sleep in the library until we clear out this .  . .
       this .  -- bazaarity.
       Waving one hand in agreement, the Rowan continued to burble.
       'Well, at least you can see the amusing side of it,' Interior
  added and could not resist chuckling, too.
       'Purza says it wasn't fair of you not to program her to laugh,'
  the Rowan said and kissed her pukha fondly.
       Lusena and Interior exchanged startled looks and Lusena mouthed
  'later' over the child's head.
       'Maybe Siglen was right and it's time to remove the pukha,'
  
  Interior said in a low voice to Lusena while the Rowan had been set to
  unpacking her booktapes in the library.
       'This really IS the first time Rowan has claimed a spontaneous
  response from it,' Lusena said, her fingers fiddling with the cuff of
  one sleeve.  She frowned down at her hands.  'At least in my hearing.
       Of all the freakings!' Lusena was clearly upset.  'We gave up
  monitoring her room a long time ago.  She's adapted well: she has no
  trouble interracting with either the Talented or the normal.' 'Start
  recording again.  The child cannot develop any aberrations.' Lusena
  almost exploded, gesticulating toward the main Tower.  'With that as an
  example?  I'd say she'll need the pukha now more than ever before!'
  Abruptly, she subsided.  'Perhaps we're borrowing trouble.  The pukha
  could be invaluable now to monitor the Rowan's adjustment to Siglen.
       Interior gave a heartfelt moan of sympathy.  'Why did I let Siglen
  talk me into this?' 'Planetary pride?' Lusena asked drolly.
       'Probably.  Be a dear and, when the Rowan's asleep tonight, rig
  the pukha for monitoring, will you?' Then Interior looked around her at
  the incredible array.  'And how are we going to get rid of all this?'
  'I'll think of something!' The Rowan anticipated the need.  A troubled
  security guard reported that an empty warehouse in the Port facility
  appeared to be used as the cache of pilferers, although he couldn't
  find a single one of the items listed on the stolen property lists
  published by the Constabulary.
       With considerable discernment for a youngster, the Rowan stripped
  her apartment down to basics, unerringly retaining the most valuable
  and appropriate of the artifacts.  To Lusena's immense surprise, the
  Rowan had also managed to alter the color of the walls to soft shades
  of green and cream.
       'How'd you repaint?' she casually asked the girl.
       'Purza and me thought about it,' the Rowan replied with one of her
  inimitable shrugs.  'D'you think it's an improvement?' 'Oh, vast, vast
  improvement.  I didn't realize you knew how to paint.' 'That was easy.
       Purza was in the house the day you had your place done.  She
  remembered.' Lusena managed to nod understandingly.  'Well, do you
  think you're settled in enough now to begin to learn your business?'
  The Rowan shrugged.  'She's got a mass of pods to shift today.  I don't
  think she'll want me around.' Lusena phoned Interior later, while the
  Rowan was swimming under the watchful eyes of Purza.
       'She has verbalized many things to the pukha over the years,'
  Lusena said slowly.  She found it very difficult to understand how she
  could have overlooked the Rowan's subtly reinforced dependence on the
  pukha.  'Most of it perfectly consonant with the doubts and fears of
  any normal child.  But she AND the Purza personality had a long
  discussion about color and the mechanics of painting: together they
  looked up and discussed interior decoration.
       Purza evidently has considerable acumen on which objects d'art and
  paintings are likely to be valuable, and those were the ones they kept.
       Purza seems to have discovered the empty warehouse although it was
  clearly the Rowan who did the shifting.  I know she has great
  telekinetic potential and nothing was very heavy or awkward, but she
  cleared most of the drek overnight.  And repainted the next one - with
  Purza's encouragement.  I'll send you a transcript of the conversation
  - no, it's not a conversation, that takes two intelligences - the
  monologue with interesting pauses for the Purza contributions.' 'Send
  me the transcript file,' Interior said, trying to keep the panic out of
  her voice, 'and I'll set up an in-depth psychiatric study.' 'Oh, would
  you?' Lusena was weak with relief.  'This is far beyond anything in my
  training.' 'Now, don't start feeling inadequate on me, Lusena.
       You've coped magnificently with the child.  She's just just -'One
  step ahead of us?' 'That's better,' Interior said, approving the wry
  
  tone of Lusena's voice.
       The conversation between the Rowan and her pukha became
  fascinating auditing for her guardians and any pediatric psychologist
  granted the privilege of listening.
       'Purza, Siglen's silly.  I've done that sort of lifting, placing,
  and putting since I was a baby!' the Rowan was heard to say after her
  first day's tutelage.  'I can't very well tell her I shifted everything
  out of this apartment, can I?
       Well, yes, I know, you helped, and even told me where the space
  was.  You've a very clever pukha, you know.  How many would have been
  able to estimate the volume of that warehouse so precisely?  There was
  just space left for an aisle when you'd finished.  Yes, they know.  The
  man is supposed to check that the stuff doesn't leave the premises but
  how were you to know that he'd object to having an empty place used?
       Yes, people are funny about such details.  She did give them to me
  so I may dispose of them as I see fit.  Oh, you think I should have
  asked her first?
       Yes, but asking would have wounded her feelings because she really
  did think she'd done a marvelous job in the decorating.  Only, Purza,
  how can I do good work when she considers me such a baby?' 'Yesterday
  was bad enough, Purza, a whole day spent making knots of straight
  lines!  But I had to do it all over again today!  Yes, actually I
  thought of doing that, but she was with me every second and when I
  tried to deviate, she just pulled me back on line and said that I must
  concentrate harder.  Concentrate?  Who needs to concentrate on that al'
  baby stuff!  Did you hear her?' The Rowan then produced such an
  accurate imitation of Siglen's fruity tones that the clandestine
  auditors were astonished.  "'We must proceed carefully, step by step,
  until you become so totally aware of your Talent that its use is
  instinctive, efficient, and energy-saving.
       'Energy-saving?  I ask you, Purza, with all the energy available
  on Altair, we could never use it all up.  She what?
       I know history as well as you do.  So what if she did grow up on
  old Earth when their energy sources were stretched to the limit, but
  we're here!  There's unlimited power in just the winds and the tides,
  not to mention the fossil fuels Siglen ought to update herself.  And if
  she says "waste not, want not" one more time, I'm going to puke.
       It's near as bad as "Always Be Careful" - the Rowan dropped into
  the devastatingly accurate Siglen voice for the maninis.  'And I am
  thrifty.' Now the Rowan giggled.  'I saved all that awful stuff she
  crammed into my place.  Crabs, Purza, I'm so booooooooored!' That
  complaint became more and more prevalent in the pukha conversations.
       Bralla did her best to assist, tactfully mentioning to Siglen that
  the Rowan showed great application and dexterity with the basic kinetic
  exercises.
       'But then, she has the best of teachers in the entire known
  galaxy,' Bralla had added when she saw Siglen bridle.  'Of course she
  would grasp the basics quickly.  You explain things so succinctly even
  the dullest wit would understand.' It took three days for the notion to
  be absorbed and then suddenly Siglen began the Rowan's lesson with a
  new exercise, designed to strengthen her 'mental muscles'.
       'It is a nice change,' the Rowan confided in Purza that night and
  then spent time rearranging the furnishings in her apartment with her
  'mental muscles', 'to explain the technique to the pukha.' Gerolaman,
  the Station manager, took his turn in suggesting more challenging tasks
  for the Rowan.
       'I need a bit of help in Stores, Siglen.  It'd take this little
  girl a couple of hours while you're busy with the batch coming in from
  David.  It's more or less what you've been doing with her only more
  practical because she can't break anything, yet she'll get the
  
  practice.  Whaddya say?' 'It'd be a thrifty use of my time and energy,
  Siglen,' the Rowan added casually, pretending indifference.
       'I dislike interrupting the flow of your lessons, Rowan child,'
  Siglen temporized.
       'Same thing, different objects,' Gerolaman remarked as if he
  couldn't care less.  And the Rowan was excused to his care.  'You're a
  clever one,' he told her when they were on their way to Stores.  'Good
  shot Siglen's not got an ounce of empathy: You were leaking a little of
  what you felt in there and that's not good.' 'I was?' 'You're getting
  careless.  Don't!  Siglen's got faults, the Good knows that, and we all
  suffer from them from time to time.  The main thrust of her Talent is
  the gestalt.  Most of us here,' and his gesture took in the entire
  Station, 'can bounce things from a place we can see to a place we know
  about.  But she can juggle objects she can't see and get them where
  they're supposed to go even if she's never been there.  Nor likely to
  go.  So you study her, Rowan, and get to hear underneath what she says.
       Lusena says you've a high empathy rating.  Let it work for you.  I
  don't say you should attempt to manipulate her moods but you could sort
  of ease her along now and then and she wouldn't get suspicious.  That
  way,' and Gerolaman gave her a shrewd sideways glance, 'you won't get
  so bored, working several levels in that white head of yours.' He
  ruffled her hair affectionately.
       For some reason that casual caress had more effect on the Rowan
  than Gerolaman's spoken advice.
       'He touched me, Purza.  He put his hand on my hair and messed it
  up, just like Finnan does.  That must mean he likes me.  Is it because
  he understands Talents?  .  . . Oh, he's not a pervert, silly Purz.  It
  wasn't that sort of a touch.
       I'd recognize the slimy kind from what Bardy told me.
       Gerolaman's got children of his own.  He treats me like one of
  them, Purza.  Fatherly.  It would be nice to have a father, Purz.'
  Gerolaman was instructed to act as paternally as circumstances
  permitted.
       'But she's a Prime Talent!' Gerolaman had replied, surprised,
  pleased, and nervous.  'I can't just treat her like I do my daughter.'
  'That,' Lusena said firmly, 'is exactly what she needs!  A little
  fatherly affection!  Bardy and Finnan had their father during their
  early childhood.  Rowan' 5 never had a father figure.  Since she has
  now realized it, we must provide a suitable substitute and you're it,
  Gerolaman!
       'Sure I'll do what I can.  The Good knows she'll get no love and
  affection from the Prime.' Gerolaman often prevailed on Siglen to lend
  him the Rowan for more 'muscle' exercise.  These tended to be
  dispatched quickly enough so that the Rowan would have time to have a
  snack or 'tea' in Gerolaman's office.  On those occasions, he would
  explain other aspects of the Tower responsibilities, its
  administration, how cargo was routed from one Prime station to another,
  the 'windows' to other systems and moons, how to connect with mid-space
  drone shipments, the major mid-points all around the Central Worlds'
  sphere of business and colonization.  In a relaxed atmosphere, she
  developed the spatial sense she would require when, if she came into
  Prime status, she would need to know how to scan the instrumentation in
  the Tower that kept track of all matter in the Altairian sector of the
  galaxy.  She learned to appreciate and how to adroitly assist the
  lesser kinetic Talents who did not have the gestalt faculty but
  nevertheless handled the traffic of message capsules constantly shunted
  about the Nine-Star League.
       Gerolaman would often take her out of the Tower and into the
  freight yards so that she became familiar with the variety of carriers,
  freight pods, drone vehicles, specialized cargo carriers for live or
  
  inanimate freight.  He took her on inspection tours of the powered
  ships from scout vessels and shuttles to the great passenger and
  immense bulky freight containers.  He had her memorize the major trade
  routes and lines, the space stations and other Nine Star League
  facilities until she knew the furniture of space as well as the things
  in her own quarters.
       'You should know every aspect of this business,' Gerolaman said,
  'not just how to sit in that Tower couch and bitch when there's an
  equipment failure.' There had been one recently and Gerolaman had borne
  the brunt of Siglen's outrage and fury, for she felt that she would be
  held responsible for a failure that interrupted the smooth function of
  Altair's FT&T Station.  The Rowan had been in his office when the
  Number 3 Generator had overheated and started shedding parts.  She had
  seen how quickly Gerolaman had patched in the spare and then ordered an
  investigation of the accident.  When it appeared that poor grade oils
  had been at fault, he canceled the supplier's contract and took tenders
  for a new source.
       That morning provided the Rowan with a new insight into her own
  problems with the Prime.  The next day provided yet another.  A T-8
       stormed into Gerolaman's office, threatening to resign and leave
  Altair altogether to get away from 'that woman': Siglen had taken out
  her frustration with the brief lapse of service on the first person to
  irritate her.
       'I didn't realize, Purza, that others have problems with Siglen,'
  the Rowan told the pukha that night.  'I made myself as small as I
  could and I don't think the T-8 even saw me.  I liked the way Gerolaman
  talked to Macey, kindly like, as if he was as deeply hurt as she was.
       He got her an accommodation at Favor Bay for a week off, though
  her annual holiday is not for another three months.  I wonder if we get
  holidays.  It'd be nice to get away from the Tower for a while.  Lusena
  used to take us all on trips when I lived with her.' Lusena, Gerolaman,
  Bralla, and Interior put their heads together to figure out how they
  could grant that wistful desire.
       'I didn't realize so much time has passed but the Rowan's been
  here for two years,' Interior remarked.
       'Everyone gets holiday time.
       'Except Siglen,' Gerolaman said gloomily.  "'And who could
  possibly take over if I went on vacation?"' Gerolaman's falsetto was a
  poor imitation of Siglen's fruity tones.
       'Even I get away.  Maybe that'd be the answer.  Siglen might give
  her leave of absence if I promised to keep up her exercises.  My
  family's got a nice cabin in the woods.  . -' 'No woods,' Lusena
  interrupted, holding up a warning hand.  'For the Rowan, mountain and
  forest might be traumatic.  I always kept to the plains and the seaside
  when she vacationed with us.
       'Well, then,' Interior began briskly, 'there's a Cabinet
  guesthouse, spacious, but not too grand, which can be made available to
  her.  At this time of year, there aren't all that many vacationers at
  Favor Bay.' She gave Lusena a significant look.
       'I'd gladly accompany her,' Lusena replied with a long sigh.  'I
  could use the break myself.  And I've nieces, my brothers' children,
  who are the Rowan's age.  She's had no peer group contact since she
  came here and she shouldn't get so far out of touch.  She may be Prime
  material but she's also a young girl and that side of her development
  shouldn't be neglected as .' Lusena tactfully broke off.
       'I think a few words in the ear of the Medical Office might
  produce some results - especially if Bralla,' and the Interior winked
  at the woman, 'and Gerolaman notice that the Rowan is becoming
  listless, with no appetite .  . . you know the sort of thing that can
  afflict the overextended youngster, Lusena.' 'Indeed I do.' 'Ill?'
  
  Siglen's eyes enlarged while she also appeared to compress herself.
       'How is the child ill?' Rarely indisposed herself, Siglen had no
  patience with sickness.
       'Well, as you know, Siglen, girls her age are prone to minor
  ailments and I do think she's sickening for something,' Bralla
  remarked.  'Why, you know yourself that her appetite's been poor these
  past few days.  You might suggest to Lusena to remove her until the
  symptoms disappear.' 'To the infirmary?' 'Well, a full medical check
  never hurts,' Bralla replied.
       'I'll make arrangements immediately.' So the Rowan was given an
  official leave to improve her health: Siglen practically ordering her
  out of the Tower.
       Favor Bay was essentially a family resort, with an excellent
  crescent beach of fine powdery sand: a marina catered to water sport
  enthusiasts and the bright, clear water encouraged them.  There was
  also a small fair with a mechanical amusement park and an aquarium
  situated on the northern tip of Favor Bay's crescent.  The Cabinet
  guesthouse was set up on the southern hill surrounding the Bay, in its
  own grounds, neatly obscured from public view by shrubs and trees of
  Terran origin which had adapted to Altair and flourished in the mild
  climate of that part of the coast.
       'Not a minta among 'em,' Interior had remarked in an aside to
  Lusena.  'Doesn't grow in that sort of soil.' An official air carrier
  whisked Lusena, her ecstatic nieces - moria, Emer, and Talba - and a
  subdued Rowan to the resort.  The driver saw the party safely
  installed, good-humoredly hauling in the many pieces of luggage which
  the nieces had brought.  The Rowan managed her one small carisak, and
  Purza, quite handily by herself.  She was, however, given the grandest
  room where a balcony gave her a splendid view of the sea and coastline
  for miles in all directions.  That was the first bone of contention.
       Although each child had a luxurious bedroom with adjoining bath,
  comparisons became inevitable as the amenities were discussed at great
  length over the afternoon snack.  At first Lusena dismissed the arguing
  as part and parcel of normal maneuvering of status-conscious thirteen
  and fourteen-year-olds.  The Rowan merely listened, more interested in
  the delicious foods arrayed on the table than power plays.
       Until moria remarked that she ought to have Emer 5
       room, since the closet space was better and she really hadn't
  enough room for her clothes.
       'Fabrics must breathe,' she explained in an arch manner.
       Then, seeing the Rowan's surprised expression, found a ripe target
  for her effusions.  'Garments need to be refreshed by circulating air,
  you understand.  That's even more important than proper cleansing and
  pressing, particularly with expensive gauzes.' moria shifted her
  attention to her aunt 'Is there someone to tend to our wardrobe?'
  Lusena was nonplussed by such a question.  Her brother was exceedingly
  well connected with the mercantile bankers of Port Altair, and the girl
  was accustomed to a more sophisticated life than Rowan, whose social
  life was nonexistent.  Lusena had no idea if moria's household included
  any indentured colonists, working out the expense of their
  transportation to Altair in menial capacities but, judging by moria's
  question, there probably were.
       'Did you bring any gauzes with you, moria?' was what Lusena asked
  to give herself time to think.  'I did tell your mother that this would
  be a low-key holiday.' 'I looked up the A-Z and it specifically
  mentions evening dances at the Regency Hotel where formal attire is de
  rigueur,' moria replied in a tone that suggested Lusena should know.
       'We have no escorts.' 'There is also an agency which supplies
  escorts of impeccable character,' moria replied and Emer giggled.
       She and her sister exchanged anticipatory looks.  Their parents
  
  did not entertain on the same level as moria's but that was by choice,
  certainly not necessity.
       'Who are unlikely to wish to escort a thirteen Lusena said
  severely.
       'I'll be fourteen in three weeks' time .  . .' moria was
  persistent.
       Thirteen- or fourteen-year-olds to any Regency ambience.' 'I was
  certain that Rowan would want to dance,' moria retorted, eyeing the
  Rowan with a penetrating stare.  'She's old enough to know how.' Her
  tone implied that anyone who didn't was deprived, underprivileged, and
  asocial.
       'Talba and I can dance,' Emer hastily put in.
       Lusena was beginning to regret the notion that her nieces would be
  suitable as friends for the Rowan.
       'Dancing is not a recreation in which I have any interest, the
  Rowan replied casually, with a mild hauteur and indifference that quite
  shot the wind out of moria's sails.  'I am here to enjoy the sportive,
  not the cultural aspects of the resort.  You did bring appropriate
  attire for swimming and boating, did you not?' The Rowan's tone was
  more coolly dismissive than moria's, but then, Lusena thought, Siglen
  was a mistress of the put-down.
       Emer and Talba goggled but moria blushed and sulked for the rest
  of the meal.  Lusena wondered what was going through the Rowan's mind.
       Would she make an adjustment or might she, tempted by moria's
  example, respond by manipulating the others: something the Rowan was
  quite able to do, consciously or unconsciously.  And that was not what
  this holiday effort was about.
       Lusena sighed.  Her timing was wrong.  A year or two at this age
  could produce such astounding swings in attitudes and standards.  The
  Rowan had left her schoolmates as a child with childish interests and
  concerns.  Now, hovering at the edge of the major physiological and
  psychological adjustments in a young girl's life, a perilous rite of
  passage might be forced.
       Lusena pressed briefly, cautiously, against the Rowan 5
       mind but the girl's immediate thoughts were of satiety with the
  excellent meal just served and a mental debate over which area of the
  resort to explore first.
       'I see no reason,' Lusena began briskly, hoping to alter the mood
  of the afternoon, 'why you can't all change into swimsuits.  We can
  explore the beach while our lunch is being digested and then we'll be
  ready for a dip.  moria, as the oldest, you're in charge of water
  safety.  I know your family often holidays by the sea whereas Emer,
  Talba, and Rowan haven't done very much sea bathing.' moria's manner
  altered with the possession of even this nebulous superiority and,
  forgetting her sulk, she ran up the stairs well ahead of the others in
  order to be the first changed.
       It turned out to be a very pleasant afternoon for the water was
  cool enough to give a brisk tingle, the sun warming, and the beach
  deserted.  Having marshaled her young charges into the water until they
  were exhausted with their exercise, moria stripped to allow the sun
  full access to her already tanned skin.  The Rowan watched with
  discreetly averted eyes.  moria had a splendid start on a feminine
  body.  The still juvenile Emer and Talba also slipped out of their
  suits, oiling their paler skins with a sun block and then, suddenly,
  the Rowan was lying supine on the beach blanket as if she was a
  frequent sunbather.  While moria chattered away about the merits of
  various tanning preparations, Lusena was positive that the Rowan must
  be making some bizarre internal adjustments for in the space of about
  fifteen minutes, she acquired a nice sun-burnishing.
       moria stopped mid-spate and stared at the young Prime.
  
       'I don't recall you having a tan, Rowan?' 'Oh,' and the Rowan
  opened one eye drowsily to regard the older girl, 'I've always tanned
  easily.
       Now that, my girl, is coming on too strong!  Lusena said, for once
  bending the Talent's rule not to communicate telepathically.
       You might even say I was doing it up too brown, Luse?  and, eyes
  closed, the Rowan smiled ever so slightly.
       That evening when the girls had settled to sleep, Lusena opened
  the line to Purza.
       'I think she's a spoiled snob of a prig,' the Rowan was saying to
  her pukha.  'She apes mannerisms and pretends to be far more mature
  than she is.  Trouble is, Purz, she believes she's acting properly.
       Acting is exactly what she's doing.  Acting.  Silly bouzma!'
  Lusena wondered where the Rowan had acquired that term until she
  remembered that some of the cargo handlers around the Tower facility
  came from mixed cultural backgrounds.  The Rowan had been eavesdropping
  again.
       'Emer's OK and Talba'll do whatever she's told,- the Rowan went
  on, more musingly than critically.  'I'm glad I'm not moria's kid
  sister.  She'd be a pain in the arse!  Yes, yes, I know that's cant
  language and Siglen would have a fit.  But she's not here and I am, and
  moria would be a pain in the arse!' A giggle came through clearly.
       'And I got a better tan than she has and it took me a lot less
  time and perspiration at no cost.  Imagine having to smear such
  expensive gunk on my skin.  All I had to do was alter the absorption
  level of the epidermis.  Simple!  I wonder how tan I should get!  Don't
  be silly, Purza!  Pukhas don't need tans.  You'd scorch your fur and
  blow all the circuits.' That sentence caused Lusena some intense
  cogitation.
       In the mention of its circuits, was the Rowan accepting the fact
  that the pukha was only a therapeutic device?  But by being concerned
  that 'you'd scorch your fur' was she attributing some degree of
  anthropomorphism to it?
       Animals did not tan: humans did.  Use of the pronoun implied a
  recognition of the pukha as an entity.  Her conversations with it
  indicated a subliminal response - her alter ego speaking through the
  pukha?  So far there had been no conflict with established ethics and
  morals.
       Although constant discreet psychological testing revealed that the
  Rowan was basically a well-adjusted personality, the continued
  dependence on a pukha, which was usually abandoned once a child reached
  adolescence, could indicate a possible instability.  A proven
  instability, even a suspected one, might put the quietus on any hope
  that the Rowan would make Prime.  Lusena couldn't bear to think of the
  procedures that would ensue should the Rowan be considered an unstable
  Talent.
       Not that dependence on a pukha was a real cause for alarm.  Lonely
  children of ten had imaginary friends - it was a healthy development
  stage that should be passed through without trauma.  The Rowan's pukha
  had certainly been a boon to the child and to her preceptors.  Once the
  holiday was over, Lusena decided she would have to discuss a weaning
  process with the Medical Officer.
       The next day dawned so bright that Lusena immediately arranged for
  a sail down the coast to a sea garden where the girls could safely
  indulge in some underwater exploration.  moria fretted during the short
  training session because she'd 'done all this sort of thing so often
  before' Turian, the instructor, was handsome and far too intelligent to
  respond to moria's coy attempts at flirting on the trip down.  He
  pinned her with a cold stare and remarked that in his experience it was
  those who didn't listen to safety precautions who invariably made the
  
  mistakes underwater.
       Once they had all submerged and were following Turian through the
  sea gardens, Lusena lightly touched the Rowan's thoughts and felt the
  girl's utter delight and pleasure in the experience.  The Rowan was a
  strong swimmer.  Clear, bright water was unlikely to summon memories of
  minta-stained mud.
       It was exceedingly unfortunate that it was moria who was caught by
  the sting-sheet which Turian had particularly warned them all against.
       It was equally unfortunate that the Rowan was closest to her and
  remembered the first-aid measure.  She rubbed moria's stings with hands
  full of sand.  (And that had been done kinetically though Lusena hoped
  she was the only one who noticed that at the moment of panic.) When the
  Rowan began the metamorphic massage which Lusena had taught her as
  being useful in reducing shock, moria complained that the Rowan was
  deliberately bruising her feet.  The accident put an end to the
  expedition and was, when Lusena reviewed the week later, the beginning
  of the trouble.
       If moria was somewhat mollified by being taken up in Turian's arms
  and jetted back to the sloop, it didn't help that he treated her like a
  silly, thoughtless adolescent.  Fuel was poured on her wounded pride
  when he complimented the Rowan on her quick thinking and apt use of
  first-aid measures.
       Lusena perceived that the Rowan was surprised at praise from any
  quarter and shrugged it off, but Lusena could tell the girl was
  pleased.  Unfortunately, moria noticed, and affected a little squeal as
  Turian, his expression worried, rubbed lotion on the long, thin sting
  welts.  Also unfortunately, moria proved to be one of the nine out of a
  thousand who had an allergic reaction to sting toxins and Turian
  cranked up the engine to get the girl to hospital with all dispatch.
       The others took turns applying cool sea-water compresses to the
  malevolently swollen flesh.  moria had good reasons now to moan 'I
  think she did it on purpose,' the Rowan confided to Purza that evening
  after moria had been treated and then sedated.  'I don't know what
  she's trying to prove, except that she's real silly, because moria's no
  match for the woman Turian's living with' Lusena was a trifle surprised
  that the Rowan had dipped into Turian's mind that way.  Or maybe she
  hadn't.  Turian had allowed her to take a turn at the sloop's helm on
  the return voyage.  They had been deep in discussion which might have
  covered more than the mechanics of powered sailing.  The Rowan seemed
  to elicit information from a wide range of personalities.
       'moria's stupid,' the Rowan remarked to the pukha, 'but she's
  determined not to be limited to childish activities.  Maybe I should
  warn Lusena to watch out.  No?
       You don't think I should.  Yes, I suspect you're right.
       Lusena doesn't miss much, does she?' And the Rowan giggled
  sleepily, for that moment very much a young girl.
       That was the end of that evening's monologue.  And Lusena had been
  warned.  moria was much improved the next day but quite genuinely not
  up to much activity.
       Though the inflammation was reduced, the welts were raw and red.
       moria quickly became bored with her invalid state and Lusena
  suggested games.  If moria won she avidly wished to continue but once
  she started losing, she wanted to try something else.  Emer and Talba
  were amenable, so was the Rowan during the morning.  But, after lunch,
  in a partnered computer game which moria and Emer lost to the Rowan and
  Talba, moria accused the Rowan of cheating!
       'You couldn't win by that much of a score unless you were cheating
  somehow.  Talba's no good at this, so how could you possibly win?'
  moria complained in a carrying snarl which brought Lusena instantly
  into the room.
  
       None of the girls knew that the Rowan was Talented.
       That had been one of the reasons Lusena had picked children who
  hadn't previously met the girl.
       'Talba is so good at Fighter Pilot,' the Rowan replied, putting a
  comforting arm about the younger girl.  'You're just not able to adjust
  to having a partner: you want to dominate and you don't win this game
  by dominating.' 'You did cheat!  You did!' moria screamed, her face
  reddening and the sting marks turning dark suddenly.
       Talba stared at them, horrified.
       'Oh, you're really quite stupid, you know, the Rowan said in a
  tone that bore a strong resemblance to Siglen's.
       'There is no way to manipulate the components of this program from
  an external source and there's absolutely no point in cheating in a
  childish g' moria stared at her, too infuriated to do more than
  stutter.  Then abruptly she got control of herself, her color abated,
  and she leaned forward in an ominous threatening posture.  'How do you
  know there is no,' and then her tone and accent mocked the Rowan's cool
  speech, 'way to manipulate the components of this program from an
  external source if you didn't try?' The Rowan stared at her with
  contempt and pity, and then she took the distressed Talba by the hand.
       'C'mon, we'll go for a walk on the beach until certain tempers
  calm down.' Lusena recognized that as a suggestion out of her own book
  but she decided to deal with moria now, and comfort Emer, who was as
  upset as her sister.  'Rowan is quite accurate, moria, that there IS no
  way to cheat at Fighter Pilot.  It's a matter of cooperation and fast
  reflexes.' It was possible, Lusena thought optimistically, that the
  drugs had had an adverse effect on moria to make her act in such a
  volatile manner.  Before the evening meal, she was contrite and managed
  a creditable apology to the Rowan on those grounds.  The Rowan accepted
  - unfortunately almost too casually, for moria hated to admit she might
  be in the wrong to a younger person - and appeared far more interested
  in the dinner menu.
       Sometimes the Rowan could be extremely adult in her attitudes and
  perceptions, and then revert to childlike indifference.  In this
  instance, she ought to have used more empathy with moria, and didn't.
       Lusena caught the expression on moria's face and maintained a
  stronger presence when all four girls were together.
       moria was able to swim the next day and that evening they all went
  to the amusement park.  The amenities for young people included a
  carousel which enchanted the Rowan: horses and bills and lionets and
  catarons and two amazing sea creatures that even the attendant could
  not identify.  But the outside circles of beasts rose up and down with
  the motion of the carousel and if a rider caught ten of the brass
  rings, he won a free ride.
       moria insisted on riding just behind the Rowan who caught every
  ring she reached for.  The mechanism did not recharge fast enough for
  moria to acquire one.  She changed places on the next ride but she was
  not as agile as the Rowan.  By now Lusena was aware of the tension and
  watched both girls closely.  The Rowan was not using her kinetic
  ability to catch rings, of that Lusena was positive: the girl was
  simply more deft, with excellent timing so that it didn't matter if her
  cataron was up or down or midway, the Rowan collected a ring with each
  circuit.
       Nothing would do then but for moria to insist they go onward to
  one of the other rides.
       'Rowan's got enough rings to do two free circuits,' Emer pointed
  to the rings Rowan played with, her index fingers touching and her
  hands tipping the roll of rings up and down.
       'Oh, I'll go on if you want to,' and with that the Rowan tipped
  the rings into the collection maw.  'Where will we go next?' Why her
  
  willingness should infuriate moria, Lusena couldn't understand.  The
  rest of the excursion was somehow colored by moria's seething fury
  which communicated itself to Emer and Talba.  The Rowan seemed
  oblivious.
       'That girl wants for manners, the Rowan told Purza that evening.
       'She made Emer and Talba miserable and Lusena' 5 worried.  Should
  I find out what's bothering moria?  No?  Well, I know it's not done but
  I really don't want to spend the rest of my holiday appeasing that old
  bouzma.  I have to do that all the time with Siglen.  If I just .  . .
       No?  I can't?  Even to lighten up our holiday?  Can I not just
  lean on her a bit when she gets particularly antsy?  Just a little!
       It'd make things a lot easier all 'round.
       OK!  I promise.  Just a little!' Most of that night went by
  sleeplessly for Lusena as she reviewed the conversation.  The Rowan had
  clearly displayed an understanding of Talent ethics.  Leaning wasn't a
  violation exactly, not even a genuine intrusion of mental privacy,
  Lusena conceded: a little leaning often did a lot of good and she had
  applied leans on the Row an in her early years.  It was the most minor
  of infractions of the basic Law but she would monitor the Rowan.
       Talents, particularly Primes, had to be so careful of their
  interactions.
       The Rowan did lean on moria the next morning at the first note of
  petulance.  It was adroitly done, Lusena thought, and it certainly did
  improve the atmosphere at the breakfast table.  The morning was spent
  pleasantly in swimming on their private beach.  The Rowan was careful
  to keep her 'tan' slightly less bronze than moria's and to comment
  wistfully that she would never attain the lovely shade moria had
  acquired.
       That evening Lusena took them all to a concert in the open air
  amphitheater, a re-creation of an ancient structure with brilliant
  acoustics.  The program was varied, suiting many tastes in a
  vacationing public.  At the conclusion, an announcement indicated that
  the last group would be playing dance music at the Regency.
       Naturally moria begged to be allowed to go.  'Who needs a partner?
       There's sure to be some unaccompanied boys wanting to dance.  I
  just know it.  There were hundreds in the audience.  Oh, please,
  Lusena.
       The others can sit and listen.  Emer adores this group anyway.
       She wouldn't mind.  And if Rowan's never been to a dance, this
  would be an intro.  Please, please.' moria might come from a
  sophisticated household but Lusena did not believe her parents would
  condone her attendance at a hotel dance no matter how the girl pleaded.
       So she flatly refused and took the girls home.  moria coming up
  with more and more reasons why they should attend.  Lusena was so worn
  out by her whining that she almost leaned on the girl herself and
  wondered why the Rowan didn't.
       Lusena was startled then, two hours later, when the Rowan knocked
  at her door 'She's gone!' 'Who's gone?' Lusena exclaimed inanely.
       'Why?  Were you peeking?' 'I didn't need to, not with her climbing
  down the trellis and making a lot of noise,' the Rowan said.  Then,
  looking Lusena straight in the eye, went on.  'She was also
  broadcasting as loud as if she'd Talent.  She doesn't like me, you
  know.  'moria's at a very difficult stage in adolescence,' Lusena felt
  obliged to explain.
       'Well, she's NOT an adult.  She's far too silly and she could get
  in a lot of trouble at the Regency.  The boys she wants to attract were
  popping junk at the concert.  They won't know one end from another by
  now.' The Rowan paused, concentrating, scowling.  'They don't.  She'll
  be in big trouble if she meets them.  She's wearing gauzes.
       'How much of a head start does she have?' Lusena zipped herself
  
  into the nearest clothes to hand.
       'You should catch her on the main road.  Unless she gets a ride
  but I don't see any vehicle going her way along that road.
       A very sullen moria was retrieved.  When she quite accurately
  blamed the Rowan as her informant, Lusena did her best to center
  moria's thoughts on her willful disobedience, detailing the
  consequences of such irrational behavior.  moria smarted under the
  lecture, though when Lusena mentioned that the boys at the concert had
  been popping, the girl did pause thoughtfully.
       'I'm not a parent, moria,' Lusena said sternly, 'but I am in
  charge and you are grounded!' When moria raised her head challenging
  that authority, Lusena leaned and moria's eyes widened with surprise.
       'You're a Talent!' 'It runs in the family,' Lusena remarked drily.
       'Or doesn't your father ever mention his?' moria stared at Lusena
  as if she'd sprouted wings or horns.  'The more fool he,' Lusena
  muttered and gestured firmly for moria to get into her room.  'You'll
  be staying there tomorrow!' Because she intended to enforce that
  punishment, the original plans for the next day had to be altered.
       Lusena said that moria would be keeping to her room and neither
  Emer nor Talba questioned it, completely ignorant of the early-morning
  episode.  The Rowan announced that she wanted to swim as the waves
  looked energetic enough to surf on.
       Lusena joined them later, having checked that moria was still
  deeply asleep.  She kept in touch with the girl's mind when she did
  wake, listening to the grousing and complaining as moria ate the meal
  left for her and idled about the room.  Lusena caught a glimpse of her
  on the balcony, observing the others down on the beach and then the
  girl withdrew, her thoughts most uncomplimentary and her resentment
  aimed at the Rowan.  Lusena wondered if she would have to send moria
  home prematurely.
       The holiday had been arranged for the Rowan's benefit not moria's.
       The Rowan had caught the knack of riding the rolling combers back
  to the beach.  The sea was rough but not overly so and there was no
  undertow on this beach so when the girls clamored for Lusena to join
  them, she did so, keeping a light touch on moria's mind They were all
  riding the crest of one large wave when Lusena heard the Rowan give a
  terrible shout.  There was a look of agony on her face so intense that
  Lusena probed to find out what had injured the girl.  But the pain was
  psychic.  Frantically propelling herself through the comber, the Rowan
  staggered on to the beach and started running for the house, mentally
  broadcasting a shout that nearly deafened Lusena.
       DON'T!  YOU CAN'T!  YOU MUSTN'T!  YOU'RE KILLING HER!
       Shrieks now came from another source - moria!
       ROWAN!  YOU CAN'T, YOU MUSTN'T DESCEND TO HER LEVEL!  Lusena tried
  to free herself from the wave, was tumbled about roughly and came up,
  gasping for breath.  She wasn't kinetic but somehow she was on the path
  with no recollection of having reached it and running as fast as she
  could toward the house.  She saw the Rowan on the balcony outside her
  room and then a final shriek from .  . . Lusena could not immediately
  identify the source but the pain came from an anguished soul.
       Panting with exertion, she finally reached the Rowan's room.
       moria was crouched in one corner, knees drawn up to her head, her
  arms wrapped over it, whimpering in jagged little cries.  The Rowan
  stood in the center of the room, her face a mask of grief, of
  unimaginable sorrow as she stood, clutching the Purza's head, its fur
  shorn in hunks about her, its dismembered limbs cut into many pieces.
       Some force prevented Lusena from entering and she sagged against
  the threshold, trying to find some way to comfort the Rowan, knowing
  there was none.  Then, as she regained her breath after her exertions,
  she blinked to clear her eyes, thinking at first that sweat clouded her
  
  vision.  But no, slowly the hacked pieces of the pukha were
  reassembling themselves in a feat of kinetic reconstruction that Lusena
  doubted few but a potential Prime could have managed.  The Rowan knelt,
  placing the pukha head where the rest of its body could rejoin it.  She
  knelt there stroking the length of the creature, crooning to it.
       'Purza?  Purza?  Please speak to me.  Tell me you're all right!
       Purza?  Purza!  Please, it's Rowan.  I need you!  Talk to me!'
  Lusena bowed her head, tears streaming down salt encrusted cheeks,
  knowing the magic, and the Rowan's childhood, were gone.
       'I was under the distinct impression that this holiday would have
  brightened the child,' Siglen said, rattling her necklace of thick blue
  beads irritably.  Her heavy face was drawn down into petulant lines.
       She didn't like hearing that her magnanimity in permitting the
  Rowan to take such an unprecedented holiday had not been a complete
  success.
       'Unfortunately,' Lusena began uncertainly, 'I erred in my choice
  of companions.  There was a serious confrontation between the Rowan and
  one of the girls.  Up until that point, the Rowan was thoroughly
  enjoying the respite.  My niece is at a very difficult age .  . .' she
  faltered.
       'A childish spat?  Which results in four days of melancholic
  behavior?' Siglen was disgusted.
       'Girls verging on puberty are so vulnerable, so easily upset.
       And,' Lusena went on quickly, for Siglen's face was falling into a
  pontifical mode, 'ridiculous things can sometimes get magnified all out
  of proportion to their true significance.  The Rowan is, as you know,
  basically a sensible and well-balanced youngster.  But ' and here
  Lusena faltered again.  Siglen had always been contemptuous of the
  Rowan's dependence on the pukha.  Siglen' 5
       fingers made the rhythmic rattle of impatience on the hollow
  beads.  Lusena took a deep breath and plunged on.
       the wanton destruction of the pukha was devastating.' Siglen's
  eyes bulged with indignation.  Her fingers gripped the necklace so hard
  that Lusena worried that the chain would snap.
       'I told you that pukha should have been phased out long ago.  Now
  you see what comes of ignoring my advice!  I will have no more
  temperamental fits from the Rowan.  She's to be on duty in the Tower at
  the usual hour tomorrow.  I'll tolerate no further delinquency.
       Especially for such a specious reason.  As it is, I shall have to
  report her dereliction to Reidinger.  Primes must be responsible.  Duty
  first!  Personal considerations come a long way down the list.  Now,
  try to imbue that in your charge.  Or,' and Siglen shook an ominous
  finger at Lusena, 'you will be replaced.' Shaking with outrage at the
  woman's insensitivity, Lusena stalked down the ramp from Siglen's
  Tower.  She was so upset that she almost didn't hear Gerolaman's
  'hsst!' He looked ill-at-ease - no, conspiratorial - for there was a
  decidedly wicked gleam in his eyes.  Mystified, she followed him to a
  small closet.
       'Look, it isn't the pukha, Lusena, but, with a bit of luck, it'll
  be something to help her,' the stationmaster said and flipped up the
  cover of a caribox.
       Lusena exclaimed in amazement and a sudden spurt of hope.  'A
  barquecat?  Who did you bribe to find one?
       They're unobtainable!' She peered in at the mottled bundle of the
  curled-up cub and drew back the hand that inadvertently went to stroke
  it.  'It's the loveliest colors,' she said, admiring the pattern on the
  tawny fur ends and the deep creamy base that highlighted the markings.
       'How did you find one so like Purza's fur?  Oh dear,' and Lusena
  dropped into anxiety again.  'Maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea
  right now.' 'I thought of that aspect myself, but this was the only cub
  
  left and only because I wanted it for the Rowan would they give me the
  option.  Of course, I have to give him back if he doesn't take to the
  Rowan.' 'Will it adapt to surface life?' Lusena asked, having to hold
  her hands tightly behind her in her overwhelming desire to stroke the
  sleeping beast.  Barquecats had that effect on people.
       'No fear.  It's cruiser bred so it's more accustomed to gravity
  than most but it'll have to be sequestered in the Rowan's quarters.
       One, the mutation's never been cleared for Altair and two, they
  absolutely cannot be allowed to crossbreed.  I had to swear an oath of
  blood to neuter him when he's six months just in case he did get out.
       He's got a clean vet-cert because the rest of the Mayotte's litter
  was still in quarantine, pending dispersal.  They're just weaned.' 'You
  are a real gem, Gerry.  I've despaired.  She just sits and looks at the
  pieces of Purza, tears streaming down her face.  She hasn't said a word
  since she got back.  I've even tried some pretty severe metamorphics on
  her which usually restore balance but they didn't dent her depression
  this time.' 'And her?' Gerolaman jerked a thumb over his shoulder in
  the direction of Siglen's Tower.
       'Siglen wouldn't know an emotion if it bit her.  She put me down
  smartly because the holiday was my idea.' 'Don't blame yourself,
  Lusena.' 'I do.  I thought I was a good judge of character and
  compatibility.  And my own niece, at that!' 'Trouble is, the Rowan's
  not around her own age often enough 'The Rowan acted with great dignity
  and common sense.  My niece is wretchedly spoiled, self-centered,
  arrogant, envious, and determined to have the last word.
       It was NO fault of Rowan's.' Gerolaman patted Lusena's shoulder.
       'Of course not.' Lusena groaned, shaking her head.  'And Siglen's
  reporting the Rowan's delinquency,' and she grimaced over the word, 'to
  Reidinger!' Gerolaman raised his eyebrows high and gave an amused
  snort.  'That might just be a blessing in disguise, you know.
       Reidinger's got more sense than Siglen.  Always had.  That's why
  he's Earth Prime.  You did know, didn't you, that Siglen fancied
  herself for the job?  Well, she didn't get it and it rankles her mortal
  soul.
       Don't you fret her telling Reidinger.' He gave Lusena a final pat
  on the back before handing her the covered barquecat box.  'Try this
  and see.  You'll know quickly enough if the critter won't accept her.'
  He winked.  'I don't think I'll need to bring it back to the Mayotte.'
  Carrying the box with great care, Lusena hurried down the corridors to
  the Rowan's quarters.  At the very least the Rowan would appreciate the
  honor she was accorded in having a chance to acquire a precious
  barquecat.
       They were as special as pukhas, only alive and as independent as
  the bobcat, from which they had mutated in the century of space
  exploration and travel.  Some say they had evolved from those early
  felines as far as man had evolved from the ape.  And with a suitable
  increase in intelligence.  There was a widespread notion that
  barquecats were telepathic but no Talent had ever had communication
  with them, not even those with strong empathies to animals.  Barquecats
  were equally comfortable in free-fall or gravity.  Most marked was
  their ability to adjust to sudden alterations.  Barquecats had been
  known to survive space wrecks which killed all humans aboard.
       Scouts or small crews insisted on having a barquecat as companion
  on cruises of any duration beyond the range of a Prime Station.  Some
  likened them to the canaries ancient colliers had carried deep into
  shafts, for the barquecats invariably noticed pressure alterations too
  minute for humans, and instrumentation.  They were said to be
  responsible for saving thousands of lives with this faculty and they
  could lead repairmen unerringly to the source of a leak, ping, or
  fracture.  Traditionally, they lived on the vermin that infested every
  
  type of commissioned vessel but in fact they were the first to be fed
  in the galley.  Their breeding was carefully monitored by their ship
  crews and the progeny were scrupulously registered.  The placement of
  barquecat cubs took as much time, discussion, and power plays as
  ancient historical marriages between heads of state.
       Despite that, adult barquecats were laws unto themselves,
  bestowing affection and favors in whimsical fashion.  To be accepted by
  a barquecat was considered a mark of esteem.
       As she hurried to the Rowan's quarters Lusena fretted briefly.  It
  could be traumatic if the barquecat didn't accept the Rowan.  Possibly
  it could complicate the Rowan's melancholy to be rejected again so soon
  after moria's antic.  Something had to happen to break through her self
  absorption.  And the girl knew all about the peculiarities of
  barquecats.
       'It's worth the risk,' Lusena muttered to herself and touched the
  doorpad.  It swooshed open and Lusena had to blink to adjust her eyes
  to the gloom.  Once again the Rowan had reduced the illumination to a
  funereal level.
       Ruthlessly, Lusena spun the rheostat to a bright daylight.
       'Rowan?  Come out of your bedroom this instant!  I have something
  to show you!' Lusena infused mind and voice with nebulous hints of
  surprise and anticipation.  The Rowan was still young enough to have an
  insatiable curiosity She placed the box on the low table between the
  main seating units and dropped with a sigh of relief on to the one
  facing the Rowan's room.  She let her pleasure at her surprise ripple
  through her thoughts as she waited.  In part, Lusena agreed with Siglen
  that this melancholy had gone on quite long enough.  Loss is measured
  on varying personal scales, but loss was still what the Rowan had
  unquestionably suffered in Purza's destruction.
       Lusena continued to wait, rather longer than she expected, until
  the door opened and a wan Rowan appeared.
       'Gerolaman has indentured his mortal soul for you, Lusena told her
  charge in a conversational tone of voice.
       'It'll be up to it,' and she pointed to the box, 'whether or not
  it'll take to you.  Especially as you're not really yourself at the
  moment.  So I don't know if I'm doing you a favor or not.' Lusena was
  pleased to see that she had fired the Rowan's interest, if not
  enthusiasm.  The girl took slow steps into the room, raising her chin
  slightly to peer over the back of the couch to see what was on the
  table.  Lusena waited until the Rowan came round before she motioned
  her to sit.  Still moving like a badly lubricated android, the Rowan
  flopped down.  She looked at the box and then at Lusena, who felt the
  first pressure of query against her mind.
       Lusena flipped back the cover and the Rowan's response was all
  that Lusena could wish: delight and incredulity.
       'Is it really a barquecat?' she asked, her eyes flicking up to
  Lusena's face with the first glint they'd held since that morning at
  Favor Bay.  Impulsively she reached out and then secured her arms to
  her ribcage, knowing better than to disturb a barquecat's slumber.
       'A really truly live barquecat cub.  Even if it doesn't like you,
  remember to be very grateful to Gerolaman for the chance.' 'Oh, it's so
  lovely.  I've never seen a fur so spectacularly marked and lustrous.
       Tawny tips and creamy base and such an unusual pattern on the
  tips!
       There wasn't one like that in the Animal Index of the Galaxy.
       It's simply the most lovely creature I've ever seen.' Once again
  her hands fluttered over the caribox.  'Lusena, when will it wake?
       What do we feed it?  How can we hide it from her?' 'I don't know,
  it's omnivorous, and she never intrudes on your quarters.' Lusena
  answered all the questions in one breath, immensely relieved at the
  
  girl's resurgence.
       'So as long as it doesn't escape, Siglen's not likely to know it's
  here.' Even if they had to return the cub, its presence had shaken the
  Rowan into some awareness beyond her loss.
       'Oh, look, it's stretching.  What do I do now, 'Sena?
       What if it doesn't like us?' Her face suddenly went dull again.
       'Purza had to like me but the cub doesn't 'Well, we'll just have
  to hope it fends merit in you, then, won't we?' Lusena was certain that
  she had struck just the right note in her reply.  For all her Talent,
  for all the potential of her ability, and despite more frequent
  glimpses of maturity, enough of the child still remained in the Rowan
  to require support and reassurance.  Could a tiny bundle of fur provide
  that need?
       It stirred.  The tiny mouth opened and the white fangs were
  visible around a pale pink tongue curling in a yawn.
       The dainty seven-fingered toes of the front paws extended the tiny
  blunt claws of the breed.  Its back arched and it twitched its full
  banded tail before rolling on to its stomach.  Then it opened its
  silvery-blue eyes, the pupils mere slits in the bright room.
       It looked with momentary disdain at Lusena whom it was facing
  before it turned its classic head toward the Rowan.  With one of the
  grating cries for which the breed was famous, it rose to all fours and
  with great deliberation padded over to the girl.  Lifting its forepaws
  to the edge of the box, it tilted its head inquiringly at her.
       'Oh, you darling!' the Rowan said in a whisper and slowly extended
  a finger for the barquecat to sniff.  It did so and then promptly
  butted the finger with its head, turning slightly so that the Rowan
  could scratch behind the delicate ear.  'Lusena, I've never felt
  anything so soft.
       Not even .  .' she broke off but more because the barquecat was
  insisting on an energetic caress than because she couldn't finish the
  sentence.  'It wants to drink.  Water.' The Rowan blinked.
       'It didn't ever speak to you, did it?' Lusena was astonished.
       Quickly the Rowan shook her head.  'No, it didn't speak to me.  I
  felt no mind-touch at all.  But undeniably I know that it is thirsty,
  specifically for water.
       'Well!' and Lusena brought both hands down hard on her knees and
  rose.  'If that's what that rascal wants, then water it shall have.'
  She tried to keep the elation she felt within bounds as she headed for
  the kitchen alcove.
       'I have been awful, haven't I, Luse?' asked the Rowan in a soft,
  apologetic tone.
       'Not awful, Rowan, but terribly bruised by Purza's loss.' 'Silly
  then.  Mourning the loss of an inanimate object.' Lusena returned with
  a bowl of water which she handed to the Rowan.  'Purza was never an
  inanimate object in your eyes.
       Just as the Rowan put the bowl in the caribox, there was a quick
  rap on the door.  She had the lid down when the door slid open and an
  anxious-faced Bralla came in.
       'I was so positive we had one that I never thought to really look
  . . - sorry to be so abrupt but she's in such a state .  . . Bralla
  looked from one face to another, her body in a posture of entreaty.
       'What are you talking about, Bralla?' Lusena asked, for the T-4
       often forgot to project.
       'You DO have a recent hologram of the Rowan, don't you, Lusena?
       Surely you took some at Favor Bay?' 'I did, but why the flap?'
  Lusena had no trouble finding the holograms which she hadn't even
  unpacked from the caricase.  There were several very good ones of the
  Rowan.
       Lusena picked one of her, smiling, standing alone by the stern of
  
  the boat, her silver hair wind-whipped like a bright, ragged ensign.
       'Oh, thank goodness, Bralla stopped fluttering for a moment.
       'Reidinger insists on having a recent hologram of you, Rowan.  It
  has to be dispatched immediately and I can tell you, Siglen's in no
  mood on account of that, too.  Oh, now that's a very nice one!' She
  threw a pleased smile at the Rowan who was trying as unobtrusively as
  possible to keep the barquecat from poking the lid up with an
  importunate head.
       'This is perfect.  Though I don't know as you'll ever get it back.
       Shall I copy first?' 'If you would .  . .' and Lusena wasn't sure
  if Bralla heard the request for she was out of the door as if 'ported
  away.
       'Why would Reidinger want a recent hologram of me?' the Rowan
  asked, hastily lifting the confining lid over the now squalling
  barquecat.  It was not the least bit interested in leaving its box but
  it evidently resented being covered.
       After a cursory look about the room, it went back to drinking.
       'I'm not really sure,' Lusena said, covering her thoughts because
  she knew exactly why Reidinger wanted one: he could then focus his
  thoughts directly to the Rowan.  Oh dear!  Would she be up to the sort
  of a searching interview for which Reidinger was famous?  Lusena looked
  down at her ward, at her total absorption in the barquecat and gave a
  discreet sigh of relief.  If Reidinger gave her even half a chance When
  the cub had finished drinking and had eaten sparingly of milk-soaked
  bread, it preened briefly and then curled up for another nap to rest
  from such arduous exercise.  As soon as its breathing settled, the
  Rowan made for the keyboard and accessed information on barquecats,
  fact and fiction 'What he should eat,' she said, handing Lusena the
  first few pages, 'and what he is likely to want to eat.  I want to
  catch Gerolaman before he leaves for the day.  Be right back.' She was
  out the door before Lusena could protest.  Oh, Lord, what time was it
  on Earth?  Lusena ground her teeth.  She wanted to be near the Rowan
  when - and if Reidinger did contact her directly.
       By that evening, there was no doubt that Rascal approved of the
  Rowan.  Waking from his second nap, the cub had looked around for a
  litter box (for Lusena had thought to provide a temporary affair) and
  then hauled himself up her arm, settling companionably on her shoulder,
  claws hooked into the fabric of her shirt.
       'Don't fuss, Luse,' the Rowan told her, 'he's not sinking them in
  deep.' She giggled and gave a funny shudder.  'But his whiskers tickle.
       There, now, Rascal.' Although the cub appeared to be settling down
  for a lengthy residence, he suddenly vaulted from the Rowan's shoulder
  to the back of the couch, running along it to the opposite end.  He
  turned then and sat glaring at the girl accusingly.
       'What on earth did I do?' 'Why -. .' Lusena began in surprise and
  then saw the Rowan suddenly tense to an erect sitting position.
       'Yes, Prime Reidinger?' I've been meaning to address you directly,
  Rowan, the deep voice said as clear as if he had been beside her on the
  couch and speaking audibly.  Even I, and Reidinger added a chuckle,
  require a talisman on which to focus and I have added your hologram to
  those on my special access list.  I have, by the way, informed Siglen
  that you are to take whatever regular holidays are current in Altair's
  schooling system.  She may drive herself but there are rules which
  apply to minor children that must be observed.
       I haven't minded, Prime Reidinger.  There is a lot to be learned A
  loyal child, too.  The discussion I just had with Siglen should clear
  the air over several misapprehensions on her part.
       And about your future training.  Let me make this plain to you as
  well.  Rowan: you have the right to contact me directly on any question
  you might have.  A suitable hologram is on its way to you to make that
  
  contact easier.  You have the range.  The Rowan heard the smile in his
  voice.  Use it.  You should also be receiving holograms from David of
  Betelgeuse and Capella.
       It won't hurt for you to get to reach them mentally from time to
  time.  Good practice as well.  They both studied with Siglen.
       The Rowan caught the dry note in his mental tone and wondered
  about it.
       One more thing: Gerolaman is to conduct a Tower Basics course and
  I wish you to join his students.  Tower management is not merely
  mental, you know.  There was a distinct pause and the Rowan wasn't sure
  if she should respond with thanks for his intercession or what.  You
  have a barquecat cub?  Well, my dear young lady, you have been honored.
       Yes, sir, I think so, too.  And thank you for the holidays and the
  Basics course and .  . . and everything.
       Never fear, Rowan.  I'll take it all out of your hide at a later
  date.
       Then the space he had occupied in her mind abruptly became empty
  and the Rowan blinked with surprise.
       'Rowan?' asked Lusena tentatively, leaning across the table to
  touch her hand.
       'Earth Prime Reidinger was speaking to me,' she replied and then
  she looked down the length of the couch to the tawny cub.  'He knew
  about Rascal,' she added in a mystified tone.
       'Reidinger probably would,' Lusena remarked caustically, glancing
  quickly at the cub as he now marched toward the Rowan again along the
  back of the couch.
       'How could he?' Lusena shrugged.  'The Reidinger Family have
  always had unusual Talents and perceptions.  They've been Talents for
  centuries.  What else did he say?' The Rowan grinned with pure malice.
       'I'm to have the same holidays that schools give here.  And I'm to
  join Gerolaman's course on Tower Basics.' Lusena paused.  'I didn't
  know he was giving one.
       The Rowan laughed.  'According to Reidinger he is.' 'Then he is.'
  When Gerolaman arrived late that evening to check on the cub's settling
  in, he was looking exceedingly pleased with himself.  He accepted the
  brew that Lusena offered and sat opposite the Rowan, whose lap was
  occupied by a fist-sized ball of fur.  He raised his glass to her.
       'I thought you'd make the grade.  I'll make it official and you'll
  get the papers direct from the Captain of the Mayotte.  He said to tell
  you Rascal is from a line of real champions.' 'I can see that,' the
  Rowan replied, smiling fatuously at the sleeper.  She hadn't so much as
  twitched a muscle since Rascal had curled up after his supper.
       'It's been a good day,' Gerolaman said, stretching comfortably.
       'Placed a barquecat and got notice that a fully subscribed class
  of young T-4s and 5s are arriving next week all the way from Earth, to
  learn what there is to know about Tower management and maintenance.
       Siglen says that it's a mark of her standing in FT&T that Altair
  has been chosen.' Gerolaman winked at Lusena who chuckled.  'You're
  included, Rowan.  I was told to inform you myself.  You'll be in the
  Tower as usual in the mornings, but you'll attend my classes in the
  afternoon and evening.  OK?' The Rowan nodded acknowledgment and Lusena
  silently applauded her discretion.
       'I haven't taught you all I know yet by a long stretch, but now
  it's official.  You mind yourself with these imported Talents, girl.
       It's a mixed bag, T-4s, 5s, kinetics, empaths, a couple of
  mechanicals, but only one true telepath.  Still, it'll give you more
  insight into some of the other manifestations of Talent.  And perhaps a
  friend or two your own age.' 'How many?' Lusena asked, noting the
  Rowan's sudden wariness.
       'Eight, I'm told.' 'That many?  Surely Siglen won't permit them to
  
  be quartered at the Station?' 'Not on Station.  Over at the guest
  facility,' Gerolaman replied with a knowing grin.  'My wife's moving in
  to keep them under control.  Not much gets past Samella even if she is
  only a T-6.  Strong empathy, especially for teenage nonsense.  Smells
  it before it can happen.' He drained his brew and rose.  'I've got a
  lot to organize before they get here so I'll leave you, ladies.  Oh,
  and I'll get you what you need for the cub on my way home.  The Mayotte
  Captain gave me a list.  Bring it in tomorrow.' The Rowan once again
  expressed her deep gratitude for the barquecat.
       'I should have thought to get you one a long time ago, Rowan,'
  Gerolaman said in a gruff voice and, with a curt nod of his head at
  Lusena, left.
       The next day the Rowan found that Siglen was by no means delighted
  with the thought of her Station as a training facility.  But this
  distracted her to the exclusion of any other topic, including the
  Rowan's recent behavior.
       Siglen fired orders to Bralla and Gerolaman who, the Rowan
  observed, both pretended to be disgruntled over the 'invasion'.  They
  had so many complaints to lodge with Siglen over suitable
  accommodations, lecture room, which part of the big landing field
  beyond the Tower would be far enough away to avoid interference with
  these lamebrained numskulls that they'd have to pamper and instruct.
       By midday, Siglen got so flustered that she rounded on Bralla.
       'If Earth Prime Reidinger has chosen Altair for this course, then
  we must cooperate with him in every possible way, and I am heartily
  tired of listening to your laments.
       Prime Reidinger knows exactly what he's doing.  And that's the end
  of that.' The Rowan could not help but notice the sly and secret glint
  in Bralla's eye: the diversion was successful; Siglen had had to resort
  to upholding Reidinger's decision.  The Rowan began to look forward to
  having company in her lessons.
       Later, when she asked Gerolaman, he handed her the ID file on his
  prospective pupils.
       'Facts and figures and holograms, he told her with a grin.  'Get
  to know them a little.  They won't know you're not the same general
  level as they are: Reidinger's orders,' he added when she stared in
  surprise.  'That's why there 're no indigenous Talents in the course.
       Make it easier for you to integrate in the group.' She took the
  file back to her quarters and ran it.  Each entry included a hologram,
  academic record, and a coded strip, obscuring private details from
  prying eyes but the open information reassured the Rowan.  Three boys
  and one girl were Earthborn: the twin brother and sister who were only
  a few months her junior, came from Procyon, the other two girls were
  Capellans.
       She called up the holograms and sat for a long while examining the
  likenesses and trying to imagine the personalities.  She stared longest
  at one of the Earth boys because Barinov was as handsome as a tri-d
  performer, with blond and curly hair that he wore long to his bare
  shoulders: he'd been hologrammed in swimming briefs.
       He deserved to be.  He was as muscular and gorgeous as Turian.
       And only three years older than she.  It was just as well moria
  wasn't Talented.  Then Rascal managed one of his incredible leaps from
  her tape sheif to her shoulder, demanding attention now that he had
  awakened from his latest nap.
       The students all arrived on the same official passenger shuttle
  which the Rowan and Gerolaman met.  They had obviously had a chance to
  become acquainted during the short transfer.  They were in high spirits
  as they crowded through the doorway, laughing and joking, their
  personal effects bags bobbing behind them in a display of kinetic
  skill.  Then one of the boys noticed Gerolaman and the Rowan and two of
  
  the bags dropped to the ground.
       'Tsk, tsk,' Gerolaman said, grinning a welcome.  'Stationmaster
  Gerolaman, T-5, and your instructor in this course.' He nudged the
  Rowan discreetly who was staring at Barinov.  He was even more handsome
  in the flesh, even flesh covered by casual clothing.
       'My name is Rowan,' she said.  'I hope you'll like it here on
  Altair.' She berated herself for her lapse in manners and smiled
  impartially around.  She felt two, no, four distinct mental touches,
  more like handshakes than intrusions.  She let them see her excitement
  at meeting new Talents and deflected.
       'Sure beats gloomy old Earth,' one of the boys said, raising a
  hand in greeting.  The Rowan recognized him from the hologram as Ray
  Loftus, born in the South African mega-city.  He shaded his eyes with
  one hand as he looked across the flat landing field toward Port's low
  skyline and whistled.  'Is that all the city you folks got?' he asked,
  adding a low disparaging whistle.
       'Abort, Ray,' laughed Patsy Kearn.  'Don't let him make fun of
  your city, Rowan.  That's all he's used to, cities.' 'Not cities, Pat,
  city, a proper high-tech skyscraping city,' Joe Toglia said, making
  outlines of huge buildings with a flailing of arms.  'I'm as much
  citified as he is even if my folks live at the perimeter of Midwest
  metro.  Hi, there, Rowan.  The Rowan responded to the friendly warmth
  emanating from the two Procyons, Mauli and Mick, the twin empaths.
       Theirs was a curious Talent since it had an echo effect: the
  second mind reinforcing what the first mind projected.  They weren't
  even attempting to shield so anyone could hear them.
       No-one quite knows what to do with that trick, Mauli told the
  Rowan.
       They would like to very much, Mick spoke almost simultaneously.
       They're certain we can be extremely useful If they can only figure
  out where, how, why.
       'That's enough of that,' Gerolaman said, scowling in mock reproof
  at all three.  'Not all of us are telepaths.  But every one of you
  knows the proper manners to display, don't you?  Now, whichever of you
  is kinetic, bring the gear and we'll get you settled in your quarters.'
  He shooed them toward the big passenger land vehicle.
       The Rowan clambered in last and sat next to the tall thin
  dark-haired Capellan, Goswina, who had a very private air about her.
       There was the faintest tinge of green to her skin.  Her eyes were
  also greenish, but closer to yellow.
       Seth and Barinov appeared to be continuing an argument but Barinov
  looked right at the Rowan and winked.  She wasn't quite sure what she
  should do.  She certainly wasn't going to imitate moria's arch coyness.
       'Altair is a lovely planet,' Goswina said in a gentle voice and
  the Rowan was grateful for the interruption.  'Capella is a very harsh
  place.  Are those really trees?' She pointed toward the wooded hills
  rising behind Port Altair.
       'Oh, yes.' 'And people can visit them?' 'Oh, yes,' although the
  Rowan realized that she'd never been to the forest.  An uneasy memory
  stirred in her mind but she lost the thought as she saw the rapt
  expression on Goswina's face as she continued to gaze in that
  direction.
       'Will we be allowed to visit the forest?' 'I don't see why not.
       You're eighteen and old enough to go unescorted anywhere.' 'You
  don't have problems with indent gangs?' Goswina looked mildly relieved.
       The Rowan lifted the explanation of this phenomena from Goswina's
  public mind: indent meant indentured, and on Capella groups of
  indentured persons would often indulge in unlawful activities once
  their worktime was over.
       'Not on Altair.  We don't have that many indentured people here
  
  yet.' 'You're lucky!  When there are a lot of them, they display the
  only talent they have: a propensity for violence.
       Then the land vehicle drew up in front of the guest accommodations
  and Ray Loftus whistled again, this time in appreciation.
       'Hey, not bad!  Not bad at all.  Glad I came!' He grinned broadly
  and hopped out of the vehicle, to be the first inside the facility.
       Samella was there and Ray's grin faded a little as he immediately
  recognized her supervisory attitude.
       The Rowan remained through introductory remarks from both
  Gerolaman and Samella on privileges, the conduct expected of the
  students, and handed out daily schedules.  Then each was assigned a
  room and told that they were free until the evening meal.
       'Aren't you staying, Rowan?' Goswina asked her as she turned to
  follow Gerolaman.
       'I have to stay in the Tower but I'll be back after The Rowan
  suppressed the fierce urge to teleport herself because Barinov was
  looking in her direction just then.  But, just in time, she remembered
  Gerolaman's warning.  A fourteen-year-old T-4 wouldn't be able to pull
  that sort of stunt yet.  Among other Talents, she didn't have to be
  quite so careful of using her abilities but it would be stupid to show
  off.  - Although she had been completely at her ease in that interview
  with Reidinger, it occurred to her that everyone else scrupulously
  obeyed him and she'd better, too.  If he wanted her to act no more
  Talented than a T-4, she would oblige.
       She was a bit surprised then when Gerolaman took her by the elbow
  and steered her back to the land vehicle.  He wasn't upset with her,
  his mind-touch the usual calm blue, with the yellow of laughter
  threading it, and the tang of him at a normal level.
       'No funny stuff, Rowan.  That's not part of this drill.
       Reidinger's orders!  Most of all, you don't swat an insect with a
  fifty-pound sledge, m'girl,' he murmured, grinning down at her.  But he
  ruffled her hair before she climbed into the vehicle.
       'Gotcha!' And she kept that advice firmly in the forepart of her
  mind over the next two months.  In the mornings while she was assisting
  Siglen, teleporting basic supplies to the outlying Claims, Gerolaman
  had the rest of them doing exercises she'd long learned and passed
  beyond.  She listened in and once in a while, when her stomach rolled
  with exasperation at Ray's awkwardness or Seth's incompetenceee, she'd
  give things a discreet push.  She didn't think Gerolaman noticed her
  minor interferences.
       She joined them in the afternoon for Gerolaman's lectures which
  covered every mechanical aspect of a Tower, including dismantling and
  reassembling of every piece of equipment and the diagnostic tests that
  would isolate a dysfunction.  Barinov and Seth were the mechanically
  apt Talents.  Gerolaman paired them with Ray and Goswina, timing them
  in reassembly.  Patsy Kearn was deft at micro-kinetics so she was
  teamed with Joe Toglia for computer-board repairs.  Then each of the
  students had to duplicate what others had done.  The Rowan had never
  had to work micro before and she found the exercise far more exhausting
  than assisting Siglen.  But she also found it exhilarating.
       Then Gerolaman set up situations which produced dysfunctions and
  each student had to write down ('and no peeking in anyone's head while
  you write,' Gerolaman warned) what they thought was the matter and how
  to repair it.
       It annoyed the Rowan that either Barinov or Seth finished their
  analysis first and smugly waited while the others thought the problem
  through, but she was more often correct than they were.
       'Arriving fast at the wrong answer can be more of a setback to a
  crippled Tower than taking that little bit longer and being accurate,'
  Gerolaman told the two, frowning at them.  'You two are supposed to be
  
  the mechanical Talents but Rowan's got a higher average of correct
  answers.  Tell the class exactly what led you to think this problem was
  caused by corrupted circuitry, Rowan.' She stammered at first in her
  explanation because Barinov's handsome face was sullen from the
  reprimand.
       Seth didn't mind as much but he wasn't the one that the Rowan
  wanted to attract.  Back in her own quarters after the session, she
  could not settle to anything, even to playing with Rascal who was in a
  vivacious humor, attacking pillows and rugs as if they were hostile
  enemies.
       Ordinarily his antics would have amused her.  She went to bed,
  still haunted by the sullen face of Barinov.
       To her complete surprise, the young man smiled broadly at her the
  next afternoon.  She was tempted to 'path him to find out what had
  occasioned the sudden alteration, but Siglen's training was too strong.
       And the Rowan was half afraid to try for fear of what she might
  learn.
       It was enough that he had smiled at her.
       She could and did keep from competing so accurately against him,
  pretending that she hadn't taken metal fatigue into consideration on
  that day's problem.  She didn't miss Gerolaman's surprise and decided
  she'd better 'pretend' a little less obviously.  However, when Barinov
  came over to sit by her at supper that night, smiling and friendly, she
  felt she had acted with discretion.
       'Look, we're all going into Port for a concert.  The twins are
  allowed so you should be able to come, too.  And we've talked Goswina
  into venturing forth so you'd be the only hold-out.  You haven't been
  grounded or anything, have you?' he added, noticing her hesitation.
       She also felt his mind push at hers and let him see that she
  wanted to come very much.  'So, ask Samella.  She cleared me for
  driving the landcar.' 'I see no harm, Samella said with a shrug.  'It's
  a group activity.' The Rowan had to dampen her elation and was rather
  put out that there wouldn't be time for her to go back to the Tower not
  unless she teleported - and Samella's knowing glance canceled that
  notion.  Even if she just 'lifted' a change of clothing from her closet
  to a toilet stall, there'd be questions.  But she was feminine enough
  to want to freshen up.
       'Don't delay, Rowan,' Barinov called after her.  'You look fine
  just the way you are.
       She wondered about that when she saw the smudges on her face and
  hands in the rest-room mirror.  Impartially, she examined herself: her
  dratted hair.  It just wasn't logical to be fourteen and silver haired,
  though there were other mutations that seemed less bizarre and no-one
  commented on them.  Her face was far too thin, narrow, with a pointy
  chin.  Her very thin high-arched eyebrows were at least fashionable but
  her eyes were too large for her face.  But she had a figure now: not
  much bosom but a big one would have made her look topheavy.  Why had
  Barinov smiled at her?  Especially after yesterday?  Maybe he wanted to
  figure out how she managed a higher percentage of correct answers.
       Well, two years in a busy Tower under Siglen's tutelage had not
  been useless even if Siglen still kept her to baby exercises.  Maybe
  when she finished this course creditably, Siglen might give her more
  responsibilities.
       The concert was very good indeed, with three bands and some
  extremely clever light and sound variations: much more sophisticated
  than the Favor Bay recital.  Barinov sat very close to her for the
  first part, his muscled thigh pressing against hers.  His energy was a
  rusty-brown, which surprised her, and his aroma was indefinable, not
  unpleasant, exactly, but not reassuring.
       What she really didn't like was the way he kept nudging her mind,
  
  poking here and there, trying to find a way in.
       In the first place it was very bad manners and in the second she
  did not like his insistence.  His intrusions increased when the light,
  sound, choreography, and lyrics combined into erotic suggestiveness:
  not highly erotic, just enough to get positive hoot-holler and whistle
  reactions from the audience.  They were sitting well up in the
  ampitheater so she couldn't miss seeing some couples, and several
  groups, moving into the dark outer corridors.  She knew such things
  occurred for Lusena had completely briefed her on sexuality and
  sensuality but this was the first time she'd witnessed it in public.
       On her other side, Goswina squirmed nervously.  Those furtive
  leavings distressed her.
       Subtly, the Rowan emanated a soothing empathy to ease Goswina and
  that seemed to help.
       The finale of the concert, however, was a deliberately sensual
  construction, ending on a triumphant blare of sound, spectacular light
  effects, and everyone on stage in frankly sensuous postures.  Goswina
  rose from her seat - to leave, not to cheer and shout approval.  The
  Rowan followed for she caught the girl's choked exclamations.
       ''Wino!  It's only a show!' the Rowan said, catching her up in the
  crowded parking lot.
       'Do they have to be so .  . .50 disgustingly vulgar?  Suggestive
  displays are simply not condoned in public on Capella.
       Goswina' s voice was low and taut with disgust and she was
  actually shaking in fury.  'I just hate it when it's so very obvious.
       It's supposed to be a very private, wonderful experience.  Not
  cheap, tawdry and .  . . and public.' Without meaning to pry, the Rowan
  'knew' that Goswina had had an attachment which had been deep and
  meaningful, which she had had to leave behind her for this course.
       That she missed her friend with an intensity that surprised her
  for she felt she was too young to have a lifetime commitment.
       Fortunately, Goswina was too involved in her own emotions to have
  been aware of the Rowan's trespass.  And the Rowan was involved in
  extricating herself so that she was not as aware of externals as she
  might have been.
       Moving shadows became the solid figures with imperfectly shielded
  intent.  Goswina let out a little scream before her mouth was covered
  and her arms pinned tightly to her sides just as the Rowan felt herself
  attacked.
       'Oh no, you don't!' She snarled aloud, but mentally stabbed out,
  exerting a kinesis in all directions for she wasn't sure how many
  attackers there were.  Indiscriminately she sent them all spinning away
  from Goswina and herself.  She didn't bother to limit the push she
  exerted and had the intense satisfaction of hearing soft bodies meeting
  solid objects with considerable force, inflicting pain and damage.
       Ruthlessly she closed her mind, sparing herself their anguish and,
  for the time being, any immediate sense of guilt at having injured
  another human being.
       'Rowan!' her companion gasped.  'What did you do?' 'Only what they
  deserved.  Let's get out of here,' and the Rowan grasped Goswina and
  pulled her out of the shadows and into the more brightly lit parking
  field.  'There'll be public cabs at the 'But 'No buts, no explanations
  and don't tell me you want to be involved in those!' 'Oh, no!  No!  Oh,
  dear!  We should have stayed with the others.' 'We should have, but we
  didn't.' The Rowan was getting exasperated with Goswina.  Ray,
  Goswina's taking me home.  I feel sick.  Ray Loftus would be less
  likely to question a 'pathed message from her.  And right now, she
  didn't want anything to do with Barinov 'S curious interest.
       'I've told Ray that we're going back separately.  Now, c'mon.
       There're plenty of cars.' Goswina was quite willing to let the
  
  younger girl take the initiative.  She collapsed into the corner of the
  car which monotonously inquired the destination 'The Tower.' 'The Tower
  is restricted.
       'I am the Rowan.' The car responded by lifting from the road and
  smoothly turning south-east, gaining altitude quickly and speeding
  toward the now visible configuration of lights about the Tower complex.
       'You're not a T-4, are you, Rowan?' Goswina asked in a quiet
  voice.
       'No.  I'm not.
       Goswina sighed then, relief and satisfaction emanating from her.
       'So you're the reason this course is being held on Altair.  You're
  a potential Prime so you can't travel.' 'I don't know that I'm the
  reason - Goswina uttered a noise of disbelief.  'You'll need a Station
  support team.  You'll need people you can trust and empathize with.
       Building a team takes a lot of time and experimentation.  I know.
       My parents are Capellan support personnel.  That's why they let me
  come, in the hopes that I'd be acceptable .  . . to you when you're
  Stationed.' The Rowan could find no immediate reply.  But Goswina's
  explanation made a lot of sense.  How many of this group had guessed
  the purpose?  And her real Talent stature.  Barinov?  That made more
  sense than his developing a true attachment for an odd-looking
  adolescent.
       'Please, Rowan.  I like you very much and I'm very grateful to you
  but we would not work well together.
       I .  . . I frighten easily and you're very strong.  That's good,'
  Goswina said hastily, lightly touching the Rowan's arm and the girl
  could see Goswina's gentle smile, 'for you.  You must be strong.  I
  don't honestly think I'm the sort of person who should be in a Tower.
       But my parents wanted me to have this chance.  My younger brother,
  Afra, he's only six but he's already shown considerable potential.  At
  the least, T-4, in both 'path and 'port.  He adores going to the Tower
  with my father and Capella's always teasing him that he's going to take
  over from father' The Rowan chuckled and briefly clasped Goswina's
  fingers in hers, emphasizing her appreciation and friendship.  Goswina
  was delicate blue and florally fragrant.
       'I think we'd better deal with the present, Goswina.
       Now, you're not to say anything when we get back 'except that I
  didn't feel well.  The place got so loud and stuffy 'It was open air,
  Rowan 'The noise!  And all that lighting gave me a headache.
       That's what you're to say 'But those 'Thugs?' the Rowan filled in
  wryly 'They'll know they've been acted against.  And you hurt them.'
  'Let them explain why - if they give anyone the chance to ask.' The
  Rowan refused to relent.  She was furious that, having assured Goswina
  that Port Altair was a safe place, they had actually been assaulted.
       And Goswina, too, whose empathy made her the least able to have to
  cope with nastiness.
       'You were much braver than I would have been.' The Rowan snorted.
       'Not brave.  Angry.  Here we are.
       'Occupants: identify.' 'The Rowan here and Goswina of Capella,'
  and the car was permitted through the security web 'Now, you see me to
  the Tower, Goswina, and then the car'll take you to your quarters.
       That way we keep to the story,' the Rowan said, giving the
  necessary directions.
       'Remember now, Goswina,' she said as she got out at the Tower
  entrance.  'And when he's old enough, I'll make sure Afra takes the
  course here, too.' 'Oh, would you?' Then the car carried her away.
       The Rowan told Lusena about her headache caused by the blinding
  flickering lights and meekly agreed to having her eyes tested the next
  day.  While Barinov was concentrating on the problem that Gerolaman had
  given them to solve, she had no compunction about probing in past his
  
  public mind.  She didn't know his source but it was clear to her that
  Barinov was deliberately cultivating her because he'd learned that she
  was a potential Prime.  She had no further hesitation then about
  competing against him, or any of the others.  A Prime ran the Station:
  sentiment did not enter into its management.
       So during the last week of the course, she ran Barinov a very
  subtle dance which occasionally caused the gentle Goswina to flush.
       Over the next four years, other courses were given by Gerolaman at
  Altair which the Rowan was not specifically required to attend.  She
  often dropped in when it came to the troubleshooting: She liked
  matching wits with the other students but she never permitted herself
  to become too friendly with any of them.  She ignored overheard
  insinuations that she was cold, aloof, too haughty, conceited,
  stuck-up.  She was pleasant enough to everyone, even those she
  genuinely liked, but she kept those preferences to herself.  Sometimes
  Gerolaman would invite her into his office to have an informal chat and
  discuss her opinions about this or that student.
       At some point after each course had finished, Reidinger would
  contact her for a talk, discussing various aspects of the material
  covered, and the problems proposed and solved.
       The Rowan told Lusena that she felt as if she was being given a
  long-distance final exam.
       'Well, I'd say you were lucky, young lady, to have his personal
  interest.  Bralla says,' and here Lusena grinned with some malice,
  'that he expects monthly reports from Siglen about your progress.' 'Oh,
  is that why she suddenly allows me to handle the ore drones?' The Rowan
  was not completely satisfied to be given the chore since the routing
  was usually pretty basic transferral.  'How many years will she keep me
  on inanimates before I'm allowed a real job?' Lusena had no adequate
  consolation.  Instead, backed by Reidinger's authority, she could and
  did arrange for the Rowan to take time away from the Tower.  When Tower
  traffic was very slow, they went camping on long weekends on Altair's
  scenic Eastern Shore and several times on the Great Southern Wasteland
  which, the guide showed them, was teeming with all sorts of insect and
  invertebrate life forms, fantastic flowers that blamed at night or in
  the dawn-lit hours, drooping and dying once the blazing Altairian
  primary seared the planet's equatorial areas.  The Rowan enjoyed water
  sports the most so that the executive house at Favor Bay was a frequent
  holiday site: Bardy and her husband, or Finnan and his wife and young
  children joining them.
       The summer of her sixth year at the Tower coincided with the
  scheduling of a larger than average group, some of whom were older
  personnel from planetary as well as interior stations, taking the
  course as a refresher.  By this time, most of the students knew that
  the Rowan was an unusually strong telepath and teleporter: the
  likelihood was that she would make Prime.
       Where, in the Nine-Star League, was the real quandary.
       Plainly, it would not be Altair for there was no deraliction of
  Siglen's sure handling of her Tower; David was firmly entrenched at
  Betelgeuse, Capella at her Station.  Procyon's Guzman was aging but
  still years away from retirement.
       There was no possibility of her acceding to Earth Prime but the
  rumor strengthened that Reidinger might settle some of his more onerous
  duties on her.  Or that League Council might be considering a Station
  at Deneb, one of the newest colonies, though that was most unlikely.  A
  colony had to have both exports and the credit to purchase imports from
  League members as well as sufficient off planet correspondence, or a
  trade route, to justify the expense of establishing a Tower.  Right
  now, Deneb had no surplus of material or credit.
       'I've told Reidinger,' Gerolaman said to Lusena the evening before
  
  the new group was to arrive, 'something's got to be done for the Rowan.
       She'll get stale, bored, and while she's a sensible kid, it's not
  right to keep her twiddling her thumbs.  She knows far more about
  Station mechanics and operational procedures than Siglen ever did.
       She's fully capable of Prime responsibilities right now and she
  isn't even at full adult strength.' He shook his head slowly,
  fretfully.
       'And that woman never gives her any real work.' 'Humph.  She's
  jealous of the child, and you know it as well as Bralla and i do.'
  'She's always going to be a child in Siglen's lexicon.  I often
  wonder,' and Gerolaman scratched his jaw, 'if it wouldn't have been
  better to have sedated the child and taken her to Earth when you had
  the chance.' 'Oh, no,' Lusena said, sitting upright in contradiction.
       'You weren't there.  You didn't see the terror in her face when we
  tried to get her to board the shuttle.  And her mind was chaotic with
  fear.  That's why Siglen intervened.
       She wouldn't have otherwise, I assure you.  That was the only time
  I've ever seen Siglen worried about someone other than herself!  And
  you know that Primes are agoraphobes.  Look at the breakdown David of
  Betelgeuse went through.  And Capella!  They had awful voyages to their
  stations.' Gerolaman scratched his head thoughtfully.  'Well, Siglen
  sure was sick.  I came on the same ship and there was more medical
  staff than Station personnel, from the Moon onward.  Though I thought
  at the time, she was hoping they wouldn't send her to Altair.  She was
  so sure that she'd be Earth Prime if she just hung around long enough
  down at the Blundell Building,' he said in a dissatisfied grumble.
       Then he picked up the sheaf of hard copy, the records of the
  incoming group.  'I think something's going to happen soon, though.
       Look, every one of the repeats is someone the Rowan worked well
  with in the courses.  Ray Loftus, Joe Toglia: they've been transferred
  from Capella with excellent ratings.  Reidinger's tagged three for me
  to vet as potential Stationmasters.  He hasn't done that before.
       Devious, that man is.  Pure devious.' 'If only he'd tell the
  Rowan, maybe she wouldn't spend so much time fretting.' 'You take her
  off to Favor Bay, just as you planned.
       Give her a good break, and come back in time for her to show these
  lamebrains up in the troubleshooting phase.' Lusena started to smile at
  the relish in Gerolaman's malicious anticipation and then sighed.  'If
  she were just a little more subtle with her corrections, a little less
  forceful in her opinions.  Gerolaman raised his eyes in surprise and
  waggled a finger at the woman.  'Station crew measure up to their
  Prime, you know that, Lusena.  That's what all this is about.  They
  support the Prime, they assist the Prime and the Prime calls the plays.
       Primes aren't in it for popularity awards.  They've got to be
  tough on everyone and are usually tougher on themselves.' He made a
  slicing motion with his hands.  'That's the way it's got to be or FT&T
  falls apart.  Let that happen and then the League has a wedge to gain
  control.  FT&T won't function half as well as a bureaucracy, with this
  system or that system throwing its weight around and demanding
  preferential thises and thats.  FT&T is strictly first-come,
  first-served: high, low, or middle men get the same considerations.' 'I
  do,' and Lusena gave a rueful sigh, 'but I don't forget that she's a
  lonely child, and always has been.' 'But not for always.  Yegrani
  promised.' 'A promise which is a long time coming.' With that Lusena
  left the Stationmaster's office.  'And I have guarded the guardian,'
  she muttered to herself with considerable satisfaction.
       Favor Bay in the full height of spring was glorious and Lusena
  noticed that the Rowan began to brighten as soon as she stepped from
  the groundcar.
       'The only thing wrong with this place,' the Rowan said, glancing
  
  about and then pulling windswept silver hair off her face, 'is that I
  can't bring Rascal with me.' 'He doesn't seem to mind being left with
  Gerry,' Lusena replied.
       'True cupboard love,' the Rowan said with a wry grin, 'so long as
  you feed me, I love you.' Lusena laughed.  'Partly, but he is
  affectionate with you and runs to the door whenever he hears you
  coming.  He never notices me even when I feed him and he only tolerates
  Gerolaman.' The Rowan made a skeptical noise in her throat, and turned
  to 'port first Lusena's baggage and then her own up to their respective
  rooms.  'Someday it would be nice to have something who loved me!  Not
  the Rowan Prime, not the provider, but me!  Someone preferably.' Lusena
  replied in the same objective tone of voice.
       'You're eighteen now.
       'Are we sure of that?' 'Medically, yes,' Lusena said with a
  tartness in her reply.  The Rowan still yearned to discover the minor
  details most people grew up knowing: birthdate, family name, family
  background.
       'Not many people here in Favor Bay know that you're Talented, much
  less Altair's coveted young Prime.  You've always been here as part of
  a family group.  You're fully old enough to do a bit of private
  research.' The Rowan regarded Lusena with a wide-eyed smile.
       'Siglen would have apoplexy if she heard you say that!
       Persons with our Talents and responsibilities cannot indulge in
  gross physical activities.' Her mimicry was devastatingly accurate.
       'Gross physical, indeed,' and Lusena laughed.  'Oh, I shouldn't
  laugh at her, but really, Rowan, Siglen is not temperamentally, or
  physically, suited to enjoying the "finer emotions in life 'Even if she
  recognized them.  .
       'Whereas you're a slender young.
       'Fey-looking, isn't that what that redheaded Earth kinetic in last
  year's course called me?' The Rowan shot Lusena a challenging look.
       'Fey is attractive.' Lusena refused to budge from that
  interpretation.
       They were in the house now and the Rowan peered at her features in
  the hall mirror.  'I could dye my hair!' 'Why not?' 'Indeed, and why
  not?' They tried several shades but, although the Rowan would have
  preferred to wear long black tresses, she didn't have the right skin
  tone to go brunette.  So they settled on a mid-blonde.  For summer
  wear, the Rowan decided to have short curly hair as well and the result
  pleased them both.
       'Any improvement?' the Rowan wanted to know, twisting a curl to
  curve down on to her brow.
       'Piquant!  Fashionably sensible.  Now, go enjoy yourself.
       The color's guaranteed not to fade in sun or sea.' 'I'll just swim
  and sun a bit: to make sure the claim is accurate.  Coming along?' 'Not
  today,' and Lusena shooed the Rowan on her way.
       There was a good deal to be ordered for the food preparation unit.
       Some visitors were not as scrupulous in replenishing stocks when
  they left.
       A leisurely swim, time to adjust her skin tone to a decent tan,
  greatly improve the Rowan's mood.  She and Lusena dined out and several
  men cast admiring looks in their direction.
       'You're sure no-one here knows who I am?' 'Not likely.  Besides,
  even Gerolaman would have to look twice to recognize you right now.
       Oh,' and here Lusena shrugged her shoulders, 'it's suspected that
  you might have some Talent, but then a third of the planet can lay
  claim to some sort of minor Talent.' 'It'd even be nicer to be me and
  not have to worry about that sort of thing at all.
       Lusena wasn't sure if the Rowan had spoken that wistful sentence
  aloud or not.  Over the years, Lusena had occasionally 'heard' purely
  
  mental comments but she'd never mentioned it to save the Rowan any
  embarrassment at having been overheard.  On the other hand, it
  signified the girl's complete trust in her.  Lusena had never regretted
  these fifteen years, though now and then both Bardy and Finnan had
  unkind words about her dedication.
       That was why, two days later, when Bardy's husband, Jedder Holey,
  advised that her daughter had gone into an early labor, Lusena felt
  obligated to leave immediately to Haleys' claim site on the eastern
  edge of the Great Southern Wastelands.
       'If I tag along, Bardy'll be upset, the Rowan told her firmly.
       'Bardy needs you by yourself.  You said I'm old enough to manage
  for myself.  And you did say,' the Rowan went on, overriding Lusena's
  objections, 'that no one knows exactly what or who I am so I'm
  perfectly safe.
       Frankly, I'd welcome the idea of a few days alone.  Most kids are
  out on their own at sixteen.  I can't be vacuumwrapped all my life.'
  The Rowan had read deeply enough in one quick shot to perceive all
  Lusena's reservations and her dilemma over her daughter.  'It isn't as
  if I can't keep in touch, dear Lusena.  I'll behave.  I'm not Moria!'
  'Indeed you're not!' Lusena had never forgiven her niece even if her
  brother remained unaware of why the holiday had been shortened by
  several days.
       'We might as well use Camella's shuttle since it's at the airfield
  for our use.  You'd have no delays getting there then,' the Rowan
  continued, rapidly but neatly filling Favor Bay took on a glamourie
  that it had never before Lusena's travelpak with items from her
  drawers.  'You'll be on your way in ten minutes.  Bardy can't ask for a
  better response than that!' 'Oh dear!' Lusena's mobile face shadowed
  with regret.
       'Nonsense, dearest friend,' and the Rowan embraced her, wrapping
  Lusena with love, affection, and understanding.  'I did monopolize you,
  and you know I did.
       Bardy has every right to resent me deep inside but she was
  generous enough never to chide me for it out loud.  I needed you far
  more than she did.  Until now.  She needs you now.' As the Rowan stood
  on the verandah, she felt the oddest exhilaration: a curious sort of
  release, even though Lusena had always been discreet and subtle in her
  care of the Rowan, so that there had never been a reason to resent the
  supervision.  But she was alone - alone for the first time in fifteen
  years, since that famous miraculous escape of hers.
       Not even a pukha with her She spun on her heel and went back into
  the house, slapping her hand against the door, running fingers along
  the hall table, pinging the vase with its fresh spring blossoms,
  twirling into the sitting room and stroking the polished wood, the
  brocade of a chair, as if to establish their inanimacy and that she was
  the only living being in the house.  She whirled in a wild pirouette
  and then collapsed on to the sofa, laughing at her own whimsy.
       What a wonderful feeling.  To be alone!  To be on her own!  At
  last.
       She reached out for Lusena's mind: The poor woman was still
  dubious about the wisdom of leaving her charge all by herself, but she
  really had to respond to Bardy's appeal.  The Rowan softly and gently
  lifted the anxiety from Lusena's mind, setting up a diversion anytime
  Lusena might start to worry about the Rowan who was going to thoroughly
  enjoy her first really true holiday from her previous regime.
       had for the Rowan.  She ate only when she felt hungry, with no
  Lusena to remind her of 'normal' mealtimes.
       Especially with no Siglen encouraging her to eat this, or have
  more of that, or please to finish the food she was given since there
  were many in the world who were starving for a taste of such
  
  magnificent cuisine.  By the time she felt any hunger, she was ravenous
  indeed and took one of the cycles down to the main town, following her
  nose to the best of the many smells wafting about on the light spring
  breeze.
       She parked the cycle in the rack outside a charcoal shop and
  glanced through the handprinted menu hanging from the ceiling.  The
  smell of roasting fish tantalized her so she took her place beside the
  other patron in the grill shop.  A second discreet look at his profile,
  and a light touch at his mind, and she recognized Turian, their captain
  and guide on that first Favor Bay excursion.
       'What d'they do best here?  It all smells so good,' she asked.
       'I'm having the redfish steak sandwich, he said, smiling down at
  her.  'Pretty little thing,' his mind was saying, 'can't be a student
  as it's not holidays yet.  A convalescent?
       Looks tired.  Lovely eyes.
       The Rowan wasn't sure that she was pleased or annoyed by the fact
  that he didn't recognize her.  Well, he must have hundreds of clients
  in a single summer.  Why would he recall one adolescent girl?
       'Are they all redfish?' she asked.
       'No, but that's the freshest,' Turian replied.  'I saw it unloaded
  from the dock a half hour ago.' 'Then that's for me.' So when the
  attendant asked her choice, she pointed and had a hard time not
  listening in on Turian's stream of consciousness.  He was mentally
  reviewing a list of things he had to do to get his ship back into
  commission and wondering if he had enough credit to do the jobs
  properly or where he could stint without risking the safety of his
  clients or his ship.  He was hungry after a morning scrubbing the
  winter's grime from the hull and the aroma was increasing the saliva in
  his mouth.  Or was it the proximity of the pretty girl?  She was enough
  to make any man's mouth water.  A little on the thin side: with that
  tan, she'd been here a few days at least.  Strange!  her face was oddly
  familiar.  No.  He had to be mistaken: he'd never seen her here in
  Favor Bay before.
       'D'you come from around here?' he asked, to pass the time while
  his fishsteak was cooking.
       'No.  From 'Port.
       'On holiday?' 'Yes, I had to take it early this year.  Office
  schedules rarely give juniors a break.' That should answer his
  questions.  'And you?' 'I'm getting my ship ready for the summer.' 'Oh,
  what sort of ship do you own?' Might as well start afresh with him.
       That way he was less likely to remember the details of the earlier
  acquaintanceship - and how old she really was.
       He grinned.  'Tour the sea gardens!  Swim with the denizens of the
  Deep!  That sort of thing.' If I earn enough in the summer, I can sail
  all winter where I choose to go, was his silent addition.
       'Always in Favor Bay?' She didn't recall seeing him last year, not
  that she'd been looking for him, or had revisited the sea gardens.
       'Not always.  Altair has some splendid harbors.  I move around a
  lot but this is a good spot in the summer.' The attendant set their
  dishes on the counter and was asking for payment and, as the Rowan dug
  into the pockets of her light jacket, she flushed with embarrassment as
  her fingers touched only three small credit pieces.
       How could she have been so stupid?  Always she'd had Lusena to
  remind her.  On her first solo outing, she forgot the most basic
  requirement.  She pulled out what she had, an inadequate sum for the
  meal.
       'Ooops!' She gave the attendant and Turian an apologetic grin and
  thought hard as to where in the house she'd left her purse.  She could
  'port enough into the pocket of her shorts.
       'Here!  Let me, said Turian, smiling.  It beats eating by myself
  
  and she's not on the take or make, not this one.
       The Rowan's relieved smile was more for his charitable thoughts
  than the deed of paying for her meal.
       'I insist you allow me to pay you back,' she said as he motioned
  toward an empty spot on the deck overlooking the bay.  'I left my
  credits at home.  True holiday mindlessness.' 'Tell you what.  I'll
  spot you the sandwich for a couple of hours of not so hard labor.  If
  your folks won't object.' 'It's my holiday,' she said.  'But surely
  there're enough.  . .' she gestured to the men and women walking up and
  down the street outside.
       'Everyone's busy getting their own places in order.
       Mainly I need a couple of extra hands and someone who can take
  simple instructions.' His grin told her she more than qualified.  'I'll
  teach you how to rig sail.  A skill guaranteed to be useful - sometime
  in your life again!' The Rowan knew very well that he intended no more
  than that.  Turian was still, as he had been four years before, a
  genuine and honest man.
       'Done!  A spot of hard work'd do me good and be a nice change from
  sitting on my duff in an office.  Where do I report to work in the
  morning, sir?' And she flicked her hand in a nautical type salute.
       'Cender's Boat Yard.  Down there!  Mine's the sloop rigged fifteen
  meter with the blue hull.' Grinning, she raised her sandwich and bit
  into the crusty bread and hot flaky fish.  The piquant sauce she'd
  slathered on the fish flowed down her chin.  She cleared the overflow
  with a finger and then licked it.  Turian was doing the same thing and
  his grin was one of camaraderie.
       When they finished their meal, he insisted on adding 'alters' to
  her tab with him: a half melon full of fresh spring soft fruits and a
  cup of the local infusion.  Then he asked her to arrive by 7.00 50
  they'd finish the heavy part before the sun was high and gave her a
  courteous farewell.
       He went off, talking himself out of making any passes at such a
  young thing.  He had the summer before him and he usually had many
  options.
       Somewhat piqued, the Rowan cycled back wondering how to prove to
  him that she wasn't as young as all that!
       He was a good person, honorable and sensible, a capable seaman,
  and an interesting guide.
       Back in the cottage, she decided to study tomorrow's tasks.  She
  accessed information on sail-rigging, on seamanship in general, pausing
  long enough on the sections of refitting a ship that had been stored
  over the winter period to assimilate all the information available.
       Primes were generally blessed with photographic memories as
  perfect recall was a boon for the sometimes split-second decisions
  which their duties often required them to make.
       Not all those with the same basic Talents the Rowan possessed
  would be suitable as Primes.
       She also checked with the Maritime Commission Records concerning
  the credentials of one Turian Negayon Salik and, using her Station
  password, looked over his personal records, fending nothing untoward.
       Turian was thirty-two years Standard.  Sun creases made him look a
  few years older.  (From comments made by some of the females on the
  various courses, older men were apt to be more considerate.) He was
  single, had never even filed an intent to marry, let alone a short-term
  parental contract.  He did have a large number of siblings and
  immediate relatives, most of them involved in the sea enterprises.
       Aware of a curious absence in the documentation of himself and
  other members of his family, the Rowan had to sit and think what was
  missing.  Then it dawned on her: neither he nor any of his relations
  had ever taken a Talent test.  This was most unusual since most
  
  families ardently looked for signs of such abilities, minor or major,
  in their progeny.  Recognizable, measurable Talent meant preferential
  schooling, and often grants-in-aid for the entire family.  Not,
  perhaps, as necessary on a rich, fertile, mainly unsettled planet as
  Altair, but generally comfortable additions to incomes.  There was no
  law requiring registration at a Talent testing center but it was an odd
  enough omission.
       She checked on his ship, the Miraki, and had its voyages for the
  past four years graphed out so that she knew where he had sailed,
  anchored, and who his passengers had been.
       She learned that when he had finished his apprenticeship with a
  maternal uncle, he had been granted part of the credit needed to
  purchase the sloop, worked for the balance, and now owned her free and
  clear.  The Miraki was licensed for charter, for trawling and for
  exploration, and in the eight years since her commissioning, had done
  about every job her size permitted.  Her seaworthiness records had been
  scrupulously kept up to date and she had acquired no fines, penalties,
  or damages.
       The Rowan woke at six, ate a hearty breakfast and was nearly late
  at Cender's Boat Yard because she spent so much time choosing
  appropriate clothing.  That is, clothing appropriate for the end result
  she now wished.  She was about to leave at fifteen minutes before the
  hour - the boat yard being downhill from the house - when she realized
  that Turian had been evading, or avoiding, the stalkings of many girls
  far more adept at this sort of flirting than she.
       He thought her a nice young girl, a bit too thin.  Well, she'd
  start right there.  And elaborate.
       So she appeared at the boat yard, promptly at the tone of seven on
  the tri-d blaring from the boat yard office window, in workmanlike
  gear, and a change tied on to the handlebars of the cycle.  Her review
  last night indicated she was likely to get wet and dirty.  She also had
  a hefty handful of credits stuffed into her spare-pants pocket.
       'Have you ever rigged sail before?' Turian asked halfway through
  the morning as yet again, she anticipated an instruction.
       'Well, yes and no.  Sailing's always fascinated me so I boned up
  on re-rigging sails.  A good tertiary education teaches you how to fend
  out what you don't know.' 'I'll give you this: you're deft at putting
  theory into practice.  Intelligent helpers are hard to get in any line
  of work.  What do you do?' 'Oh, boring stuff, expediting imports and
  exports,' and she added a diffident shrug.  'But the pay's decent and
  the perks aren't bad.  I'd need off-world training for any decent
  advancement.  I'm being a good company person until they notice that
  I'm keen to advance.  This one has her head screwed on right, was
  Turian's thought.  He wasn't a devious person so it wasn't as if she
  was invading his privacy: everything was right up front, like an
  unvoiced monologue.
       As the sun reached its zenith in the brilliant cloudless skies, he
  called a halt and suggested they take a quick dip at the end of the
  boat yard wharf to cool off here lunch.
       She peeled to swim briefs and was into the water before him,
  laughing and splashing at him.  He still had a finely made, strong
  body, enhanced by the deep bronze of his skin.
       Refreshed after the swim, they climbed back on to the wharf and
  sat in the shadow of drying trawl nets.
       'You're such a good worker, I'll spot you lunch,' he said
  gratefully.
       'One meal you may buy: two within twenty-fours is not on.  I
  brought enough for both of us.' His sea-light eyes crinkled into the
  sun creases as he stood, dripping wet, hands on his hips and looked
  down at her.
  
       'You're a smarty, aren't you?' 'Fair's fair.  You helped me out of
  a spot: I paid my way out of the debt.  Now I want to make it one up on
  you and the price is a sail when the Miraki is back in the water.
       Done?' They shook on it, Turian laughing while his mind admired
  her independence.  She wished he wouldn't think quite so loud: it gave
  her an unfair advantage over him.
       And yet, she seemed to be making all the right moves to prove that
  she was not as young as she might look.
       It took them three more days to be sure the Miraki was seaworthy,
  with the Rowan working right beside him, trying not to anticipate
  pre-vocal orders too frequently.  In the cool of the evening, as he
  checked off completed chores on his master list, he'd tell her what
  they'd be doing the next day.  If she had to study up on something
  varnishing required no mental effort at all, but she found the physical
  effort, especially through her shoulders rather a remarkable experience
  - she would access the proper authority before she went to bed.  She
  was sleeping much better than she had in many months.
       When Turian had every inch of the Miraki, hull, deck, bilge, boom,
  mast, sheets, rigging, engines, cockpit, galley, and living quarters
  shipshape, he had the Favor Bay Marine Engineer come to recertify her
  seaworthiness.
       She passed and the Rowan could not restrain the shout of triumph
  at what she considered a personal achievement.
       'Now, do I get my sail?' she demanded when Turian returned from
  escorting the Engineer back to the wharf.
       'Weather report says tomorrow's going to be clear, with a
  fifteen-knot breeze nor'-nor'east.' Turian chuckled and reached out to
  ruffle her curls.  She squashed the sudden surge of keen sexual
  awareness of him that his casual caress elicited.  She mustn't
  overreact to a friendly touch.  But his affectionate, half-fooling
  gesture had not surprised her as much because he had extended the
  caress as because physical touching was rare between Talents, and
  reserved for moments to reinforce mental bridgings.  She didn't wish to
  prematurely give away her designs on one Captain Turian who still
  considered her as a 'young' girl despite her attempts to educate him.
       'Yes, you get your sail.  Can you take a full day of it?' 'I've
  sailed before, Captain Turian,' she said archly, 'and I've a cast-iron
  stomach.' 'I'll provision her if you'll take charge of the galley,' he
  offered.  'And bring a change of clothing and a stout windbreaker.' He
  looked appraisingly up at the sky, squinting at its brilliance, his
  eyes narrowed.  'I make it we'll have a change in the weather before
  the day's out.' 'Really?' She laughed at his assurance.  'Meteorology's
  pretty advanced these days.' Parting his lips in a wise smile that
  showed her white but slightly crooked teeth, he nodded.  'Can you be
  down here at 4.00 a.m. to catch the turn of the tide?' 'Aye, aye,
  Captain,' and she flicked an impudent salute at him before mounting her
  cycle and treadling off the wharf.
       The first thing she did when she got back to the cottage was get
  an update on the weather pattern.  She knew that he had not accessed
  his ship's facility so she was intrigued to find that a new
  low-pressure pattern was forming in the arctic.  How in the name of all
  the holies had he known something which was happening thousands of
  klicks away?  And his family had never tested for Talent?
       Curiouser and curiouser!  The Rowan made up her sailing pack, and
  stuffed in wet-weather and a few non-essentials that might prove
  useful.
       With her pack slung over her shoulders, she cycled down in the
  faint light of the dawn, grateful she knew every rut and hole in the
  road to the main wharf.  When she hailed the Miraki, moored fore and
  aft to the wharf and gently rocking in the outgoing tide, her voice
  
  seemed overloud.
       'Stow that cycle and loose the aft line, mister,' Turian said,
  emerging from the cabin and pacing to the cockpit.
       'Now, stand by the forward line and we'll get underway.' Laughing
  at how nautical Turian had become, the Rowan did as she was bid and
  neatly jumped to the deck to coil the forward line as the Miraki's
  blades took hold and propelled her away from the wharf.
       'Stow your gear, mister, and grab us both a cup of the brew.
       We'll need it,' he said, 'while we're clearing the harbor.' As she
  cheerfully did his bidding, she was positive that this was going to be
  a glorious day, certainly a highspot in the past year.  She hadn't an
  ounce of precognition in her Talent but there were moments, and this
  was one of them, when you didn't have to be clairvoyant to know the
  auspices were good.
       Once clear of the harbor and beyond the fishing boats chugging
  more slowly out to their day's labors, Turian ordered the sails
  hoisted.  The exhilaration in being under sail in a stiff breeze and
  hull down in the sea thrilled the Rowan and she caught Turian's
  tolerant grin at her abandonment to the experience.
       'I thought you said you'd sailed before,' he said, half teasing as
  they sat in the cockpit, Turian's capable hand on the tiller between
  them.
       'I have, but never quite like this.  Always on "outings", not
  adventures like this.' Turian threw back his head with a hearty guffaw.
       'Well, if a common ordinary shakedown sail is an "adventure" for
  you, then I'm glad to have offered you this rare occasion.' '00 Poor
  kid, his mind said, though his glance on her was kind, if this is all
  the adventure she's ever had.
       However, he intended to give her full measure of the experience
  and in doing so, forgot his own weather prediction.  He had filed a day
  trip to Islay, the largest of the nearby coastal islands, but they made
  such good speed to their destination that he decided to continue on,
  picking up the Southerly Current.  That should carry them neatly to the
  southern tip of Yona, then they'd swing nor'west and come up the coast
  back to Favor Bay.  That would make it more of an adventure for her.
       Meanwhile he took great pleasure in seeing the girl so eager and
  vivacious: She didn't relax much and, although he approved her
  diligence, she got far too tense doing the simplest jobs.  The odd time
  or two she had spoken with an authority and maturity that surprised him
  yet at other times she seemed even younger than she looked.
       The purple mountains of Islay Island, with Yona just south of it,
  were on the horizon when Turian sent her below to her galley chores.
       By the time they had sated their sea-sharpened hunger, he had
  steered in close enough for the settlement on Islay to be visible.
       They picked up the current and the girl's eyes widened at the way
  the Miraki drove now, spume flying the bow, heeled over.  He had her
  furl the jib and he close-hauled the mainsail.  Just as she came aft
  again to join him in the cockpit, he heard the chatter of the
  Met-alarm.
       'Grab the printout, would you, Rowan,' Ttrian said, 'and get us
  something warm to drink.' He craned his head about, but there weren't
  many clouds yet on the northern horizon.
       'You were right about a weather change, she said, coming back on
  deck with steaming mugs in her hands.
       'Low-pressure ridge making down from the arctic, crowded isobars
  so the winds are likely to be gale-force.' She pulled the printed sheet
  out of her pocket and handed it to him.  'But you knew about a change
  yesterday.
       He laughed as he read the Met report, cramming it into his pocket
  to take the mug in his free hand.  'My family have been seafarers for
  
  centuries.  We've got a kind of instinct for the weather.' 'You're
  weather-Talents?' He gave her a very odd look.  'No, nothing formal
  like that.' 'How do you know?  Didn't you get tested?' 'Why?  All the
  men in my family have the weather sense.
       We don't need to be tested.' He shrugged, taking a cautious sip of
  the hot soup in the mug.
       'But .  but most people want to be Talented.' 'Most people want
  more than they need,' he replied.  'As long as I've a ship to sail and
  an ocean to sail her on, enough money to keep her safely afloat, I'm
  satisfied.' The Rowan stared at him, bemused by his philosophy.
       'It's a good life, Rowan,' and he gave an emphatic movement of his
  head.  Then he smiled at her.  'There have to be some like us on every
  world, who are content with what they have, and not bored by sitting on
  their butts all day in an office, shuffling papers about.' She caught
  in his mind an acceptance of that ineffable consciousness which was not
  at all a lack of ambition: but a totally different life-style.  It was
  part of his innate honesty and ethics.  Briefly she envied him his
  certitude.  She had no argument against it though she could never have
  been allowed to live as he could.  That she almost resented.
       From the moment she was rescued from the little hopper, there was
  no alternative path for her to follow.
       'You're a lucky man, Captain Turian,' she said, with a twisted
  envious smile.
       'Why is it, Rowan, that sometimes you seem decades older than you
  can possibly be?' 'Sometimes, Captain Turian, I am decades older than I
  should be.' That puzzled him, and she smiled to herself.  If naught
  else works, being enigmatic might.
       'We'll have to alter our plans, however, he said, hauling out the
  sheet and rereading it.  'We haven't a chance of making it back to
  Favor Bay before those winds arrive And I don't want to be caught on
  this side of the Islands.
       We have a choice, and I'll leave that up to you, mister,' he shot
  her a challenging glance.  'We can go through the Straits,' he pointed
  ahead to the fast approaching end of Islay Island, 'and shelter on the
  lea side of Yona.  There's a nice little bay on Yona's Tail.  We'll be
  safe there, and tomorrow we can make our way back.  Or we can go back
  to Islaytown, moor her against the blow, and go ashore for the night.'
  'You're the Captain.' 'Passage through the Straits can be hairy at high
  tide and that's what we've got.
       'The Miraki would be safer on the lea side of the island, though,
  wouldn't she?' His smile answered her.  'Then it's the Straits.' Her
  grin answered his challenge.
       Turian hesitated a moment longer.  Islay Straits at high tide was
  a testing passage.  She might have sailed a bit on her holidays, but
  she wouldn't have encountered the boiling cross currents and riptide.
       He'd done it often enough in the Miraki and had complete
  confidence in his own seamanship and his craft.  She wanted an
  adventure: she was about to get one.
       So, when the Miraki rounded the Gut Rocks that bordered the
  entrance to the Straits, he ordered her into her wet gear and life
  vest, stopping any argument from her by shrugging into his own.
       'Prepare to tack, mister,' he roared at her over the surf pounding
  the Gut Rocks.
       By the time that was done, the Rowan had her first good look at
  the surf boiling through the Straits.
       'We're going through that?' she demanded, and he admired the way
  she covered the sudden fright she'd experienced.
       'You said you had a stomach of iron.  I'm testing it) As she made
  her way back to the cockpit, he grinned when he noticed how tightly she
  kept a hold of the life-rail, and how neatly she balanced in her bare
  
  feet against the plunge of the Miraki.
       To himself, Turian thought that perhaps this had not been the
  kindest way to test her seamanship but he was as proud of her courage.
       She seemed undaunted until they hit the midpoint, and suddenly the
  Miraki was cresting a huge wave, plummeting down with stomach-churning
  abruptness, wallowing in the trough before being flung up again on the
  next wave.
       The girl beside him screamed and he shot a glance at her, her face
  white as the sheet, eyes distended and staring straight ahead, in the
  grip of complete terror.  He spared one hand from the tiller long
  enough to haul her as close to him as the tiller between them
  permitted.  He grabbed her rigid hand and placed it under his on the
  tiller.  Then he coiled his right leg around her left one, angling his
  body to touch hers at as many points as the rough passage permitted.
       And it wasn't the sea that terrified her.  How he knew that he
  never questioned.  This was an old terror, somehow revived by their
  situation.  She was struggling with her fears, struggling with every
  ounce of her.  He kept as close a contact as possible, knew she'd have
  bruises on her hand from his pressure but that was all he had to
  reassure her.
       Fortunately, for all the danger, the Straits were not long and
  though under these conditions, the passage seemed to last an
  unconscionably long time, he was very soon able to veer into the much
  calmer waters.
       'Rowan?' He let go of the tiller for long enough to pull her over
  on to his knees, holding her tight against him, while he grabbed a line
  to secure the tiller on the new '05
       course.  He cranked on the cockpit winch to trim the mainsail and
  then he was free to comfort the shuddering girl.  Gently he pushed the
  wet curls back from her forehead.  'Rowan, what scared you so?' I
  couldn't help it!  It wasn't the Straits.  It was the way the ship
  bounced and rolled and surged.  Just like the hopper.  I was three.  My
  mother left me in the hopper and it was caught in the flood, bounced
  about just like that.  For days.  None came.  I was hungry and thirsty
  and cold and scared.
       'It's all right now, girl.  We're past it now.  Smooth sailing
  from now on.  I promise you!' She made an effort to push him away but
  Turian knew that she was far from over the shock of that revived terror
  and he continued to hold her gently but firmly against him.  Casting
  his seaman's eye at wind and water, at the sea room between the Miraki
  and the shore, he was satisfied with their current course.  Lifting the
  Rowan, light and shivering in his arms, he maneuvered her carefully
  down into the cabin and laid her down on the bunk.  He started the
  kettle before he removed her life vest and wet gear.  Her skin was
  chilled under his hands so he wrapped her well in a blanket before he
  made a restorative brew.  Liberally lacing that with spirits, he handed
  it to her.
       'You drink that down,' he ordered in an authoritative tone that
  provoked a slight smile from her as she obeyed.
       Then he stripped off his own rough-weather gear, rubbed his hair
  and shoulders dry before he made himself a similar brew.  He sat down
  on the opposite bunk and waited until she felt like talking.
       'The ship?' she asked once between sips, hearing the rush of the
  hull through the water.
       'Don't worry about her.' Her smile was less tentative.  'Don't
  worry about me, then.  I haven't had that particular nightmare in
  years.  But the motion 'Strange what triggers off a bad memory, he said
  easily 'Catch you unawares out of nowhere.  I damned near lost ship and
  self in a strait similar to that one.  Scared me shitless and not a
  clean, dry pair of pants in the locker.
  
       You might say,' and he ducked his head a bit, affecting
  embarrassment, 'I sort of try myself more often in the Islay Straits
  just to prove I can't scare any more.
       'I'm not sure,' she said slowly but the color was back in her face
  again, 'that I'd like to go back through today, if you don't mind.'
  'Couldn't anyway,' he said with a laugh, and took the empty cup from
  her.  'Tide's the wrong way right now for the westward passage.
       'Now, isn't that a pity!' Admiring her resilience, he gave her a
  mock cuff on the jaw and then tossed a clean towel at her.  'Dry off,
  change, and get on deck again.  You're standing the watch down to
  Yona's Tail.' Something to do, he was telling himself as he went
  topside, was much better for her than reliving that old scare.  The
  Rowan was in complete agreement but she couldn't quite shake off her
  response to his immediate support of her in the depths of renewed
  terror.  He might have mocked her lack of courage: He might as easily
  have ignored her as a coward but he had read her correctly and given
  her exactly the physical reassurance she needed and had needed as that
  three-year-old child.
       Old terrors could indeed grab you at the most unexpected moments:
  this was the first time so much had surfaced past the blocks they had
  placed on that horrific experience.  Her mind might not be allowed to
  remember but her body had.  This time someone had been there to hold
  her hand.
       She dressed in her spare dry clothes, donning the warm sweater
  against the chill of bones that not even the hot stimulant had
  dissipated.  As she scrubbed her hair dry, she was wryly amused that
  Turian hadn't realized that her explanation of her terror had been
  subvocal.  But then, so physically close, he didn't even need to be
  emphatic for her to 'path to him.
       His face brightened as he saw her emerge on deck.  She smiled
  back.
       'Helm's yours, and he pointed to the compass setting.
       'I'll run up the jib.  That way we'll make our anchorage well
  before dark.  I've changed our ETA with the Sea guards so they won't
  panic but d'you want to tell anyone at Favor Bay that you won't be back
  till noon?' She shook her head, aware from his obvious thoughts that he
  wasn't at all disappointed in extending the cruise.
       He had an edge of anger for people who had somehow put a
  three-year-old child in such peril.  Turian was beginning to see her
  not just as another useful pair of hands, a workmate, but as a distinct
  and interesting personality.
       She watched his lithe body as he hoisted the jib, coiled some
  lines that the rough passage had scattered, and generally checked port
  and starboard on his way back to the cockpit.  As he settled in the
  corner of the bench, he squinted at the compass and then at the
  shoreline.
       'Helmsman, set a new course, ten points to starboard.' He raised
  an arm, pointing toward the distant tip of Yona Island.  'We're making
  for an anchorage on Yona's Tail.
       Come morning, we can set a straight course back to Favor Bay.'
  'Aye, aye, sir.  Ten points to starboard on a course for Yona's Tail.
       And I beg to inquire of Captain, if he brought along enough
  provisions for a starving sailor.' 'No-one goes hungry aboard the
  Miraki,' he said with an approving chuckle.  'You can catch as much
  fish as you can eat, mister, and there's plenty to garnish with.' Thick
  clouds had begun to darken the skies before they reached the anchorage,
  a pleasant little crescent bay with a fine sandy beach.  Yona was a
  popular summer resort with hundreds of similar strands along its
  eastern shore.  They were the only vessel in those calm waters for the
  cradled sailing boats and the shoreline dwellings were still in their
  
  winter cocoons.  As soon as the sails were furled, all lines coiled,
  riding and cabin lights on, Turian broke out fishing gear.
       'No bait?' He grinned.  'Drop your line overboard and see what
  happens.' 'Incredible!' was her reaction as flat fish seemed to leap on
  to the hook as soon as it dropped below the surface.
       'Right time of year for 'em.  Always plenty in this bay.
       Now, five minutes from sea to plate and eat as much as you can.
       The Rowan did for she had never been so hungry, nor appreciated a
  plain meal more.  As she washed plates, pans, and mugs after the meal,
  she was suffused with an unaccustomed sense of contentment.  She was
  also tired, with a fatigue of body, not mind; that was as soothing as
  it was soporific.
       'Hey, you're asleep on your feet, mister,' Turian said, his voice
  warm with amusement but his brows were slightly puckered in concern.
       'I'm all right, now, Turian, really I am.  You were marvelous back
  there.  If you'd been in the hopper with me, I wouldn't have been so
  scared.' At the anger in his face, she held up a hand, 'It wasn't
  anyone's fault.  In fact, I survived because I was in the hopper.  The
  only one who did.' Then she wondered if she'd given away more than she
  intended.  To hear Siglen tell it, everyone on the planet had been
  aware of her terror.  Maybe he'd been at sea.  He certainly wasn't
  insensitive.
       'You've no family?' Somehow that distressed Turian most.
       'I have very good friends who have cared for me better than family
  would.' He shook his head.  'Family's best.  You can always count on
  family.  Surely you had kin left someplace?' The Rowan shrugged.  'You
  don't miss what you've never had, you know.' She knew that upset him
  deeply, a man who knew every one of his blood relatives, to whom family
  ties were sacred.  'I'll have a family of my own one day,' she said as
  much as a comfort for his distress and a promise to herself.  Maybe
  that's why Reidinger quizzed her so on the course students: he seemed
  to dwell more on the boys than the girls.  Primes were supposed to form
  alliances, preferably with other high Talents, to perpetuate their own
  abilities.  Was Earth Prime also a marriage broker?
       With that running through her mind, she was unprepared for
  Turian's embrace.  She clamped tightly down on her emotions as his arms
  enclosed her and drew her tenderly against him.  She surrendered to the
  luxury of being caressed, the feeling of a warm, strong body pressed
  against her, of gentle hands stroking her head, rubbing up and down her
  back.  She turned her head against his chest and heard a heartbeat,
  faster than normal and knew that Turian was reacting to his outrage
  over her orphaned state.
       And suddenly the Rowan realized that this was decision time:
  without meaning to, she had achieved the desired effect on Turian.
       With only the slightest mental push, she could.
       She didn't have to make a decision.  Turian did it for her.  A
  wave of tenderness, tinged only slightly with pity, but mainly
  comprised of approval for her courage and resilience, emanated from the
  man.  She had never felt so appreciated, so comforted and .  . . and
  wanted.  Startled by the intensity of his emotion, she looked up and
  received his gentle but insistent kiss.
       The Rowan had no time to do more than try to reduce the surge of
  her emotional response to an acceptable level.
       The past few hours had awakened many emotions long kept under
  strict control.  To have contained them all would have had serious
  repercussions.  She'd have enough, and so would the unsuspecting
  Turian, if she wasn't careful.  And she didn't want to have to BE
  careful for once in her life.  Sensuality flared into full awareness in
  mind, heart, and body and as Turian responded, she received his
  attentions with wholehearted honesty.
  
       He did not expect her to have been untouched and she was aware of
  both anger at her deception and his inability to slacken the
  incandescent desire which now consumed him.  So she encouraged him with
  body and mind, with her hands and her lips.  The hurt was minimal to
  the blaze of passion that overwhelmed him which she experienced through
  his mind and touch.  She cursed her own ineptitude which kept her from
  matching his release but the glory which awaited her the next time she
  made love with him was vividly seared in her mind.
       The Rowan awoke suddenly, aware that the comforting, warm length
  of Turian was missing from the narrow bunk on which they had fallen
  asleep.  It hadn't been the gentle slip-slop of waves against the sides
  of the Miraki which had roused her.  It was Turian's mental distress.
       He was suffering intense feelings of guilt, self-castigating
  himself for the loss of control which had resulted in deflowering a
  virgin, anger with her for what he thought was a studied attempt to
  seduce him, and a terrible longing to repeat the act of love which had
  overwhelmed him with its intensity.
       The Rowan felt keen remorse for his state of mind.
       What had begun for her as half-game, half-challenge had backfired
  with disastrous effect on an honest man, well content with his work and
  his life-style.  She was little better than Moria!
       She rose, dressed rapidly but the cold was pervasive so she
  wrapped the blanket firmly around her as she quickly made two mugs of a
  steaming stimulant.  Securing the blanket about her with one hand while
  balancing both mugs with a touch of mental assistance, she went
  topside.
       Turian was slouched in the cockpit in a mind funk, shivering
  convulsively in a mental and physical chill of devastating proportions.
       His mind kept inexorably returning to the intense sexuality of
  their spontaneous union and his inability to control his participation.
       'We need to talk, Turian,' she said quietly, startling him.  She
  handed him a mug and, throwing part of the blanket over his shoulders,
  deliberately sat close beside him.  'You've no cause at all to feel
  guilty about last night.' He shot her a furious glance.  'How do you
  know how I feel?' 'Why else would you be sitting out on a freezing deck
  looking as if you'd committed a major crime.  Drink up, you need the
  warmth.' She used the firm tone Lusena often adopted with her and he
  took a judicious sip.
       'Now,' she said firmly, giving it a mental accent, 'let's come to
  an understanding.  I didn't set out to have you seduce me.' He snorted
  disbelief, hauling the blanket around his right shoulder, but he did
  not move his chilled body from her warmth.  'But I did want you to stop
  looking at me as a kid, a young girl, an unperson.  I wanted very much
  for you to see me!  Me, the Rowan.' Slowly he turned his head toward
  her, the whites of his eyes more visible in the dark as they widened in
  the surprise of recognition.
       'I remember that name.  I did meet you before.  I knew your face
  was somehow familiar.' 'I was with a party of four, three girls and my
  guardian, four summers ago.  You sailed us about.  At the sea gardens,
  one of the girls, a terrible flirt, got badly stung because she didn't
  listen to your warning.' 'And you had, and treated the little bitch.'
  Then he cocked his head a bit.  'How old are you, Rowan?' 'I'm
  eighteen,' she said, facetiously adding, 'going on eighty.  So I'm old
  enough to have an affair and to know when I should.  But honestly, it
  just happened.  I liked helping you fix up the Miraki.  It's such a
  change from the sort of work I do all year long.  That alone will make
  this the most memorable holiday I've ever had, Turian, and last night
  was pure serendipity.  I don't see much of that, I assure you.
       She was reaching him with her quiet explanation, for he was
  basically a sensible man.  A hand, warm from the mug he'd been holding,
  
  covered hers.  She could feel the tautness of body and mind through
  that contact and tried to find in his mind a clue to reduce that
  stress.  He was still thinking in a circle that went from her youth to
  last night's eroticism.
       'I've made love to a lot of women since I first learned how but
  I've never had it quite like you!' He let his breath out heavily.
       'Never like that before!' His mind paused once more on that
  unexpected blazing intensity that caused his frame to tremble at its
  recall.
       'You've about ruined me for anyone else.' He resented that.  He
  liked his affairs short and sweet and uncomplicated, affairs in which
  he was always the dominant partner and in complete control as he had
  not been last night.
       'Me?  the kid, ruining you, Captain Turian?' she asked, with
  humorous skepticism.  'I doubt that, though that's quite a compliment
  you've paid me.  I'd no idea what to expect once we got started.
       You're a marvelously tender lover.  Even if I have no other
  experience for comparison, I could appreciate that.  And I know you for
  an honest, decent, caring man.  But ruined?  Highly unlikely.  You
  couldn't ever settle to just one woman, or one port and one reach of
  the Altairian seas.  If you want my opinion,' and she had to phrase
  this carefully or give away her illegal prying into his personal files,
  'I don't see you as a family man though your kin mean much to you.  But
  I just can't see you staying on the land to raise kids.  The Miraki's
  wife and child to you.  I'm right, aren't I?' She rather hoped her sly
  cajolery would work and was immensely relieved to feel the shift in his
  thoughts at her candid remarks.  'Even if we had a chance of some sort
  of an association, this ship would win and i'd be the one left dry He
  gave a wry laugh.  She knew that he was within an inch of reaching up
  to ruffle her hair in that casually affectionate gesture, but his
  mental state was still inhibiting him.  She took his hand and laid her
  cheek against it, to allow a healing anodyne of respect and abiding
  friendliness to seep through the touching.
       'I shall never forget how you comforted me, Turian, coming through
  the Straits, and that you knew I needed comfort.  That was so generous
  of you and it was a kindliness with which I am totally unfamiliar.  It
  disarmed me completely, you know.' He nodded, understanding at several
  levels in his mind what she was trying to convey to him.
       'What are you really, Rowan?' 'I'm an orphan, I'm eighteen, I'm a
  Talent, and I serve in Altair's Tower.
       She heard the sudden intake of his breath and felt awe color his
  mental image of her.
       'Like Prime Siglen?' For though he knew what Tower personnel did
  and how they did it, he couldn't quite place his companion in that
  context.
       'Well, I'm not a Prime,' she said with a laugh, hiding the
  half-truth.  'But it's a lonely job and I've got to isolate myself from
  the people I work with.  I can't be the sort of informal captain you
  are.  Being your crew has been such a marvelous experience all by
  itself.  Working with you to set the Miraki to rights, just the two of
  us, was as far from my life in the Tower as you can get.  I haven't
  ever had such a wonderful week.  I certainly didn't intend to repay
  your friendship with a sexual imposition.
       'Imposition?' He almost shouted at her, and she knew she had
  struck just the right note.  'I've heard it called many things, but not
  an imposition!' He gave a bark of laughter and suddenly all the tension
  and dismay dissolved from his thoughts.  'Imposition, indeed.' The dawn
  was brightening the sky and she could see the amused expression on his
  face, echoing the recovery of his mental equilibrium.
       'Well, then,' she began in a meek voice though she was emboldened
  
  by his resilience, 'without prejudice and seeing that this is a unique
  opportunity, unlikely to recur, could we impose on each other again?'
  'If you've any Talent, Rowan,' and his expression mirrored the desire
  in his mind, 'you'll know I'd like that more than anything else right
  now.' Then he smiled, ruffled her hair, and added, 'except perhaps some
  breakfast to give us both the energy we're going to need.' It was late
  afternoon when they reached the wharf at Favor Bay.  The Rowan could,
  and did, make certain that an easy companionship had grown up between
  them on the return voyage.  He had talked a good deal about previous
  voyages around the planet, about his many relations, and, sitting as
  close to him as possible, she had learned more about her native planet
  than she had ever thought to know.
       They were both silent as they moored the ship and did the final
  chores, setting the ship to rights, cleaning the galley, but there
  wasn't much more, or too much, to be said.  She stuffed her salty
  clothes into her backpack, climbed on to the wharf, and collected her
  cycle.  Turian stood in her way for a long moment and she knew he was
  equally loath for this idyll to end.
       'I must leave, Turian.  Clear skies and good sailing.' 'Good luck,
  Rowan,' he said in a low voice, heart and mind reaching out to her but
  he stepped.  aside and she cycled past him, feeling his regret as sharp
  as her own.
       GROUND VEHICLE COLLISION.  REPORT IMMEDIATELY.  SIGLEN By the time
  she had cycled up the long hill from the anchorage, she was sweating so
  it didn't matter if some of what poured down her cheeks happened to be
  tears.  It had been a beautiful interlude.  Lusena had been right to
  suggest it, however obliquely.  Would Lusena know what had happened?
       Lusena knew just about everything else about her.  Such a magical
  incident would take a lot of camouflage from her eagle-eyed guardian.
       Did she really want to cover it all up?  Wouldn't Lusena rejoice
  that she had met such a lovely lover?
       She had entered the cottage, slung her backpack down the corridor
  to the laundry room before the sustained squeal of the answer phone
  penetrated her self absorption.
       There was a sheaf of messages, curling down from the machine to
  the floor.  So many in just thirty-six hours?
       'Now what?' The Rowan resented the return of the pressures she had
  been able to forget.  She tore off the final sheet and bundled the
  whole screed up, settling herself first in a chair before reading any
  The first, from Lusena, had arrived just after she had left the cottage
  for the Miraki's journey and announced the triumphant arrival of twin
  girls and the prognosis of a speedy recovery of their mother from a
  prolonged and complicated labor.  A second, also from Lusena, was a
  confirmation of Lusena's opinion that both babies had recorded
  high-potential Talent at birth.  The third was her pleasure that Finnan
  had come to view his nieces and there had been a marvelous family
  reunion.  The fourth was a query from Gerolaman about her lack of
  response to messages.  The fifth which had come in the previous evening
  was an order from Siglen to contact the Tower immediately.  The sixth,
  and the first words made the Rowan yearn for Turian's supportive
  presence, burst the fragile bubble of the idyll.
       MUST INFORM YOU THAT LUSENA SHEVALLOW AY KILLED IN The dateline
  was 1220 today as the Miraki had been plowing across the Southerly
  Current under full canvas through the seas still running high from the
  previous night's storms.  She and Turian had been side by side in the
  cockpit, warm with companionship and shared love.
       The tears streamed down the Rowan's face.  'Must inform,' she
  muttered.  'No regrets, Siglen?  No regrets at all that a fine loving
  woman is gone?' She let grief take her then, vainly searching for a
  mind touch that was lost forever to her, lost as the comfort of the
  
  woman who had cared for her with such dedication.  The ache expanded,
  closing her throat, pushing down into her belly, shoving upward to
  crowd into her brain and press behind her eyes.  Tears flowed and the
  sobs wracked her body.  Turian would comfort her.  Surely she had the
  right to ask that of him.  But why involve him in a private grief?
       It was something one had to live through; the ache of the heart,
  the fruitless searching of the mind, and the sorrow of the spirit.
       Lusena!  Lusena!  Lusena!
       The comunit's piercing summons was a harsh intrusion.
       Irritably, she 'ported the connection open and the screen lit up.
       Fortunately it displayed a worried Gerolaman.
       'Rowan!  Where have you been?' 'I was sailing.  We were weathered
  in last night in a deserted anchorage.  I'm only just in the door.
       What's happening with.  . -' 'Siglen had a fit when the accident
  report came in.  She was positive you were with Lusena and she was in
  some state.' 'Thought she'd got rid of me, huh?' Gerolaman's scowl
  reproved her.  'We were all worried, Rowan.  Especially after Finnan
  said you hadn't accompanied her.' 'Bardy needed her mother.  She didn't
  need me hanging about and at eighteen I'm well able to take care of
  myself for a few days of holiday.' She knew she sounded querilous but
  she couldn't help it.  'Oh, Gerolaman, Lusena was .  'and she covered
  her face with her hands, weeping bitterly.
       'I know, honey, I know.  It won't be the same.  It's just that.  .
       . we didn't know where you were.  And you had to know.' 'Siglen
  herself broke the news.' 'Give her some credit, Rowan,' and Gerolaman's
  voice was rough, 'she was upset, too.  And got worse thinking you might
  have been killed.  Secretary Camella's handling arrangements which is
  very good of her.  Now I know where you are, I'll come and get you.
       The Rowan smeared the tears off her cheeks with both hands.  'I
  appreciate it, Gerry, but there's no need.  I'll be there as soon as I
  can close up this place.' She cut the line before he could protest.
       She ignored the comunit while she gathered up her belongings,
  showered and dressed, phoned the caretaker that she was vacating.  From
  the porch she could make out the Miraki, moored to the wharf.  She had
  that memory at least!
       Then, for the first time, she 'ported herself directly to her
  quarters at the Tower.  She'd had the range and strength to do so for
  several years but this was the first time she'd had occasion to make
  use of that ability.  Rascal launched himself at her from the bookcase,
  muttering imprecations at her as he clung to her shoulder.  She turned
  her head to bury her face in his soft fur, and felt the sting of tears
  again.  She bit her lip and walked toward the kitchen to give him a
  treat for his welcome.  She couldn't bear to look down the corridor to
  Lusena's empty room.
       The comunit rang imperatively.  'I'm back, Gerry, she said.
       'It is not Gerolaman,' Siglen's thick voice answered her.
       'Where have you been, you irresponsible child?  Stand where I can
  view you.  This instant.' 'In a moment, Prime, I'm presently
  indisposed.' The Rowan stroked Rascal as he happily munched his morsel
  before she complied.
       'Where have you .  . Siglen's protruberant eyes bulged still
  further as she took in the Rowan's altered appearance.  'Your hair?
       You cut your hair?  And it's the wrong color!  What have you been
  doing?  Where have you been?  Do you not realize that Lusena is to be
  interred today and you must, in decency, attend.' 'I'll go as soon as
  I've changed and as soon as I know where the ceremony will be.'
  'Secretary Camella is representing the Council and you will have to
  hurry to be ready.  And really, you must do something about your hair
  before attending an interment.' 'Why?  My hair was Lusena's idea.
       Excuse me, Prime.  If haste is the order, I have things to do.'
  
  'And you will report to me the instant you return, do you hear me,
  Rowan?
       You have tried my patience beyond all bounds.
       Unable to bear such recriminations, the Rowan cut and closed down
  the connection.  Geny, tell me where.  I want to go on my own!
       Gerolaman was not a sender but she felt him receive her message
  and knew he was acting on it.  She didn't need another shower but after
  she had changed to suitable clothing for the sad duty, she bathed her
  face in cold water until he arrived.  Rascal coughed a warning of his
  entry.
       There was great pity in the stationmaster's face for her, and a
  sorrow of his own for the loss of a dear and valued colleague.
       'Can I say anything to help, Rowan?' he asked, his hands held open
  in a gesture of helplessness.  He was dressed with appropriate
  sobriety, his usually unkempt hair parted and flat on his skull.  His
  eyes were red, too.
       She shook her head.  'You'll come with me?' 'The Secretary of the
  Interior 'Camella will be in floods: she was very close to Lusena .  .
       .' it hurt even to speak her name.  'I can't stand more emotional
  backlash, not all the way to the interment.
       If we can get to your office where I can use gestalt, I'll get us
  both there.  I'll want to see Bardy and Finnan.  At least, she was
  there when Bardy needed her.' 'Now wait a minute, Rowan, you can't tap
  the gestalt without Siglen's permission?' 'Scared I'll mis-jump us?'
  'No, trying to keep you acting sensibly!' 'There is nothing sensible
  about grief,' she flashed at him.  Then grimaced and added in an
  affected tone, a hand to her forehead, 'I'm grief-stricken.  I don't
  quite know what I'm doing.  Will you come with me?' 'I'd better!' He
  turned and led the way down the corridor toward his office.  She
  followed.
       Once inside, she placed both hands on his shoulders.  'Is there
  anything medium large in the cradles right now?' 'No.  Not right now.
       Siglen is upset, you know,' and his fierce expression surprised
  the Rowan.  Gerolaman had several loyalties but the Tower was the top
  priority.  'She hasn't been working well today 'I can see that,' the
  Rowan remarked flatly, glancing at the pressure idling in the
  generators.  'What are the coordinates?' Gerolaman hesitated but she
  hooked her fingers sharply into his flesh and he gave them in a grating
  voice.  She leaned into the leashed power of the Tower's generators as
  she had done time and again over the past three years.  She felt the
  surge through her and, making sure of her grip on Gerolaman, she
  'ported them both.
       She almost laughed at the relief on the stationmaster's face as
  they arrived, without so much as a landing stumble, in front of the
  Claimtown's one municipal building.
       ROWAN!  How DARE you!  Siglen roared in her mind.
       Leave me alone right now, Siglen.  You can read me all the
  pertinent Rules and Regulations I've just broken when I get back to the
  Tower.
       Siglen had no reply to such mutinous impertinence but the Rowan
  was aware of peripheral fuming and boiling fury.
       The Rowan ignored that as she ignored Gerolaman's concerned
  expression.  'C'mon.  Bardy's house is down that way.
       'Lusena'll be in there,' Gerolaman pointed to the building.
       'There'll be nothing of my Lusena in there.  I'll remember her as
  she left Favor Bay.  But I can help Bardy In truth, the Rowan was
  almost afraid of confronting her foster sister.  She had monopolized so
  much of Lusena's life, never mind the fact that Lusena had willingly
  accepted the post.  Bardy had been solicitous and kind to the
  fosterling but there had been times when both Bardy and Finnan had
  
  resented their mother's absorption in her charge.  Why wouldn't they?
       That's why she wanted Gerolaman with her, to see that she faced
  her foster sibs, to deflect any recriminations.
       There were none.  Instead Bardy, true daughter of a generous
  natured mother, comforted the Rowan who burst into tears at the sight
  of her.  Finnan threw his arms about both women and, with Gerolaman,
  comforted them.
       Then there were the twins to be admired and one of them did seem
  to be a tiny replica of her grandmother which was both reassuring and
  saddening.
       So it was as a family, united in their sorrow, that they all went
  to the interment.  The Secretary of the Interior was there, obviously
  relieved to see the Rowan in attendance.
       It was a mark of considerable respect that it was the Secretary
  herself who read the eulogy but the Rowan 'heard' more than the sincere
  words: She 'heard' much from the others gathered there, and some of it
  was unkind, untrue, and specious.  She closed those minds out and
  concentrated on the spoken words.  The tears continued to fall into her
  hands.  Then a large handkerchief was offered by Finnan, and Bardy's
  hand, so like Lusena's in shape, closed firmly on the Rowan's arm.
       Through that contact, she was one briefly with her.
       By custom, internment was not a lengthy ceremony on Altair.
       Afterward the Secretary, firmly but kindly, insisted that the
  Rowan and Gerolaman accompany her back to Port Altair in her fast
  shuttle.
       Numbed by her acute loss, the Rowan acquiesced.  Bardy and Finnan
  said they could keep in touch with her: they still considered her their
  little sister.  But, on the trip back, the Rowan's emotions were so
  overloaded that she curled up in a chair and closed out even the tacit
  understanding sympathy of the Secretary and Gerolaman.  As anodyne, she
  forced her mind to dwell only on the tranquil return voyage of the
  Miraki, cutting through the lucid blue waters, the gleaming whiteness
  of the sail on that dazzlingly bright morning, the sensation of wind on
  her face, sun on her body, until the monotonous rhythm of the sea
  lulled her into an exhausted sleep.
       She awoke, late the next morning, in her own bed.  Rascal mumbling
  beside her head on the pillow.
       Rowan?  She recognized Bralla's tentative voice.  Reidinger has
  left word that you are to contact him as soon as you wake.
       Reidinger?  Can't Siglen do her own chewing out?
       I assure you, Rowan, and Bralla sounded prim with rebuke, Siglen
  quite understood your state of mind yesterday and wishes to hear no
  more about it.  We are all simpathetic to your terrible loss.  But
  Reidinger was most emphatic about an immediate contact.
       He can speak loud enough to wake me.
       No-one was going to wake you up, Rowan, and again Bralla reproved
  her.
       Sorry, Bralla.
       That's all right, dear, and Bralla's tone was kinder by many
  degrees.
       I'll get a brew and speak to Earth Prime immediately.
       Rascal clung to her, claws uncomfortably latching into her new
  curls, as she got out of bed, tossed a robe about her, and went to make
  a stimulant.  There'd been a note of sympathy from Reidinger among the
  pile on Bardy's table Well, he owed her a lot.
       She picked up the hologram that Reidinger had sent her of himself,
  to use as a focus.  He'd usually contacted her.
       She took a long swig of the hot drink and arranged herself for the
  long mental leap to Earth.  Reidinger's hologram had him seated in a
  chair, arms on the rest, hands relaxed, a position of repose which she
  
  secretly felt he had assumed only for the replication.  Even so, his
  alert, heavy-featured face, the erect posture of his body, gave off
  clues of the tremendous energy and potential of the man.  His dark blue
  eyes seemed to spark - a trick of the holographer - as if, even over
  the light years separating them, he had a total awareness of her, the
  Rowan.
       Reidinger!  She focused her mind on those large, bright eyes.  She
  was about to repeat the call with more force when she felt his touch.
       Awake, are you?  He might have been in the next room so strong was
  the contact.
       Did I wake you?  I was told to make contact as soon as I could.
       It won't be the first time and I don't use sleep much.
       Gerolaman tells me you haven't sat in yet on this latest course.
       Before she could frame a response, he went on.  I want you to sit
  in, sort out which personalities you like, with a view to a Tower staff
  of at least twenty.  Gerolaman assures me that your judgment's good.
       It's much easier, and now his tone was sardonic, if we can start
  off a new Tower with a well integrated staff, otherwise efficiency
  suffers.
       So take your time choosing.
       The Rowan shot upright in the chair.  A new Tower?
       Girl's quick.  Yes, a new Tower.  On Callisto so it's a
  terraformed Station.  FIT agree that Callisto can route a lot of the
  stuff that has had to come in System first before it can be rerouted.
       You'll be saving me a lot of headaches and give me time to acquire
  others that only Earth Prime can solve.  You're young, I know, but
  you'll be under my supervision and if you think Siglen's been rough on
  you, you'll soon learn that she was really the lesser of two evils.
       As soon as you've assembled a crew, you and they will depart
  directly for Callisto.  Check in with me tomorrow at precisely 9.00
  earth time.
       The gap left by his departure was almost palpable in the quiet
  room.
       'A new Tower,' she murmured, stunned.  'On Callisto?' That was one
  of Jupiter's moons.  Why there?  Why not on the Earth's Moon?  Surely
  that would have been feasible with all the terraforming that had been
  done to improve that satellite.  'I'm to assemble a team?  I'm to .  .
       . I'm to be a Prime!' Gerolaman, Reidinger's assigned me to
  Callisto Tower!
       I can't say that you deserve such a signal honor, young woman,
  Siglen answered her.  At least you will be under his direct supervision
  and I must say, after the other day, that's exactly where you should
  be!
       Quite right, Siglen.  Quite right.  Not even Siglen was going to
  spoil her elation.
       Lusena would have cheered!  The Rowan closed her eyes over the
  pain the errant thought evoked.  Lusena would never know that her
  charge had achieved Prime status.
       And the Rowan could not suppress her bitter tears which she wiped
  quickly away when she heard the rap on her door.
       Gerolaman entered, his smile tentative until he saw her bravely
  smile back at him.  'That's my girl.  Put regret aside.  She'd have
  been proud, no doubt of it, as I am but,' and he shook the sheaf of
  hard copy he held, 'we've work to do now in earnest, Prime Rowan.  My
  pleasure and my privilege to assist.  Work did help: She had to
  concentrate on the reports first, and then had to match them up with
  the people on the course.  Half a dozen times, she found herself
  thinking she must tell Lusena this or that, and the anguish would seize
  her momentarily until she relentlessly pushed it back.  Sorrow was
  yesterday: today was for her future, the future which Lusena had
  
  cherished for her - her own Station and the title of Prime.
       Four years on and she still liked Ray Loftus and Joe Toglia as
  technicians and maintenance personnel.  Gerolaman approved for they had
  good records as assistants in their skills and had worked at Procyon,
  Betelgeuse, and Earth.  Mauli and Mick were available for reassignment
  and they had always intrigued the Rowan.  From the new people on this
  course, she chose a Bill Powers as assistant supercargo from his record
  as well as his calm, stolid manner and a slow smile.
       'As good a reason as any,' Gerolaman remarked, 'considering you're
  going to have to look at his face a lot.' An older woman, a Capellan
  named Cardia Ren Harter, might work out as Stationmaster.  She'd temped
  in that position on Betelgeuse and Prime David recommended her.  She
  wondered about the fifty-year-old scan reader, Zabe Talumet: His
  qualifications were sound but he seemed to have moved around a lot.
       But he had a good rating in his profession.
       'You'll have to expect some shake-ups before you shake down,
  Rowan,' Gerolaman assured her.  'Personalities have to mesh and that
  takes time, trial and often error.
       Whatever crew you pick aren't set in plasglas forever, you know.
       It took nearly six years before Siglen was satisfied, and some of
  her choices have always astonished me and Bralla but we all work well
  when it comes to the crunch.' Reidinger sent four more T-4 and T-5
       ratings from Earth Prime, and when she couldn't find a good life
  support manager, bullied someone from the Moon into taking a promotion
  in the Callisto's system.
       Three days later, Bralla earnestly requested the Rowan to have
  dinner with Siglen.
       'She really did feel badly about Lusena.  And she was terrified
  that you'd been in the crash, too.  It took her a nervous half hour
  before she located the wreck and she scared the local officials out of
  their wits with a direct consultation.  She's really thrilled for your
  promotion, Rowan, truly she is.' The Rowan entertained a niggle of
  suspicion about Siglen being thrilled for her sudden advancement by
  Reidinger.  Altair's Prime had always maintained that the Rowan would
  not be ready for any responsibilities for years.  Certainly the Rowan
  had never been called to account for her impertinence, and direct
  action, disregarding Siglen's explicit orders.  Still there was little
  point in any unnecessary bad feelings between herself and Altair's
  Prime.
       So, the Rowan purchased a plainly cut, flowing dinner dress in a
  pale gray - about the only color that wouldn't clash with the
  flamboyant colors in Siglen's dining area, with a silver torque, to
  make a subtle statement of her adult status.  She presented herself at
  Siglen's suite to be greeted by Bralla who nodded approvingly and
  ushered her into the reception area.
       Siglen had made significant inroads on the dainty canapes which
  accompanied the aperitifs.  Three places at the dining table meant that
  Bralla was included, a fact which reassured the Rowan.
       Siglen initiated the conversation with a long explanation of
  systems updates which Reidinger had discussed with her at length.  The
  Rowan listened politely all through the first three courses of which
  she ate only enough to be courteous.
       'It really is too mean of Reidinger to transfer you just when
  Altair will be upgraded.  You could learn so much from the new
  equipment if you stay just a few more months here so that I can advise
  you.
       'If it's all new equipment, Siglen, you'll be learning to operate
  it, too, won't you?' replied the Rowan logically.
       She noticed the twitch of annoyance on the Prime's face but she
  could find no break in the woman's mental shield.
  
       The twitch expanded slightly into a weak smile.
       'I do wish you ate properly, my dear.  I gave a good deal of
  thought to this evening's meal.  You are so thin and whatever will they
  think of me,' a jeweled thumb pressed dramatically against Siglen's
  large bosom, 'and the way I have cared for you.' 'The medics say I have
  an active metabolism, Siglen, and I'm unlikely ever to put on much
  extra weight.' 'But you will need it, my dear, to sustain you.'
  Siglen's flabby face now registered extreme concern.
       'To sustain me?  I believe the hydroponics units at the Callisto
  Station are state of the art and can supply every known edible fruit
  and vegetable.
       'I'm sure you'll be all right once you get to Callisto,' and there
  was an ominous suggestion of imminent disaster in Siglen's round tones.
       'Of course I'll be all right on Callisto.' 'Yes, but you have to
  get there!' Then, to the Rowan's utter amazement, Siglen burst into
  tears, covering her face with her napkin.  She reached out a hand to
  grab the Rowan's and there was no doubt of the woman's concern and
  anxiety.  The girl looked to Bralla for an explanation.  Terror pulsed
  through Siglen's fingers to the Rowan who worked her fingers free,
  wanting no part, however vicarious, of that particular emotion.
       Bralla looked equally upset, her mouth quivering.
       'What are you talking about, Siglen?' Mopping her eyes, Siglen
  gave the Rowan a single woeful glance before propping both heavy arms
  on the table and once again giving way to noisy sobs.
       'It's space, my dear,' Bralla said, her expression rife with
  dread.
       'What do you mean?' 'You know what travel in space does to Primes,
  Rowan,' Bralla told her earnestly as if that explained everything.
       'David suffered agonies when he left here for Betelgeuse.
       He was so unwise to believe that a male Prime would be unaffected.
       Capella took three months to recover from her disorientation.'
  'I've 'ported myself from Favor Bay to Bardy's Claimsite without any
  disorientation -'But you were planet bound, with home gravity .  .
       Bralla argued.
       'And I've flown in shuttles all over Altair.' 'Shuttles are not at
  all the same thing as being 'ported, Siglen said disputatiously.  'Oh,
  I have dreaded this from the moment I heard the rumor about Callisto
  Station.  I begged Reidinger to consider T-2s, any sort of combination
  but you, Rowan.  I couldn't let you, a mere baby, go through that
  terror so soon after your hideous ordeal.  Now you don't even have
  Lusena to support you m your hour of need.' The Rowan hadn't thought of
  that abortive attempt to send her three-year-old self to Earth for her
  training.  But she did indeed remember the dark passage into the
  shuttle: into an enclosed space.  The erratic motion of the Miraki
  through the Straits reinforced that ancient terror far too vividly.
       'Nonsense.  I'll be perfectly all right.  I was a child and no-one
  had explained anything to me.  They just said I had to .  . . and she
  opened her eyes wide so as not to see the huge frightening maw they had
  been urging her into.  'I do wish, Siglen, that you didn't make a
  mountain out of a molehill.  I'll be perfectly all right.' 'That's what
  David said when I warned him about spatial disorientation.  Capella
  believed me and went heavily sedated but it still took her three months
  to reorient herself.  I wish I could spare you this when you have so
  recently lost your confidante.  There isn't one of the T-4s in
  Gerolaman's course who'd be any use to you.
       Bralla agrees with me.' Bralla nodded vigorously and the Rowan
  kept a tight grip on a growing vexation.
       'If I don't find a T-4 from this group, I'm sure there'll be
  plenty more willing to accept a promotion to a new Tower.  Now, do
  please stop overdramatizing a simple 'portation.  I know that you'll
  
  make the shift with your usual skill, Siglen, so I've no worries at
  all.' She stayed only as long as minimum politeness dictated and then
  went in search of Gerolaman.
       'Well, it's true enough about David and Capella and she went
  completely sedated and cocooned in a special shock capsule,' Gerolaman
  said.  'I know Siglen was so sick she lost 5 kilos.  And no Prime I've
  ever heard of has ever been able to 'port himself or herself through
  space.  Reidinger went to the Moon once and never stirred off planet
  afterwards.' 'I'm the youngest Prime, and healthy, athletic .  .
       'Everything the others weren't,' Gerolaman finished with a
  malicious gleam in his eyes.  'I'll lay bets on you, m'girl.  Now, what
  d'you think of that T-4, Forrie Toy?' 'I don't like him at all.  He
  eyes me the way Siglen does a particularly creamy eclair and he won't
  meet my eyes.  He slams shields up against even the most courteous
  request.
       I'd never be able to work with such a closed mind.' 'Procyon's
  sending over a T-4 female.
       'I work better with a male pairing.
       'Well, Siglen would have preferred to but Bralla was the only one
  to suit her, ever.
       'Gerolaman, do I have to remind you that I am NOT remotely like
  Siglen.' 'No, you don't, Rowan, but we still have to form the nucleus
  of a working team before you reach Callisto!' 'I'll try the woman.'
  Channi could not have been more of an opposite had a mad genetic
  scientist deliberately designed them.  She was a half-meter taller than
  the Rowan, big-boned, a woman who moved with deliberation (probably
  because she was afraid of injuring someone smaller than her large
  self), and while she was tested as a T-4 rating in both telepathy and
  teleportation, the Rowan could not achieve any rapport.
       'She slows me up as if I was trying to work through a wall,' the
  Rowan said and began to worry that she'd never assemble a cohesive
  Tower staff.
       Where Gerolaman kept reassuring her that there was no question
  that she would soon find appropriate matches of skills and Talents,
  Bralla would appear with suggestions from Siglen which invariably
  proved totally useless.  The time for the Rowan's scheduled departure
  drew closer and she became more anxious to start out on the right note.
       ROWAN!  Reidinger's unmistakable tones roared through her skull.
       Stop that fidgeting.  You've got enough to run a Tower right now
  with the seven you've picked and the ten who're waiting for you at
  Callisto.
       You're going to have to relax.  I don't want you in a muck sweat
  when you board the transport.
       And how are you betting on my survival?  she demanded acidly On
  what?  The genuine surprise in his tone reassured her more than the
  diatribe he launched when he understood what the bet was.
       Mauli and Mick came to help her pack the things she would be
  transferring to Callisto.  Their companionship helped ease the
  inevitable heartache as she came across gifts that Lusena had given her
  over the years.  From his special caricase, Rascal alternated between
  acid comments on his incarceration and plaintive requests to be allowed
  out but he had proved too much of a nuisance, hiding in crates or
  attacking Mauli.  When everything had been neatly stowed in the
  container, the Rowan with Mauli and Mick, 'ported it into its assigned
  place in the transport waiting on the cradle for the morning's lift.
       'Are you sure you don't want to sleep in the guest house?' Mauli
  asked, looking about the rooms empty except for Rascal's case.
       'I'll be fine.  I'll just move a few things in from the stores,'
  the Rowan reassured them and saw them firmly out of her quarters.
       She put Rascal's cage safely in the food preparation area which
  
  was the only room that she and Lusena had not redecorated from Siglen's
  original offering.  Then, working at top speed, the Rowan papered,
  painted, and restored the rooms just as they had been on the day she
  had moved into the Tower.  For just this night, it wouldn't hurt her to
  sleep on that ghastly pink and orange bed.  She was tired enough so she
  wouldn't even notice.  But Rascal did and it took him a long time to
  stop his disgusted commentary.
       If the Rowan could have avoided the farewell rituals, she would
  have.  She hadn't had much sleep on that wretchedly soft bed and
  formalities invariably set her teeth on edge.  All the Secretaries were
  there, each with something encouraging to say to her and a small
  present to brighten her new quarters.  Secretary Camella wavered
  between radiant smiles and a teary face.  Siglen wept copiously on
  Bralla's shoulder, moaning about the imminent tribulations and why
  wouldn't anyone listen to her and take proper care of her little pupil,
  the best one she had ever trained, and to have to endure what was
  before her.
       Leading her Tower personnel up the gangway into the big and
  brightly lit transport, the Rowan ignored a flashback to the day it had
  been Purza she'd carried, not Rascal, up a ramp.  She turned for one
  last wave at the assembled, and confidently followed the steward to her
  room.
       'You've a barquecat?' the man exclaimed, noticing her burden.
       'Rascal.  The Mayotte let me have him four years ago.
       He's been a super friend.
       'Mayotte, huh?  You rate, Prime.  You got to be real special to be
  voted a Mayotte barquecat.
       'What do you have on board?' and the stimulating exchange lasted
  until he slid back the door of her cabin, explaining that it was larger
  than most accommodations and showing her the various facilities.
       The Rowan pretended interest but she had to swallow frequently and
  she began to sweat even before she thanked the garrulous steward and
  finally managed to ease him out the door.  The cabin was very small.
       She'd been in shower stalls that were larger.  But then she
  wouldn't have to be in it long.
       Now, please don't worry, dear.  Really, there is absolutely
  nothing to worry about, Siglen's anxious tones blossomed in her mind.
       It isn't the same sort of mind-wrenching trip that I had to take
  to get here the first time, you know, before Altair Tower was
  operational.
       Siglen's mind was roiling with fear for Rowan.  The girl could
  easily visual the slab of a woman, supine in her couch, her eyes on the
  vessel's coordinates on the ceiling screen, her fingers checking and
  checking the gestalt thrust needed for the launch.  It was a scene she
  had witnessed time and again, but not at this end of the operation.
       Bralla would be hovering in the background.  #I do hope everything
  will go smoothly for you, dear, Siglen continued, her anxiety
  intensifying.  I've checked and double checked and everything is in
  perfect working order.  I just wish I didn't have to be the one The
  Rowan gritted her teeth.  The last thing she needed was Siglen
  reminiscing over her tribulations on the journey from Earth to Altair.
       The woman meant well.
       The Rowan urged the lift-off claxon to sound, signaling their
  imminent departure.  Involved in gestalt, Siglen could not transfer
  mental garbage.  What was keeping the woman from completing the lift?
       Oh, oh, Bralla, and Siglen's wide open mind wailed as the Rowan
  child once had done.  How can I do this to her?
       The Rowan tried to close out a sudden whirling, mindboggling
  disorientation.
       Lift, Siglen!  Now is not the time to dally!  Get me off planet
  
  NOW!  the Rowan cried, unwilling to endure any more delay colored by a
  cowardly old woman's ancient fears.
       The Rowan leaned back against the door, closing her mind to
  Siglen's moans.  Siglen was frightening herself.
       The Rowan wasn't at all frightened, even if the cabin suddenly
  seemed constricting.  The cabin on the Miraki had been small but the
  Miraki had been on the sea which rolled around Altair.  There was fresh
  air all over.  She took deep gulps of air and it tasted properly.  She
  knew from standard procedures that air was replaced between voyages so
  this wasn't stale recycled air she was breathing.
       The passenger vehicle was not a large one: Siglen lifted far more
  mass without thinking twice about it.  She had only to 'port the ship
  halfway to its destination where Reidinger as Earth Prime would catch
  and ease it into Earth's Star System.  As it neared Jupiter, the ship
  would enter the proper orbit to land on Callisto's surface.
       Once the Tower was in full operation, it would be the Rowan who
  would catch an incoming 'portation and land it neatly and without a
  bump into the cradle designed to receive it on Callisto.  The Rowan
  fixed her mind on her future, her own Tower to run, free forever of
  Siglen's fussy peculiarities.
       The claxon sounded.  The Rowan found it oddly difficult to move
  from the door to the bunk.  Even silly, but she lay down.  She ought
  not to feel any motion whatever.  Siglen was an experienced Prime.
       There would be no motion, nothing at all like the Miraki coming
  through the Straits, no bouncing, rolling, slewing.
       Oh my dear child, brace yourself!  Brace yourself' Siglen even
  managed to penetrate the Rowan's shielding but then she had the gestalt
  to magnify her telepathy.
       But the Rowan knew the moment the 'port began: she knew it because
  the marrow of her bones vibrated with the generator gestalt.
       Oh, Bralla, HOW could I do this to the child?  How?  Oh, what
  she'll suffer now!
       There was no escape for the Rowan from Siglen's anguished keening.
       Nor would Siglen leave her alone, determined in her unnecessary
  solicitude to support her former pupil through this ordeal.
       Then, just as Siglen had said it would, suddenly everything was
  spinning in her head: She was neither up nor down, nor sideways, but
  whirling in a desperate spiral to nowhere and she screamed and screamed
  and screamed and screamed, and heard Rascal shrieking with equal panic.
       Then she was falling into hands, hands that seized and held her
  down, down, down, forcing her into the vortex that reached out to
  envelop her and she descended, unchecked into the awful spinning,
  mind-wrenching blackness.
       PART TWO CALLISTO When the Rowan came storming into Callisto
  Station that morning, its personnel mentally and literally ducked.
       Mentally, because she was apt to forget to shield.
       Literally, because the Rowan was prone to slamming loose
  furnishings around when she got upset.  Today, however, she was in fair
  command of herself and merely stamped up the stairs into the Tower.  A
  vague rumble of noisy thoughts tossed around the ground floor of the
  Station for a few minutes, but the computer and analogue men ignored
  the depressing effects with the gratitude of those saved from greater
  disaster.
       From the residue of her passage, Brian Ackerman, the
  Stationmaster, caught the impression of intense purple frustration.  He
  was basically only a T-9, but constant association with the Rowan had
  broadened his perceptions.  Ackerman appreciated this side effect of
  his position - when he was anywhere else but at the Station.
       At the beginning, just after the Rowan had been assigned to
  Callisto, he had tried to transfer with no success.  Federal
  
  Telepathers and Teleporters, Inc.  had established a routine regarding
  his continuous applications.  The first one handed in each quarter was
  ignored; the second brought an adroitly worded reply on how sensitive
  and crucial a position he held at Callisto Prime Station; his third
  often a violent demand - always got him a special shipment of scotch;
  his fourth - a piteous wail - brought the Section Supervisor out for a
  face-to-face chat and, only then, a few discreet words to the Rowan.
       Ackerman was positive she always knew the full story before the
  Supervisor finally approached her.  It pleased her to be difficult, but
  the one time Ackerman discarded protocol and snarled back at her, she
  had mended her ways for a full quarter.  It had reluctantly dawned on
  Ackerman that she must like him, and he had since used this knowledge
  to advantage.  He was also becoming proud of the fact that he was one
  of the longest serving members of the Callisto personnel.
       Each of the twenty-three Station staff members had gone through a
  similar shuffling until the Rowan accepted them.  It took a very
  delicate balance of mental talent, personality, and technical skill to
  achieve the proper gestalt required to move giant liners and tonnes of
  freight.
       Federal Tel and Tel had only five Primes - five T-i's each
  strategically placed to effect the best possible transmission of
  commerce and communications throughout the sprawling Nine-Star League.
       It was FT&T's dream someday to provide instantaneous transmission
  of anything, anywhere, anytime.  Until that day, FT&T exercised patient
  diplomacy with its five T-is, putting up with their vagaries like the
  doting owners of so many golden geese.  If keeping the Rowan happy had
  meant changing the lesser personnel twice daily, it would probably have
  been done.  The present staff had been intact for over two years in
  spite of the Rowan's eccentricities.
       The Rowan had been peevish for a week this time and everyone was
  beginning to smart under the backlash.  So far no-one knew why the
  Rowan was upset.  . . if she did herself.  To be fair, Ackerman
  thought, she usually does have reasons.
       Ready for the liner!  Her thought lashed out so piercingly that
  Ackerman was sure everyone in the ship waiting outside had heard her.
       But he switched the intercom in to the ship's captain.
       'I heard,' the captain said wryly.  'Give me a five-count and then
  set us off.' Ackerman didn't bother to relay the message to the Rowan.
       In her mood, she'd be hearing straight to Capella and back.  The
  generator board was ablaze with varied colored printouts and messages
  as the team brought the booster field up to peak, while the Rowan
  impatiently rewed up the launch units to push-off strength.  She was
  well ahead of the standard timing, and the pent-up power seemed to keen
  through the station.  The countdown came fast as the energy level sang
  past endurable limits.
       ROWAN, NO TRICKS, Ackerman said.
       He caught her mental laugh and barked a warning to the captain.
       He hoped the man had heard it, because the Rowan was on zero
  before he could finish and the ship was out of the system, beyond com
  distance in seconds.
       The keening dynamos lost only a minute edge of sharpness before
  they sang at peak again.  The lots on the launchers snapped out into
  space as fast as they could be set up.  Then loads rocketed into the
  receiving area from other Prime Stations, and the ground crews hustled
  rerouting and hold orders.  The power note settled to a bearable pitch,
  as the Rowan worked out her mood without losing the efficient and
  accurate thrust that made her FT&T's best Prime.
       Callisto Moonbase was not a large installation, but its position
  was critical.  Most of the heart system's freight and passenger ships
  required the gestalt lift beyond the system where the hyper or drone
  
  drives could safely be activated.  As such bases went, it was luxurious
  - once you got accustomed to the overhead lower of Jupiter, or its mass
  jutting up from the horizon.  Terraforming the moon gave its workers
  psychological reassurance during the working 'day' with trees and grass
  lawns and flowering bushes and plants under the main dome.
       There were pleasant gardened accommodations for those staff that
  were on 24-hour duty, though most of the personnel - the Rowan willing
  - returned to their Earth surface or orbital homes.  As befit her
  status as an FT&T Prime, the Rowan had a special double-domed
  enclosure, with gardens and a pool and rimmed with small trees and
  bushes to complete her privacy.  Rumor had it that her quarters were
  rich with priceless furnishings, gathered from many planets, but no-one
  knew for certain as the Rowan guarded her privacy even more than FT&T
  guarded her.  The Callisto installation had been the engineering and
  scientific feat of the century, now commonplace since technological
  improvements outstripped that accomplishment as humans reached newer
  and more exotic planets in ever more remote star systems.
       One of the ground crew toggled the yellow alert across the board,
  then red as ten tonnes of cargo from Earth settled on the Priority
  Receiving cradle.  The waybill said Deneb VIII, one of the newest
  colonies, which was at the Rowan's limit.  But the shipment was marked
  TOP EMERGENCY PRIORITY/ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL with lavish MED seals and
  stencils shouting 'caution'.  The waybill described the shipment as
  antibodies for a virulent plague and specified direct transmission.
       Well, where're my coordinates and my placement photo?
       snapped the Rowan.  I can't thrust blind, you know, and we've
  always rerouted for Deneb VIII Bill Powers was scrolling through the
  Stardex which the Rowan suddenly tripped into a fast forward, the
  appropriate fax appearing on all screens at once.
       Glor-ree!  Do I have to land all that mass there myself?
       No, Lamebrain, I'll pick it up at 24.578.82, the lazy rich
  baritone voice drawled in every mind, that nice little convenient black
  dwarf midway.  You won't need to strain a single neuron in your pretty
  little skull.
       The silence was deafening.
       Well, I'll be .  . . came from the Rowan.
       Of course, you are, sweetheart - just push that nice little
  package out my way.  Or is it too much for you?  The drawl was
  solicitous rather than insulting.
       You'll get your package!  replied the Rowan, and the dynamos
  keened piercingly just once as the ten tonnes disappeared out of the
  cradle.
       Why, you little minx .  . . slow it down or I'll burn your ears
  back!
       Come out and catch it!  The Rowan's laugh broke off in a gasp of
  surprise, and Ackerman could feel her slamming up her mental shields.
       I want that stuff in one piece, not smeared a millimeter thin on
  the surface, my dear, the voice said sternly.  OK.  I've got it.
       Thanks!  We need this.
       Hey, who the blazes are you?  What's your placement?
       Deneb VIII, my dear, and a busy boy right now.  To-to.
       The silence was broken only by the whine of the dynamos dying to
  an idle burr.
       Not a hint of what the Rowan was thinking came through now, but
  Ackerman could pick up the aura of incredulity, shock, speculation, and
  satisfaction that pervaded the thoughts of everyone else in the
  Station.
       What a stunner for the Rowan!  No-one except a T- 1 could have
  projected that far.  There'd been no mention of a new T-1 being
  contracted to FT&T, and, as far as Ackerman knew, FT&T had the
  
  irreversible first choice on T-1
       kinetics.  However, Deneb planet was now it its third generation
  and colonial peculiarities had produced the Rowan in two.
       'Hey, people,' Ackerman said, 'sock up your shields.
       She's not going to like your drift.
       Dutifully the aura was dampened, but the grins did not fade and
  Powers started to whistle cheerfully.
       Another yellow flag came up for the Altair hurdle and the waybill
  designated LIVE SHIPMENT TO BETELGEUSE.
       The dynamos whined noisily and then the launcher was empty.
       Whatever might be going through her mind at the moment, the Rowan
  was doing her work.
       All told, it was an odd day, and Ackerman didn't know whether to
  be thankful or not that the Rowan wasn't leaking any aggravation.  She
  spun the day's lot in and out with careless ease.  By the time
  Jupiter's bulk had moved around to blanket the out-system traffic,
  Callisto's day was nearly over and the Rowan wasn't off power as much
  as decibel one.  Once the in-Sun traffic had filled all available
  cradles, Ackerman wound down the system.  The computer banks darkened
  and dynamos fell silent.  . . but the Rowan did not come down out of
  her Tower.
       Ray Loftus and Afra, the Capellan T-4, came over to sit on the
  edge of Ackerman's desk.  They brought out the bottle of some home brew
  and passed it around.  As usual, Afra demured and took from his belt
  pouch a half-folded origami, his special form of relaxation.
       'I was going to ask her Highness to give me a lift home,' Loftus
  said, 'but I dunno now.  Got a date with-' He disappeared.  A moment
  later, Ackerman could see him near a personnel carrier.  Not only had
  he been set down gently, but various small necessities, including a
  flight bag, floated out of nowhere on to a neat pile in the carrier.
       Ray was given time to settle himself before the hatch sealed and
  he was whisked off.
       Powers joined Afra and Ackerman.
       'She's sure in a funny mood,' he said.
       When the Rowan got peevish, few of the men at the station asked
  her to transport them to Earth.  She was psychologically planet bound,
  and resented the fact that lesser talents could be moved about through
  space without suffering a twinge of shock.
       Anyone else?
       Adler and Toglia spoke up and promptly disappeared.
       Ackerman and Powers exchanged looks which they hastily suppressed
  as the Rowan appeared before them, smiling.
       It was the first time that that welcome and charming expression
  had crossed her face for two weeks.
       The grin made you realize, Ackerman thought, very very softly in
  the deepest part of his brain, what a lovely woman she could be.  She
  was slight, thin rather than slender and sometimes moved like an
  animated stick figure.  She was not his notion of 'feminine' - all
  angles and slight breasts - and yet, sometimes when she looked up at
  you out of the corner of her eyes, that slight smile tugging at the
  corner of a rather sensual mouth, she fair took a guy's breath away .
       . . wondering.  And thinking about things no married man - or T-9
       - had any business reviewing, even in his head.  Maybe it was her
  white hair some said she'd had that since she was hauled out of the
  mudslide on Altair - others said it marked her as part alien.  The
  Rowan looked different because - and Ackerman knew this for a fact she
  WAS different!
       She smiled now, not sly exactly, but watchful, and said nothing.
       She took a pull from the bottle, made a grimace, and handed it
  back with a thank-you.  For all her eccentricities, the Rowan acted
  
  with propriety face-to face.  She had grown up with her skill,
  carefully taught by old Siglen on Altair.  She'd had certain courtesies
  drilled into her: the less gifted could be alienated by inappropriate
  use of Talent.  While the Rowan could be justified in 'reaching' things
  during business hours, she was careful to display normal behavior at
  other times.
       'Heard any 'scut about our Denebian friend?' she asked with just
  the right degree of 'casual' in her voice.
       Ackerman shook his head.  'Those planets are three generations
  colonized, and you came out of altair in two.' 'That could explain it,
  but FT&T hasn't even projected a station for Deneb.  They're still
  trying to find Talents for closer systems.' 'And not for want of
  trying,' Afra said.
       'Wild Talent?' Powers helpfully suggested.
       'At a Prime level?  Unlikely.' She shook her head.  'All I can get
  from Center is that they received an urgent message from an inbound
  merchantman to help combat a planet-wide virus, including a rundown on
  the syndrome and symptoms.  Lab came up with a serum, batched, and
  packed it.  They were assured that there was someone capable of picking
  it up and taking it the rest of the way past 24.578.82 if a Prime would
  get it that far.  Prior to this morning, what little goes to Deneb has
  been sent by cargo drone or rerouted.  And that's all anybody knows.'
  Then she added thoughtfully, 'Deneb VIII isn't a very big colony.' Oh,
  we're big enough, sweetheart, interrupted the drawling voice.  Sorry to
  get you after hours, my dear, but I don't really know anyone else to
  tag on Earth and I heard you coloring your atmosphere.
       What's wrong?  the Rowan asked.  Did you smear your serum after
  all that proud talk?
       Smear it, hell!  I've been drinking it.  No, lovey.  We've just
  discovered that we got some ET visitors who think they're
  exterminators.  We got a reading on three UFOs, perched four thousand
  miles above us.  That batch of serum you wafted out to me this morning
  was for the sixth virus we've been socked with in the last two weeks,
  so there're no bets on coincidence.
       Someone's trying to kill us off You can practically time the onset
  of a new nasty by the digital.  We've lost twenty five percent of our
  population already and this last virus is a beaut.  I want two top
  germdogs out here on the double and, say, two naval squadrons.  I doubt
  our friends will hover about viral dusting much longer.  They've
  softened us up plenty.  They're moving in now and once they get in
  position they'll start blowing holes in us real soon.  So send the word
  along to Fleet Headquarters, will you, sweetheart, to mobilize us a
  heavyduty retaliation fleet?
       I'll relay, naturally.  But why didn't you contact direct?
       Contact whom?  What?  I don't know your Terran organization.
       You're the only one I can hear.
       Not for much longer if I know my bosses.
       You may know your bosses, but you don't know me.
       That can always be arranged.
       This is no time for flirting.  Get that message through for me
  like a good girl.
       Which message?
       The one I just gave you.
       That old one?  They say you can have two germdogs in the morning
  as soon as we clear Jupiter.  But Earth says no squadrons.  No armed
  attack.
       You can double-talk, too, huh?  You're talented.  But the morning
  does us no good.  NOW is when we need them.  We've got to have as many
  healthy bodies as possible.  Can't you sling the medics.  . . no, you
  can't, can you, not with Jupiter's mass in the way.  Sorry, I just
  
  found the data on your station.  Filed under Miscellaneous Space
  Installations.  But, look, if six viruses don't constitute armed
  attack, what does?
       Missiles constitute armed attack, the Rowan said primly.
       Frankly, missiles would be preferable.  Them I can see.  I need
  those germdogs NOW.  Can't you turn your sweet little mind to a
  solution?
       as you mentioned, it's after hours.
       By the Horse head, woman!  the drawl was replaced by a cutting
  mental roar.  My family, my friends, my planet are dying.
       Look, after hours here means we're behind Jupiter.
       But.  . . wait!  How deep is your range?
       I don't honestly know.  And the firm mental tone lost some of its
  assurance.
       'Ackerman!' The Rowan turned to her stationmaster.
       'I've been listening.' Hang on, Deneb, I've got an idea.  I can
  deliver your germdogs.  Open to me in half an hour The Rowan whirled on
  Ackerman.  'I want my shell.
       Her brilliant eyes were flashing and her face was alight.
       'Afra!' The station's second in command, the handsome yellow eyed
  Capellan T-4, raised himself from the chair in which he'd been quietly
  watching her.
       'Yes, Rowan?' She glanced to the men in the room, bathing each in
  the miraculous smile that so disconcerted Ackerman with its sensuality.
       'I'll need all of you to help me.  I'll have to be launched,
  slowly, over Jupiter's curve,' she said to afra.  Ackerman was already
  switching on the dynamos, and Bill Powers punched for her special shell
  to be deposited on the launch rack.  'Real slow, Afra.  Then I'll want
  to draw heavy.' She took a deep breath.
       Like all Primes, she was unable to launch herself through space.
       Her trip from Altair to Callisto had deeply traumatized her.
       Primes were the victims of particularly pernicious agoraphobia.
       Most could not tolerate heights either.  There were some who said
  that the Rowan did very well indeed to climb the stairs to her 'tower'.
       Paradoxically, where the looming bulk of Jupiter gave others
  'falling' psychoses, it reassured her.  With the planet in the way, she
  couldn't 'fall' far into the limitless void of space.
       As another necessary security measure - in the event of a meteor
  shower on Callisto - the Rowan had a personnel capsule, opaque and
  specially fitted, padded and programmed to reduce the paralyzing
  sensation of 'movement'.  By the exercise of severe discipline, the
  Rowan had accustomed herself to taking short emergency drill trips.
       As soon as she saw the capsule settle in the rack, she took
  another deep breath and disappeared from the Station, to reappear
  beside the conveyance.  She settled gracefully into the shock couch of
  the shell.  The moment the lock whistle shut off, she 'knew' that afra
  was lifting her, gently, gently away from Callisto.  She wasn't aware
  of the slightest movement.  Nonetheless, she clung firmly on to afra's
  reassuring mental touch.  Only when the shell had swung into position
  over Jupiter's great curve did she reply to the priority call coming
  from Earth Central.
       Now what the billy blue blazes are you doing, Rowan?
       Reidinger's base voice crackled in her skull.  Have you lost
  what's left of your precious mind?
       She's doing me a favor, Deneb said, abruptly joining them.
       who in the hell are you?  demanded Reidinger.  Then, in shocked
  surprise, Deneb?  How do you get out there?
       Wishful thinking.  Hey, push those germdogs to my pretty !end
  here, huh?
       Now wait a minute!  You're going a little too far, Deneb.
  
       You can't burn out my best Prime with an unbiased send like this.
       Oh, i'll pick up midway.  Like those antibiotics this morning.
       Deneb, what's this business with antibiotics and germdogs?
       What are you cooking up out there in that heathenish hole?
       Oh, we're merely fighting a few plagues with one hand and keeping
  three bogey ETs upstairs.  Deneb gave them a look with his vision at an
  enormous hospital, a continuous stream of airborne ambulances coming
  in; at crowded wards, grim-faced nurses and doctors, and uncomfortably
  high piles of still, shrouded figures.  That melded into a proximity
  screen showing the array of blips on an orbital hold.  We haven't had
  the time or the technology to run IDs but our Security Chief says
  they're nothing he's seen before.
       Well, I didn't realize.  All right, you can have anything you want
  - within reason.  But I want a full report, said Reidinger.
       And patrol squadrons?
       Reidinger's tone changed to impatience.  You've obviously got an
  exaggerated idea of FT&T's influence.  We're mailmen, not military.
       I've no authority to mobilize patrol squadrons like that!  There
  was a mental snap of fingers.
       Would you perhaps drop a little word in the appropriate ear?
       Those ETs may gobble Deneb tonight and go after Terra tomorrow.
       I'm filing a report, of course, but you colonists agreed to the
  risks when you signed up!
       You're all heart, said Deneb.
       Reidinger was silent for a moment.  Then he said, Germdogs sealed,
  Rowan.  Pick 'em up and throw 'em out, and his touch left them.
       Rowan - that's a pretty name, said Deneb.
       Thanks, she said absently.  She had followed along Reidinger's
  initial push, and picked up the two personnel carriers as they
  materialized beside her shell.  She pressed into the station dynamos
  and gathered strength.  The generators whined and she pushed out.  The
  carriers disappeared.
       They're coming in, Rowan.  Thanks a lot!
       A passionate and tender kiss was blown to her across the
  intervening light years of space.  She tried to follow after the
  carriers and pick up his touch again, but he was no longer receiving.
       She sank back in her couch.  Deneb's sudden appearance had been
  immeasurably disconcerting.  The strength, the vitality of his mind was
  magnetic.  He had seemed to be inside the capsule with her, filling it
  with his droll humor and warmth.  That was it!  He was 'warm' toward
  her and she had basked in that sensation like a sun-dodger.  She had
  never achieved such an instant response to anyone since Turian, whom
  she often thought of wistfully.
       Oh, she had always had rapport, contact, with others.
       In fact, with anyone the Rowan chose to, but, with everyone below
  her own capability, there had always been an awkwardness, a reluctance
  that had inhibited her overtures.  Siglen certainly had thrown shields
  across her most private thoughts, explaining them patronizingly as 'no
  need to put old worries on young shoulders'.  Siglen, to this day,
  still considered the Rowan 'a mere child' despite the fact that she'd
  been Callisto Prime for nearly ten years.
       There were still times when the Rowan wished that Lusena had not
  died in that crash, days before Reidinger had appointed her to the new
  base on Jupiter's moon.
       Lusena had been such a comfort, such a support, believing so
  firmly in her future, in the future promised by Yegrani: an ephemeral
  promise.  So the Rowan had struggled to understand herself as she had
  earlier struggled to perfect control of her Talent.
       'We who have been blessed with extraordinary powers, Siglen had
  been fond of declaring in a doleful tone, 'cannot expect ordinary joys.
  
       We have an obligation to use our Talent to benefit all Humankind!
       It is our Fate to be singled out and single, the more to
  concentrate on our duties.' There had been only Turian to prove an
  exception.
       However, that had been ten long years ago now.  And male Primes
  didn't have a problem fending suitable mates.
       Reidinger had a score of children of varying degrees of
  competence.  David on Betelgeuse was madly in love with his T-2 wife
  and concentrated on a duty to populate his system with as many
  high-potential Talent offspring as his wife would tolerate.  The Rowan
  did not have any personal liking for David, though she could work with
  him satisfactorily.  Capella was as eccentric as Siglen was
  conservative and her personality rubbed the Rowan the wrong way.  For
  all the mental rapport the Rowan achieved with the other Primes, none
  of them were ever really 'open' to her.  Reidinger was usually at least
  sympathetic to some of her problems, but he had to be available every
  single moment to the myriad problems of the FT&T system.  And the Rowan
  knew fully the loneliness that Yegrani had foretold with no diminution
  anywhere.
       When the Rowan had been first assigned to Callisto Base, she had
  thought it was what the words of the Sight meant, for she was a focus.
       After some months of the routine, the Rowan was severely
  disillusioned.
       She was useful, yes: even essential for the smooth flow of
  material and messages between the Nine Star capitals, but any Prime
  would have done as well.
       Once her enthusiasm died, she fell back on Siglen's dogmatic
  training and tried hard to find satisfaction, if not sublimation, in
  doing a difficult and taxing job well, suppressing her increasing sense
  of unrelieved isolation.  Quite aware of her devastating loneliness,
  Reidinger had combed the Nine-Star League to find strong male talents,
  T-3s and T-4s like Afra, but she had never taken to any of them.
       She liked Afra well enough, and not just because of her promise to
  his sister, Goswina, but not that well.  The only male T-2 ever
  discovered in the Nine-Star League had been a confirmed homosexual.
       And now, on Deneb, a T-1 had emerged, out of nowhere - and so
  very, very far away.
       Afra, take me home now, she said, suddenly aware of physical and
  mental exhaustion.
       afra brought the shell down with infinite care.
       after the others had left the Station, the Rowan lay for a long
  while in the personnel carrier.  In her unsleeping consciousness she
  knew that Ackerman and the others had retired to their quarters until
  Callisto once more came out from behind Jupiter's bulk.  Everyone had
  some place to go, someone waiting for them, except the Rowan, who made
  it all possible.  The bitter, screaming loneliness that overcame her
  during her off-hours welled up - the frustration of being unable to go
  off-planet past Afra's sharply limited range - alone, alone with her
  two-edged Talent.  Murky green and black swamped her mind until she
  remembered the blown kiss.  Suddenly, completely, she fell into her
  first restful sleep in two weeks.
       Rowan.  It was Deneb's touch that roused her.  Rowan, please wake
  up.
       Hmmmm?  Her response was reluctant for sleep had been deep and
  desirable.
       help, he said and faded Our guests are getting rougher.  . . since
  the germdogs whipped up a broad spectrum antibiotic.  . . we thought.
       they'd give up.  No such.  luck.  They're.  . . pounding us.  with
  the missiles.  . . give my regards.  . . to your spacelawyer friend...
       Reidinger.
  
       You're playing pitch with missiles?  The Rowan came totally awake
  and alert.  She could feel Deneb's contact cutting in and out: he must
  be deflecting the bombardment.
       I need backup help, sweetheart, like you and.  . . any twin
  sisters.  . you ....... to have..  handy.  Jump over..  here, will you?
       Jump over?  What?  I can't!
       Why not?
       I can't!  I am unable to!  The Rowan moaned, twisting against the
  web of the couch.
       But I've got.  . . to have -- away.
       Reidinger!  The Rowan's call was a scream.
       Rowan, I don't care if you are a T-1.  There are certain limits to
  my patience and you've stretched every blasted one of them, you little
  white-haired ape!
       His answer scorched her.  She blocked automatically but clung to
  his touch.  Someone has got to help Deneb!  she cried, transmitting the
  Mayday.
       What?  He's joking!
       How could he, about a thing like that?
       Did you see the missiles?  Did he show you what he was actually
  doing?
       No, but I felt him thrusting.  And since when does one of US
  distrust another when he asks for help?
       Since Eve handed Adam a rosy, round fruit and said 'eat'
  Reidinger's cynical retort crackled across space.  And exactly since
  Deneb's not been integrated into the Prime network.  We can't be sure
  who or what he is - or exactly where he is.  I certainly can't take him
  at his word.  Oh, all right.
       Try a linkage so I can hear him myself I can't reach him.  He's
  too busy lobbing missiles spaceward.
       I'll believe that when I see 'em.  For one thing, if he's as good
  as he hollers, all he needs to do is tap any other potentials on his
  own planet.  Thats all the help he needs.
       But - But me no buts and leave me alone.  I'll play Cupid only so
  far.  Meanwhile I've got a company - and seven systems - to hold
  together.  Reidinger signed off with a backlash that stung.
       The Rowan lay in her couch, bewildered by Reidinger's response.
       He was always busy, always gruff.  But he had never been stupidly
  unreasonable.  While out there, Deneb was growing weaker.  She left the
  capsule and made for the Tower.  She should be able to do something
  once Callisto was clear of Jupiter and the station was operational.
       But when incoming cargoes started piling up on the launchers,
  there were no naval imits waiting for a Deneb push.
       'There must be something we can do for him, afra.
       Something!' the Rowan said, choked with an unreasonable fear.  'I
  don't care what Reidinger said: Deneb's genuine and Talents help each
  other!' Afra looked down at her sadly and compassionately, venturing to
  pat her frail shoulder.
       'What help can we offer, Rowan?  Not even you can reach all the
  way out to him.  And Reidinger has no authority to order patrol
  squadrons.  What about focusing whatever other Talents there are on his
  planet?  Surely he can't be the only one!' 'He needs Prime help and.  .
       .' She dropped her head, self-defeated.
       'And you can barely go past Callisto's horizon,' Afra finished for
  her, 'which is more than any other Prime can manage.' Keerist!
       Incoming missile!  Ackerman's mental shout startled both of them.
       Instantly the Rowan linked with the stationmaster and saw, through
  his eyes, the little-used perimeter warning screen, now beeping
  frantically.  Rowan located and then probed out into space.  The
  intruder, a sophisticated projectile, leaking lethal radiations, was
  
  arrowing in from behind Uranus.  Guiltily she flushed, for she ought to
  have detected it before the screen had.  There was no time to run up
  the idling dynamos.  The missile was coming in too fast.
       Deneb was certainly going to prove his peril to Reidinger!
       She marveled at his audacity in spinning the ET missile into the
  heart system.
       I want a wide open mind from everyone on this moon!  The Rowan's
  broadcast was inescapable.  Mauli!  Mick!  Go into action.  She felt
  the surge of power as forty-eight Talents on Callisto, including
  Ackerman's ten-year-old son, enhanced by the twins, answered her
  demand.  She picked up their energy - from the least 12 to Afra's
  sturdy 4 - and sent it racing out to the alien bomb.  She had to
  wrestle for a moment with its totally unfamiliar construction and
  components.  With the augmented capability of the merge, it was easy
  enough for her to deactivate the mechanism and scatter the fissionables
  from the warhead into Jupiter's seething mass.
       She released those who had merged with her and fell back into the
  couch.
       'How in hell did Deneb do that?' afra asked from the chair in
  which he had slumped.  'Reidinger won't like it!' She shook her head
  wearily.
       'No, but it proves Deneb's problem!' Without the dynamos there had
  been no gestalt to act as the initial carrier wave for her effort.
       Even with the help of the others - and all of them put together
  didn't add up to one-third the strength of another Prime - it had been
  a wearying exercise.  She thought of Deneb - alone, without an FT&T
  station or trained personnel to assist him - doing this again, and
  again, and again - and her heart twisted.
       Warm up the dynamos, Brian.  There will probably be more of those
  missiles.
       afra looked up, startled.
       'To illustrate the point Deneb's trying to make, Afra.
       Prime Rowan of Callisto Station alerting Earth Prime Reidinger and
  all other Primes!  Prepare for possible attack by fissionable
  projectiles of alien origin.  Alert all space stations and patrol
  forces.  She lost her official calm and added angrily, We've got to
  help Deneb now - we've got to!  It's no longer an isolated aggression
  against an outlying colony.  It's a concerted attack on our heart
  world!
       Rowan!  Before Reidinger got more than her name into her mind, she
  opened to him and showed the five new projectiles driving toward
  Callisto.  For the love of little apples!  Reidinger's mind radiated
  incredulity.  What has our little man been stirring up?
       Shall we find out?  Rowan asked with deadly sweetness.
       Reidinger transmitted impatience, fury, misery, and then shock as
  he gathered her intention.  Your plan won't work.  It's impossible.  We
  can't merge minds to fight.  All of us are too egocentric.  Too
  unstable.  We'd burn out, fighting each other.
       You, me, Altair, Betelgeuse, Procyon, and Capella.  We can do it.
       If I can deactivate one of those hell missiles with only
  forty-eight minor Talents and no power for help, five Primes plus full
  power ought to be able to knock any sort of missile off Then we can
  merge with Deneb to help him, that'll make six of us.  Show me the ET
  who could stand up to such an assault!
       Look, girl, Reidinger replied, almost pleading, we don't have his
  measure.  We can't just MERGE - he could split us apart, or we could
  burn him up.  We don't know him.  We can't gauge a telepath of unknown
  ability.
       You'd better catch that missile coming at you, she said calmly.  I
  can't handle more than ten at a time and keep up a sensible
  
  conversation.  She felt Reidinger's resistance to her plan weakening.
       She pushed the advantage.  If Deneb's been handling a planet-wide
  barrage, that's a very good indication of his strength.  I'll handle
  the merge because I damned well want to.  Besides, there isn't any
  other course open to us now, is there?
       We could launch patrol squadrons.
       THAT should have been done the first time he asked.  It's too late
  now.
       Their conversation was taking but brief seconds, and yet more
  missiles were coming in.  Earth itself was under attack!
       All right, Reidinger said in angry resignation, and contacted the
  other Primes.
       No, no, no!  You'll burn her out - burn her out, poor thing!
       Old Siglen from Altair was babbling.  Let us stick to our last we
  dare not expose ourselves, no, no, no!  The ETs would attack us then.
       Shut up, Iron pants, David said.
       It's our responsibility, Siglen, you know that!  We simply must!
       Capella chimed in waspishly.  Hit hard first, that's safest!
       Siglen's right, Rowan, .  . . Reidinger said.  He could burn you
  out.
       I'll take the chance.
       Damn Deneb for starting all this!  Reidinger didn't quite shield
  his aggravation.
       We've got to do it.  And now!
       Tentatively at the outset, and then with stunningly increased
  force, the leashed power of the other FT&T Primes, augmented by the
  mechanical surge of five great station generators, siphoned into the
  Rowan.  She grew, grew, and only dimly saw the puny ET bombardment
  swept aside like so many mayflies.  She grew, grew until she felt
  herself a colossus, larger than ominous Jupiter.
       Slowly, carefully, tentatively, because the massive power was
  braked only by her conscious control, she reached out to Deneb.
       She spun on in grandeur, astounded by the limitless force she had
  become.  She passed the small black dwarf that was the midway point.
       Then she felt the mind she searched for: a tired mind, its
  periphery wincing with weariness but doggedly persevering in nearly
  automatic reactions.
       Oh, Deneb, Deneb!  She was so relieved, so grateful to find him
  fighting his desperate battle, that tears merged before her ego could
  offer even a token resistance.  She abandoned her most guarded serf to
  him and, with the surrender, the massed power she held flowed into him.
       The tired mind of the man grew, healed, strengthened, and
  blossomed until she was a mere fraction of the total, lost in the great
  pain of this immense mental whole.
       Suddenly she saw with his eyes, heard with his ears, and felt with
  his touch, was immersed in the titanic struggle.
       The greenish sky above was pitted with mushroom puffs, and the raw
  young hills around him were scarred with missile craters that had been
  deflected from targets.
       Easily now, he was turning aside the barrage of warheads from
  three immense vessels.
       Let's go up there and find out what they are, the Reidinger
  segment said.  Now!
       Deneb approached the three enormous marauding ships.  The
  mass-mind took indelible note of the intruders, spidery forms that
  scrabbled about interiors resembling intricate webs.  Then, off
  handedly, Deneb broke the hulls of two, spilling the contents into
  space.  To the occupants of the survivor, he gave a searing impression
  of the Primes and the indestructability of the worlds in this section
  of space.  With one great heave, he threw the lone ship away from his
  
  exhausted planet, sent it hurtling farther than it had come, into
  uncharted black immensity He thanked the Primes for the incomplete
  complement of an ego-merge and extended in a millisecond the tremendous
  gratitude of an entire planet which had been so nearly obliterated.
       This incredible battle could never be forgotten, and future
  generations would celebrate the incomparable victory.
       The Rowan felt the links dissolving as the other Primes, murmuring
  withdrawal courtesies, left him.  Deneb caught her mind fast to his and
  held on.  When they were alone, he opened all his thoughts to her, so
  that now she knew him as intimately as he knew her.
       Sweet Rowan.  Look around you.  It'll take a while for Deneb to be
  beautiful again, but we'll make it lovelier than ever.  Come live with
  me, my love.
       The Rowan's wracked cry of protest reverberated cruelly in both
  naked minds.
       I can't.  I'm not able!  She cringed against her own outburst and
  closed off her inner heart so that he couldn't see the pitiful why.
       Mind and heart were more than willing: frail flesh bound her.  In
  the moment of his confusion, she retreated back to that treacherous
  body, arched in the anguish of rejection.  Then she curled into a tight
  knot, her body quivering with the backlash of effort and denial.
       Rowan!  came his cry.  Rowan!  I love you!
       She deadened the outer fringe of her perceptions to everything,
  curled forward in her chair.  Afra, who had watched patiently over her
  while her mind was far away, touched her shoulder.
       Oh, Afra!  To be so close and so far away.  Our minds were one.
       Our bodies are forever separate.  Deneb!  Deneb!
       The Rowan forced on her bruised self the oblivion of sleep.  Afra
  picked her up gently and carried her to the couch in the Tower room.
       He shut the door and went silently down the stairs.  He positioned
  a chair so that he could prop his feet on the bottom step and settled
  down to wait, his handsome face dark with sorrow, his yellow eyes
  blinking away moisture.
       afra and Ackerman reached the only possible conclusion: the Rowan
  had burned herself out.  They'd have to tell Reidinger.  Forty-eight
  hours had elapsed since they'd had a single contact with her mind.  She
  had not heard, or had ignored, their tentative requests for her
  assistance.  Afra and Ackerman could handle some of the routine freight
  with generator support but two liners were due in and that required
  her.  She was alive but that was all: her mind was blank to any touch.
       At first Ackerman had assumed that she was recuperating.  Afra had
  known better and, for that forty-eight hours, he'd hoped fervently that
  she would accept the irreconcilable situation.
       'I'm gonna have to tell Reidinger,' Ackerman said to Afra, wincing
  with reluctance.
       Well, where's Rowan?  Reidinger asked.  A moment's touch with Afra
  told him.  He, too, sighed.  We'll just have to rouse her some way.
       She isn't burned out; that's one miracle.
       Is it?  replied Afra bitterly.  If you'd paid attention to her in
  the first place Yes, I'm sure, Reidinger cut him off brusquely.  If I'd
  gotten her light of love his patrol squadrons when she wanted me to,
  she wouldn't have thought of a merge with him.  I put as much pressure
  on her as I dared.  But when that cocky young rooster on Deneb started
  lobbing deflected ET missiles at us.  . . Well, I hadn't counted on
  that development.  At least we managed to spur her to act.  And
  off-planet at that.  He sighed.  I was hoping that love might make at
  least one Prime fly.
       Whaaat?  Afra roared.  You mean that boule was staged?
       Hardly.  As I said, we hadn't anticipated the ETs.  Deneb
  presumably had only a mutating virus plague to cope with.  Not ETs.
  
       Then you didn't know about them?
       Of course not!  Reidinger sounded disgusted.  Oh, the original
  contact with Deneb for biological assistance was sheer chance.  I took
  it as providential, an opportunity to see if I couldn't break the
  agoraphobia psychosis we all have.
       Rowan's the youngest of us.  If I could get her to go to him
  physically - but I failed.  Reidinger's resignation saddened Afra, too.
       One didn't consider the Central Prime as fallibly human.  Love
  isn't as strong as it's supposed to be.  And where I'll get new Primes
  if I can't breed 'em, I don't know.  I'd hoped that Rowan and Deneb.
       As a matchmaker I should resign Afra broke the contact abruptly as
  the Tower door opened and the Rowan, a wan, pale, very quiet Rowan,
  came down.
       She smiled apologetically.  'I've been asleep a long time.
       'You had a tiring day,' Afra said gently, 'day before yesterday.'
  She winced and then smiled to ease Afra's instant concern.  'I still am
  a little frazzled.' Then she frowned.
       'Did I hear you two talking to Reidinger just now?' 'We got
  worried,' Ackerman replied.  'There're two liners coming in, and Afra
  and I just plain don't care to handle human cargo, you know.' The Rowan
  gave a rueful smile.  'I know.  I'm all set.' She walked slowly back up
  to her Tower.
       Ackerman shook his head sadly.  'She sure has taken it hard.' Her
  chastened attitude wasn't the relief that her staff had once considered
  it might be.  The work that day went on with monotonous efficiency,
  with none of the byplay and freakish temperament that had previously
  kept them on their toes.  The men moved around automatically, depressed
  by this gently tragic Rowan.  That might have been one reason why
  no-one particularly noticed a visitor.
       Only when Ackerman rose from his desk for more coffee did he
  notice the young man in plain travel gear, sitting there quietly.
       'You come up in that last shuttle?' 'Well, sort of.' He spoke with
  a modest diffidence, rising to his feet.  'I was told to see the Rowan.
       Reidinger signed me on in his office late this morning.' Then he
  smiled.
       Fleetingly Ackerman was reminded of the miracle of the Rowan's
  sudden smiles that could heat the very soul of you.  This man's smile
  was full of uninhibited magnetic vigor, while his brilliant blue eyes
  danced with good humor and friendliness.  Ackerman found himself
  grinning back like a fool and stepping forward to shake the man's hand
  stoutly.
       'Mighty glad to know you.  What's your name?' 'Jeff Raven.  I just
  got in from 'Hey, Afra, want you to meet Jeff Raven.  Here, have a
  coffee.  A little raw on the walk up from the launch yard, isn't it?
       Been on any other Prime Stations?' 'As a matter of fact .  Toglia
  and Loftus had looked around from their computers to inspect the
  recipient of such unusual cordiality.  They found themselves as eager
  to welcome this charismatic stranger.  Raven graciously accepted the
  coffee from Ackerman, who then proffered his special coveted ginger
  cakes which his wife excelled at making.  The stationmaster had the
  feeling that he must give this wonderful guy something else, it had
  been such a pleasure to provide him with coffee.
       afra looked quietly at the stranger, his calm yellow eyes a little
  clouded.  'Hello,' he said in a rueful manner, his tone oddly accented.
       Jeff Raven's grin altered imperceptibly.  'Hello,' he replied, and
  more was exchanged between the two men than a simple greeting.
       Before anyone in the Station quite realized what was happening,
  everyone had left his post and gathered around the newcomer, chattering
  and grinning, using the simplest excuse to touch his hand or shoulder.
       He was genuinely interested in everything said to him, and
  
  although there were twenty-three people anxiously vying to monopolize
  his attention, no-one felt slighted.  His reception seemed to envelop
  them all.
       What the hell is happening down there?  asked the Rowan, with a
  tinge of her familiar irritation.  Why Contrary to all her previously
  sacred rules, she appeared suddenly in the middle of the room, looking
  wildly about her.  Raven stepped to her side and touched her hand
  gently.
       'Reidinger said you needed me,' he said.
       'Deneb?' Her body arched over to project the astounded whisper.
       'Deneb?  But you're .  you're here?  You're here!' He smiled
  tenderly and slid his hand down her shining hair to grip her shoulder.
       The Rowan's jaw dropped and she burst out laughing, the laughter
  of a supremely happy, carefree girl.  Then her laughter broke off in a
  gasp of pure terror.
       HOW did you get here?
       Just came.  You can, too, you know.
       No!  No.  I can't!  No T-1 is able to.  The Rowan tried to free
  herself from his grasp, as if he were suddenly repulsive.
       I did though.  His gentle insistence was unequivocable.
       You just jumped from the Tower to this level.  If you can do that,
  why should it matter how far you go?
       Oh, no!  No!
       'Did you know, Raven said conversationally, grinning about him,
  'that Siglen of Altair gets sick just going up and down stairs?' He
  looked straight at the Rowan.  'You lived with her, you should know.
       All on the one level, not so much as a step anywhere?  That long
  padded ramp to her tower which is so hemmed by thick-leaved trees any
  glimpse of the outside is obscured?  I know she told you all about that
  hideous, grim, ghastly, nearly fatal trip she took from Earth to Altair
  on - of all torture mechanisms a spaceship?  Especially when she had
  planned to stay on Earth as its Prime?  Disappointment can have a weird
  effect on some personalities, you know.' The girl shook her head, her
  eyes wonderingly wide.
       'No-one ever asked why she had really rather unusual reactions to
  a deep space flight, did they?  I did.  Seemed damned silly to me when
  Reidinger "explained" the problem.' He held his audience's attention as
  he paused, his grin turning malicious.  'Siglen has a massive neural
  deterioration of the middle ear, a genuine enough disability which does
  make for travel difficulties.  She was so miserably sick in her first
  space voyage, she went into a trauma about any sort of travel without
  discovering the real cause.  The worst of it was that she then imposed
  that trauma on everyone else she trained.  Of course, it never occurred
  to her, or anyone else, that this wasn't part of "the price the
  Talented must pay!"' He dramatically placed his hand against his
  throat, mimicking Siglen so aptly that Afra had to choke back a laugh.
       Then he shot a wicked grin at the appalled Rowan.
       'Siglen .  . . Oh, Deneb, no!' Raven laughed.  'Oh, Callisto, yes.
       She passed on the trauma to every one of you.  The T-2 doesn't
  have it.
       Siglen wouldn't be bothered with training an inferior Talent.  The
  proof of the matter is that she didn't train me.' He opened his arms
  wide.  'And I, bigod, got here under my own steam.  The Curse of
  Talent!' He mimicked Siglen's deep contralto voice again.  'The Great
  Fear!  The great bushwah!  You've no middle ear imbalance: you only
  "think" you've got agoraphobia.  Bad enough a thought to hold for long,
  I agree, but it's a rotten handicap for you to have, my love.' Warmth
  and reassurance passed between them, and the Rowan's eyes began to
  shine.  Her eyes shone.
       Now, come live with me and be my love, Rowan.  Reidinger says you
  
  can commute from here to Deneb every day.
       'Commute?' She said it aloud in hollow astonishment.
       And stared at him in wonder.
       'Certainly,' Jeff said encouragingly.  'You're still a working T-1
       under contract to FT&T.  And so, my love, I guess I do know my
  bosses, don't I?' she said with a little smile.
       'Well, the terms were fair.  Reidinger didn't haggle a second
  after I walked into his private office at eleven this morning.' 'But to
  commute from Deneb to Callisto?' the Rowan repeated dazedly.
       'All finished here for the day?' Raven asked Ackerman, who shook
  his head after a glance at the launching racks.
       'C'mon, gal.  Take me to your ivory Tower and we'll finish up in a
  jiffy.  Then we'll talk about it.  I'm not pushing you, or anything,
  but I've got a planet to put to rights .  . .' And a few million things
  to discuss with you .
       Jeff Raven smiled wickedly at the Rowan and pressed her hand to
  his lips in the age-old gestures of courtliness.
       The Rowan's smile answered his with blinding joy.
       The others were respectfully silent as the two Talents made their
  way up the stairs to the once lonely Tower.
       Afra broke the tableau by taking a cake from the box in Ackerman's
  motionless hand.  There was nothing in the cake to cause his eyes to
  water so profusely.
       'Not that that pair needs much of our help, people, he said, 'but
  we can add a certain flourish and speed things up.
       The whine of the generators sobbed away into silence, a silence
  which was at first pleasant as the two Primes let the tension of their
  labors drain from them.
       Jeff Raven broke the silence, giving a low grunt as he pushed his
  chin down to his chest to stretch neck and shoulder muscles.  He had
  been sitting in the swivel chair at the console, so he hadn't had the
  full body support of a couch like the Rowan's.  He swiveled about to
  face her now.
       'I know you,' the Rowan said shyly, suddenly unnerved by his
  presence and the end of known routines, 'and I don't.' Gently then she
  felt the feathery touch of his mind in hers, withdrawn as gently but
  leaving behind it a sweet, spicy taste.  That had never happened to the
  Rowan before in all her mental encounters, and she took a moment to
  absorb the sensation.
       'There's a lot about each other that we're going to have to know,'
  Jeff Raven began to smile, a smile that was also tinged with a shy
  uncertainty.  He ran his fingers through his shock of black hair.  'And
  Lord above, woman, we've got a lifetime to learn.' His smile broadened,
  and he cocked his head slightly at her, looking at her with warmly
  affectionate eyes that hinted of deeper emotions kept in firm check.
       'Look,' he said in a totally different tone of voice and he leaned
  forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, 'it's been a rough few weeks
  for me and now we've met, we don't have to rush anything.  In point of
  fact,' he said, with a huge yawn, 'I'll be candidly unromantic and
  admit that I'm whacked.  I've been on the stretch since those ETs
  arrived.' He gave her an ingratiating smile.  'That rather romantic
  gesture of mine, to launch us to Deneb, is totally beyond me.  I'm
  starving, I need a bath, and about twenty years' sleep!' The Rowan
  began to laugh, more gurgle than chuckle, as practical considerations
  dissolved the moment of restraint and doubt.  She rose and thrust out
  her hand to him.  His was warm, calloused, and physical contact only
  reinforced mind and voice.  'Then, tonight, you come home with me!'
  Gently Jeff pulled her to him.  You're such a little thing!
       He tucked her head under his chin and held her against his body.
       She put her hands about him with an experimental lightness.  His
  
  body was firm.  She liked it.  That's good!  She also felt the
  weariness permeating muscle, sinew, blood, and bone.
       'Come!' she said and jumped them into the main room of her
  quarters.
       'Rather special,' Jeff said, looking about the spacious room with
  appreciative eyes.  'I think you'll find it easier to shrug off
  Siglen's silly conditioning than you believe.
       Look, steps all over.' He gestured at the various levels, for the
  dwelling had been built into Callisto's stony landscape.
       'I designed it myself.' She spoke with pride, sensing his
  flattering approval as she followed his gaze, from the small
  conversation pit around the archaic hearth with an imitation fire, to
  the dining level that had a three-sided view of the gardens and the
  little copse, to the sound and vision wall, to the corridor leading to
  the wing.
       'Well done!  Very well done!  And it proves conclusively to me
  that your agoraphobia was Siglen's imposition.  She didn't tolerate
  steps anywhere.  As you must know.' Then he yawned convulsively.  'What
  a lover you chose!' 'You get the bath,' and she pushed him in the
  direction of the bathing room.  'I'll fix a meal guaranteed to raise
  all known energy levels.  Then you may sleep as long as you need to.'
  She 'saw' him as he shucked off his clothing: very privately she
  compared him to Turian's heavier build and the Captain's deep tan.
       Then she decided that she liked his spare build, lean, muscled
  back and narrow hips; bulky people irritated her.
       With good reason, Jeff remarked as he eased himself into the
  steaming pool.  She had half-expected him to dive in, for it was deep
  enough, and heard his denying chuckle.
       Another time, he told her with a sigh of total relaxation as he
  floated.  Fix me that food, love, or I' ll starve to death in my sleep.
       She sent the water pillow to hold up his head and felt her lips
  tingle with an impressed kiss.  She smiled as she collected the
  necessary foodstuffs from storage.  Siglen may have adored eating for
  its own sake, but the Rowan had learned the fundamentals of good
  nutrition and the value of well-prepared and presented food.
       'What will people think of me when they see you so thin, Rowan?
       Eat more!  It's really delicious.  If you'd only force yourself to
  eat .  . .' Siglen's wheedling tone resounded in the Rowan's ears.
       It was, however, infinitely more satisfying to prepare something
  for Jeff Raven.  So involved was she in making certain that all
  nutritional elements had balanced tastefully that the Rowan was
  astonished to feel the rhythms of profound sleep emanating from her
  lover.  A moment's pique was soothed by her realization that she would
  indeed have all the time in the world to prove her worth as a cook.
       Now she'd better keep him from inadvertently drowning.
       Unexpectedly she felt some fatigue from the day's excitements.
       Gently she lifted the inert form of her lover from the water,
  swathed him in warm, soft, scented towels, and conveyed him to her wide
  bed.  Being telekinetic had, for once, practical applications she had
  not heretofore considered, she thought, tenderly gazing down at his
  sleeping face.  All the stress and fatigue lines were smoothing away
  and Jeff Raven looked younger.
       His wasn't actually a handsome face: without animation, the harsh
  planes looked uncompromising, the nose prominent, jutting out from a
  wide and high brow His eyes were far more deepset than she had
  realized.  He had a very strong jaw - no getting around this man with
  specious argument.  She wondered if he'd jut his chin out when annoyed.
       His lips, too, showed firmness for all they were well-shaped, if a
  trifle on the thin side, but he had smiled so often, that detail had
  escaped her.  In all, a strong, vital face and exceedingly attractive
  
  to her.
       Sternly she suppressed unusual clamorings of body and blood.
       Eighteen-year-old Rowan might have planned to challenge Captain
  Turian but she wouldn't ever be silly enough to dare Jeff Raven.  She
  placed water, fruit juice, the 'supper' she had made him in a heating
  cocoon, in easy reach on the bedside table.
       What would their children be like?  Despite her solitude, she
  suddenly blushed.  Once Turian had been cajoled out of his regrets,
  they had enjoyed each other thoroughly.
       But no-one since then had aroused her.  Not even the high Talents
  Reidinger kept sending to Gerolaman's courses, or to Callisto Tower on
  specious errands.
       For a long while, the Rowan had held the firm conviction that,
  once her long training had been accomplished, her 'travel' would
  resolve all her problems.
       Instead, she had gone from one lonely tower to another.
       Yegrani's 'long and lonely road' had been before her a long and
  lonely time.  Even the cryptic 'seeing' seemed fulfilled.
       She had been the focus.  Was her reward Jeff Raven?
       Would she 'travel' now with him?
       He stirred slightly, as if responding to her thought; her heart
  caught in her throat.  Then, with a smile, he sank more deeply into his
  much needed rest.  She curled beside him on the wide bed, not needing
  to touch, content to be in his presence.  And then fatigue overcame all
  her new sensations and wonderings.
       The startlement of being kissed woke the Rowan abruptly, and it
  took a moment to recall the extraordinary events of the previous day.
       'Honey, I am sorry to the death to have to wake you, but duty
  calls!' Jeff's tone and expression were regretful - and so was the
  clinging touch of his mind in hers, all spicy.
       'Why?' She resented 'duty' with an intensity that blazed from
  every pore.
       'Easy, girl,' and Jeff chided her.  'When we so blithely destroyed
  those ET vessels, we left a lot of debris at spatially unsafe distances
  for the good of my poor planet.' She saw in his open mind the visual
  report from Deneb.
       'Some of it's extrapolated to come thunking down in settled areas.
       My kin are good, but not that good.' 'Can I help?' She dressed
  quickly.
       'You can, indeed, and I'm counting on it.  Reidinger has got Earth
  to release our colony a lot of much-needed supplies, and I need you to
  relay them out to me without splitting the packets.  The High Command
  also wants samples of what we so indiscreetly made piecemeal.' 'But
  Jeff, what about us?' The sheer terror of renewed solitude sounded in
  her cry He pulled her into his arms, once again tucking her head under
  his chin.  He rocked her slowly, wrapping her in such deep and tender
  regard that she truly realized physical separation was no barrier to
  their rapport.  Then he tilted her chin up and kissed her lips, a
  contact that was made far more poignant by his mind-touch and the
  scenes he projected of how they would make love when 'duty' permitted.
       She was vibrating with a sensuality which he then completed with
  an intimate mental touch, and she clung to him in amazed relief.  He
  grinned down at her, pleased by the effect he had on her.
       'The chemistry's right between us, love, and I can't wait to prove
  it time and time and time and time again.
       However,' and his manner altered as, with deep mental and physical
  regret, he released her, 'while I'm gone, work hard on overcoming
  Siglen's impositions.  I'll be back as soon as I've done garbage
  detail.  We'll be transporting some mighty queer stuff.  I'd have a
  good look at it when it comes through Callisto were I you, honey.  If
  
  there's one group of space traveling animosities, there may be more.
       He released his physical hold of her and guided her to the door.
       'We'll walk across this time.  Gives us a few more moments.' She
  matched strides with him and was unaware of anything on the way to the
  Tower but the touch of his hip and thigh against hers, his fingers
  laced in hers.  For once she wasn't even aware of the great generators'
  start-up whine.
       'Who was Purza?' he asked suddenly, looking down at her The
  unexpectedness of that question at this moment made her lose step.  She
  had been worried that he might have accessed her Turian memories.
       Maybe he had and didn't care to comment.  After all, that belonged
  to the past.
       'Purza was my pukha,' and her throat still closed with a vividly
  remembered grief and outrage.  One is forced to put away childish
  things.
       Ah, love, and tenderness, spicy-sweet and gentle, laved her.  I
  don't think you were allowed to be a child.  We'll assure our own of
  that privilege.  Then, with a mischievous note in his tone, he added,
  'And I'll prove that a Raven's a much more innovative companion than a
  pukha.' His eyes were intensely blue and a devilish smile curved his
  lips, and suddenly she was aware of renewed sensations, coursing
  through her, setting off unusual reactions until suddenly, from her
  loins, an incredible warmth began to expand in a sudden burst of
  exquisite pain.
       And that is only a sample, my love.  Only a sample!  Jeff's voice
  seemed to be part of that sensation, and she had to cling to him to
  remain on her feet.
       Then they were in the tunnel that led to the garage.
       With an effort she assembled her wits, aware that Jeff was very
  well pleased with his effect on her.  She was grateful for the
  diversion provided by the strange personnel carrier in the launch
  cradle, the blazon of the Central Worlds on its nose, the paint still
  gleaming with Jeff Raven's code.
       'New design, huh?' She ran tentative fingers down the shell.  It
  had not yet acquired the static of well-used carriers.
       'Only the very best for the newest, love,' Jeff replied, lightly
  teasing though there was no sparkle in his deep blue eyes.  He pulled
  her into his embrace and kissed her long and deeply.  She responded as
  intensely as she could.
       The twinkle was back in his eyes.  He quickly settled himself in
  the carrier.  The whine of the generators was keening up to launch
  power.  'See you, love!' It was astonishing for everyone in the Tower
  to launch Jeff's capsule.  He was helping, laughing when the Rowan told
  him to save his strength for his day's work, teasing Afra and Ackerman
  in a casual way and then - abruptly he had separated himself from them.
       The Rowan became far too busy to examine her feelings just then.
       A near invasion of pods and drones, of medium sized personnel
  carriers were flicked out from Earth Prime en route to Deneb: experts
  in all fields to parse through the debris of the invaders to ascertain
  what was the most important for in-depth analysis to be sent back to
  the main Moon labs.  Every sort of information must be gleaned from
  that assault, analyzed, and neatly catalogued for future reference.
       Whenever Deneb-cargo went off Callisto, Jeff and the Rowan
  exchanged kisses, and other caresses which made her glad she was alone
  in the Tower.  It gave an unexpected fillip to intensive mental effort.
       And, as he had asked, she did a quick look at some of the more
  unusual flotsam that came through: hull arcs, like the segments of
  fruit; packages of curious supplies (food?); shreds of metallic films
  clothing?; some frozen specimens of alien parts.  She did recall the
  look of them as she, with the focus meld of Prime minds, disassembled
  
  them and their ships.  Not at all humanoid, rather a form of beetle,
  with carapace or chitinous wings, with multiple legs, with joined
  digits.  Some of the creatures which had been standing erect at their
  control devices were approximately two-meters long.  Those in the round
  access tubes through the long space vehicles had been smaller and
  scurried about on six of their ten legs.  There had been a heavily
  guarded central feature with immature creatures, a startling number of
  egg cases and the largest specimen.  A generation ship?  Indicative of
  perhaps a cross-galaxy voyage of incredible duration?
       The contents certainly gave rise to incredible speculations and
  overwhelming relief that the Primes had been able to destroy such an
  alien menace.  And some rather silly minor hysterics from the nervous.
       Not only was there the unusual traffic to Deneb, but over the next
  few days, the Rowan was called upon to dispatch naval reconnaissance
  vessels to the perimeter of the Central Worlds' sphere of influence.
       Massive amounts of equipment and personnel were shifted around in
  the panic following the Denebian Incident.  Reidinger decided to
  increase the Talented complement of the main Prime Stations for the
  purpose of unceasing vigilance and to upgrade distant early warning
  beacons set beyond the perimeter.  That left him short of experienced
  staff, and rather short on temper as a result.
       'Reports of the Incident were toned down a lot,' Ackerman told an
  exhausted Rowan at the end of that fourth chaotic day.  'The public
  report,' he added when the Rowan blinked uncomprehendingly up at him.
       He decided her mind was only half here.  'They decreased the size
  and capacity of the ships, and the armaments and potential danger.
       'Considering some of the stuff that we handled, I'd say that was
  discreet of them,' Afra remarked caustically, his fingers busily
  constructing a paper shape remarkably like the aliens that had been
  destroyed.  Then he casually crumpled the origami into a wad.
       Afra was exceedingly different from his sister, the gentle
  Goswina.  And the day had exhausted her.
       Me, too, Jeff said softly in her head.  I've got just about enough
  energy to crawl into my lonely bed and remember how great it was to lie
  beside you.  To know all through the night that you were there.
       When the Rowan realized that she was grinning foolishly, 'Jeff!'
  she said enigmatically and both men nodded understandingly.
       Loftus brought in a sheaf of hard-copy sheets.  'They plan to work
  our butts off again tomorrow, too!' He shook out the ream-long
  manifests of projected shipments.  'And a big mother of a battleship,
  complete with flag admiral.
       Where was he when he was needed?' 'D'you think he will be?'
  Ackerman asked, suddenly apprehensive.
       Afra snorted.  'With all the monitors, detectors, remotes, and
  junk we've had to parcel out?  Highly unlikely.' 'Nothing like locking
  the barn door when the horse is gone!' Loftus said.
       'What on earth do you mean by that?' the Rowan asked.
       It sounded like something Siglen would come out with.
       'Old saying!  Procrastination is a thief!  Here, Ackerman.
       bud better analyze how we're going to shift all that!' I can see
  you now, Jeff's loving voice came softly into her mind, talking in the
  Tower.  Why don't you go home so I can see you in your own place and
  fall asleep knowing where you are?
       In a sort of trance, the Rowan excused herself, leaving the three
  men staring at the spot she had just vacated.
       'I suppose we'll have to get used to her looking all starry-eyed
  and flicking out like that,' Brian said, slightly envious.
       'Has she gone to Deneb?' Loftus asked, his eyes bugging out.
       'She's not quite ready for that yet, I think,' Afra replied and
  tossed off the half-finished mug of stimulant.  'I hope it's not a long
  
  time coming.' As the tall Capellan went back to his workspace, he was
  unaccountably depressed.  In no way did he resent Jeff Raven's
  acquisition of the Rowan.  Afra had long ago buried his tentative and
  unrequited attraction for the quicksilver girl.  He had hoped that out
  of sheer need she might one day have turned to him, for he adored her
  in his own fashion.  Since the day, as a very nervous eighteen
  year-old, he had reported for duty at Callisto, they had shared a
  rapport, becoming stronger over the years, close enough so that he did
  not exactly envy Jeff Raven.  Rather he worried for them both.
       They ought somehow to have taken themselves to Deneb that first
  night.  He had been surprised that they hadn't.  And more concerned,
  though it was certainly none of his business, when he sensed that the
  union had not been consummated.  If he'd been in Jeff Raven's shoes
  Well, how the Denebian conducted his seduction of the Rowan was NOT the
  business of Afra, Capellan T-4.  The Rowan showed no resentment; why
  should he?
       While he could also understand the necessity of pumping men and
  material out to the other Primes, and the naval units, and whatever
  else was on tomorrow's dockets, why hadn't Reidinger sent out some T-2s
  or a few well integrated T-3 teams to assist Deneb.  Why couldn't FT&T
  have given the Rowan and Jeff a few days together?
       Was Reidinger still playing games with the Rowan's space afare?
       Reidinger might just find his strategy backfiring.
       Though Afra had little clairvoyant capability, he had a sickening
  uneasy-making hunch that Reidinger was wrong to proceed as he did.  The
  trouble with an undeveloped prescience was that it was so fecking
  nebulous.  He intended to push against it until something did clarify.
       Forewarned was forearmed.  Or was it?
       He was tired enough so that, when he got to his own quarters, he
  drank a formula meal and went imediately to bed.
       Rowan, love!
       Jeff's rich voice was tender and soft, gently rousing her from
  sleep.  Phantom lips laid pressure on hers, and a phantom touch
  caressed her lovingly in other places.
       She so much desired his presence, was convinced that he had
  somehow returned, that when she realized that she was still alone in
  her bed, she almost wept.
       Oh, Rowan, lovey.  I am so sorry!  I devoutly wish I was really
  there.  And she experienced a jolt of his own sexual tension and was a
  little dismayed at its intensity.
       The debris is still falling?
       She caught the grimness - and the fatigue - in his mind.
       Like rain!  He was also disgusted.  If any of us in that merge had
  had the sense God gave little green apples He gave them some?
       we'd have made sure we scattered those hulks sunward!
       Oversight!
       Overhead, too.  At least we have equipment now to man:tar falls.
       The squadron's on twenty-four-hour duty lassoing the big stuff,
  packing it into drones for shipment back.  We may think we're tired
  now, but you wait.  She felt the unruly humor.
       Our basket's entirely full of eggs.
       Eggs?
       Eggs, I said.  Our biologists say that the beetles were
  reproducing for 1) a generation-type voyage 2) shortlived workers that
  had to be periodically replaced, or 3) stocking up for a population
  explosion on our planet.  They want to do an in-depth examination and
  extrapolation of the life cycle.  So don't make an omelette.
       Not with frozen eggs.  Jeff Wouldn't it be a lot easier and more
  work- and cost effective to examine everything there?
       The Rowan felt tired just thinking about the effort involved.  Was
  
  Jeff warning her or complaining?
       They 'say' they have to do it in the big Moon labs - to prevent
  contamination or something.  I think they don't want Deneb to get such
  a juicy contract so early in its career as a colony.  We could pay off
  our Central Worlds' Start-up debt if we'd that kind of investagatory
  work here.
       The Rowan thought about that.  The Armed Services, naval and
  military, regarded Talent with deep suspicion since generally speaking,
  those of a mind to make war were too prosaic to understand minds which
  eschewed physical violence.  Except, of course, she reminded herself,
  when they needed an entire squadron dispatched to a far corner of the
  galaxy.  THEN they remembered Talent quite well!  She didn't trust
  bureaucracy either but regulations and rules did reduce chaos to mere
  confusion.  She had come to respect regulations: she would never
  condone restrictions.  Not being of an acquisitive nature, she also did
  not understand the economics involved: she had all the possessions she
  needed: she could purchase whatever she liked - within reason - and she
  was not covetous.
       Jeff was another matter.  And all that happened to Jeff.
       How badly is your colony in debt to Central Worlds?  And how HAD
  your governors decided to pay it off?
       This planet's mineral rich: we're miners and engineers, with
  enough farmers thrown in to keep us locally supplied.
       The Rowan pondered a moment, permitting the peripheral information
  she had absorbed in that merge to surface to her public mind.  She knew
  he was an engineer in a farming family.  She knew he had six brothers
  and four sisters, since increases in Deneb's population were as
  important as any other occupation.  She knew that his oldest brother
  and his two older sisters with young families had been wiped out by the
  aliens, as well as his father and the two youngest siblings: that two
  younger brothers were medical personnel, that his mother would soon
  deliver a posthumous child.  He had uncles, aunts, and cousins unto the
  third degree, and half of them had minor Talents.  But Deneb, which was
  not scheduled to achieve full status in Central Worlds nor slated to
  receive a Prime in the next hundred years, had not organized its
  Talents until the imminent invasion had forced them into maturity.
       Yes, you picked up a lot about us, didn't you, sweeting?  Jeff
  sounded pleased and she felt him stretching... the stretch of someone
  relieving aching, strained muscles.  She sent soothing impulses,
  phantom hands to knead and smooth.  She would much rather have had the
  genuine warm flesh beneath equally fleshy fingers.  I, too, and the
  longing in Jeff's tone ran as deep as her own.
       This can't continue!
       That's for sure, but I also cannot leave Deneb.  Jeff's tone took
  on an irritated resignation.  There's just no way I can permit myself
  personal time if my absence results in more destruction.  Like right
  now.  Be back!
       His presence in her mind was gone: not so much as an echo
  remained.  She felt more bereft than ever, deeply dissatisfied.  If she
  applauded his principles, she fumed at the circumstances.  Which
  brought her to the nub of the problem: Siglen's imposed space fear.  If
  Jeff could not, in honor, leave Deneb at this critical moment, it was
  up to her to break down her own resistance to space travel.
       Afra!
       The Capellan's mind-touch was instantly available.  He always was,
  she realized.  Afra was like a shadow - a loving shadow she also
  perceived with her newly expanded perceptions of loving and caring.
       She squashed that observation to save Afra's sensitivity.
       I'll need to practice in my shell.
       Not in the middle of the night, Rowan, he came back, not bothering
  
  to mask his exasperation.  Believe me, I'm all for helping the course
  of true love, but trying to crack a trauma of such long standing is
  irrational when you - and I - are exhausted.  Tomorrow morning.  We'll
  have a few hours before Callisto clears Jupiter and Earth shipments
  arrive.  This humble T4 needs all the rest he can get to cope with you
  on the best of days and I don't count today one of them!  Go to sleep,
  Rowan.  I need mine!
       It was so seldom that Afra was adamant that the Rowan meekly broke
  the contact.  He was right.  It would be crazy to try anything in her
  state of mind.
       How did Siglen manage to condition her thoroughly?  Why hadn't
  anyone noticed it?  Lusena had been so common sensible: why hadn't she
  spotted the neurosis?
       BECAUSE Siglen harped on it so often, moaned about the Curse of
  the Primes so that no-one thought to question her.  And both David and
  Capella had been woefully stressed on their flights.  Who would have
  dared question Altair's biggest asset?
       Ass was right, the Rowan thought, spotting anomalies that refuted
  Siglen's contention.  She'd always been able to teleport herself about
  Port City and the Tower.  She'd never experienced agoraphobia.  The
  mechanics of teleporting oneself on a planet were no different than
  teleporting oneself from one planet to another.  The Rowan was
  disgusted.  YEARS had been wasted because of Siglen's stupid inner ear
  imbalance!
       And yet, the Rowan distinctly remembered her own terror when, as a
  very little girl, Lusena was taking her into the shuttle that would
  have transported her to Earth.
       She had been so terrified at the sight of that portal she had even
  dropped Purza to teleport to the only place of safety she knew.  Siglen
  had been raving then about the horrors of space travel, and sparing the
  poor child any further anguish.  Just as she had in the act of
  teleporting the Rowan to Callisto!  The Rowan shuddered remembering
  that nightmare: why did Talents have to have such perfect recall?
       David of Betelgeuse could clearly remember being nursed at his
  mother's breast.  Capella swore she remembered her birth trauma.
       Which, David had acidly remarked, was why Iron pants refused to
  mate, unwilling to inflict such horror on a child from her womb.  Well,
  that was her excuse.
       Once again, the Rowan tried to force her memory back, before that
  aborted departure.  All she knew about her early childhood was what she
  had been told: that her parents had died in an avalanche, that she had
  been the sole survivor of the Rowan disaster.  She had never questioned
  those facts.  She had devoutly wished that she had known something of
  her background: her real name, what her family had been like, if she'd
  had any brothers and sisters.  It hadn't been until she'd been in
  Turian's company that she realized what she might have been lacking.
       She did remember being taken from the hopper, and immediately
  sedated.  She most certainly remembered telling Siglen that she was the
  Rowan, because 'they' all called her 'The Rowan Child' Now that she
  knew that this whole fufurrah about Primes traveling in space was an
  imposed neurosis, she was more than halfway to restoration.  Or that
  was the often repeated theory.  She stilled her restlessness, found a
  comfortable position in her half-empty bed, and initiated her sleep
  pattern.
       The next morning she was awakened by the rumble of generators
  warming up.
       We've two hours before we clear Jupiter, Afra said in his
  customary dry tone.
       I know.  Odd how she always did.  Callisto's orbit in its relation
  to its primary was a permanent fixture in her consciousness.  She
  
  dressed quickly, remembered to drink a sustaining meal, and jogged down
  the passageway to the bunker where the personnel carriers were stored,
  saw hers missing from its rack and went on to the launch cradle in
  which it now rested.
       She didn't feel the least bit altered from the last time she had
  lain on the padded couch.  Shouldn't she?
       Feel different?  Afra echoed and gave her a chuckle.
       [Why had she never realized that Afra was warm brown, velvety
  smooth, and faintly citrony of scent?] YOU yourself haven't altered,
  afra went on through her private observation of him.  Just your
  perception of the process.
       Did you ever suspect that it was a psychosis engendered by
  Siglen's lack of equilibrium?
       [Mental shrug.] A T4 does not delve into the exalted mechanics of
  the Primes, my dear.  Afra snorted at the mere thought of such
  blasphemy.
       But what do you think about, or Brian Ackerman, or any of those I
  whip back to Earth, when they're being transported?
       I don't listen in, and Afra added an admonitory chiding.
       You're being obstructive.  Well, be objective.  What do YOU think
  about?
       During a kinetic displacement?  Generally, I concentrate on
  getting where I'm supposed to go.  Where did you plan to go today,
  Rowan?
       I would prefer to go to Deneb, she answered in a very meek and
  subdued voice.
       Not unless Jeff Raven is there to catch you, and he isn't.
       And even with the gestalt, I can't send you very far.  You're said
  in that respect, he added quickly when he felt the first tinge of
  terror in her mind.  It will take time, you know, to condition you to
  space travel.
       I can't just sit here in the cradle - You're not, you know, Afra
  said very gently.  You're hovering in Demos's orbit above Mars.
       WHAT?  In her fright, the Rowan projected such an almighty scream
  that Afra slapped his hands, instinctively but ineffectually, to his
  ears.
       WHAT are you doing, Rowan?  came a roar from Earth Prime.  Afra,
  I'll flay your yellow skin and hang the meat from your bones out to
  dry!  What ARE you doing with her?
       Leave him alone, Reidinger, was the Rowan's prompt and equally
  agitated response.  Afra's obeying my orders and your stated wishes
  that THIS Prime will learn to travel in space.  Stop blustering.  Here
  I am orbiting Demos and that's further than I've ever been able to come
  before.  But, and while she forced herself to admire the view, she
  found herself 'looking' straight ahead, unable/unwilling to turn her
  eyes from the sight of Demos's pitted surface with Mar's red/orange
  bulk beyond.  As long as she had only that view to contend with, she
  could manage it.  Demos looked exactly like its hologram.
       I think that's enough for now, she added, spacing her words
  carefully, as if one of them might alter her head a fraction, forcing
  her to see more of the open space all around her shell which could be a
  prelude to the godawful spinning she'd felt on her first space voyage.
       Shut up, Rowan, that was a Siglenish imposition.  Nevertheless,
  she felt sweat trickling down her face.
       You did very well, Afra said calmly and the next thing she knew
  she was back in the cradle.
       Did you really send me all the way to Demos, Afra?  She felt
  totally spineless and couldn't move a hand to blot the perspiration on
  her face.
       I certainly did, and you suffered no significant trauma according
  
  to the monitors in the shell.  Just stop thinking about Siglen.
       afra did not have to sound quite so smug, she thought deep inside
  her head.  He had royally fooled her, that treacherous T-4.
       'What's the Rowan's capsule doing out here?' Ray Loftus yelled and
  he had flipped up the canopy before he noticed her lying inside.  'Hey
  - whaaaaat?' He stared down at her, his face gone white.  'Are you all
  RIGHT, Rowan?' He didn't appear to know what to do, waving one hand
  impotently.
       'Stop dithering and give me your hand,' the Rowan said.  'I've
  been to Demos and back - for my sins!' Ray willingly assisted her out
  of the capsule and, then almost too solicitously for she was drained by
  the experience, supported her up to the Tower building.  His
  incredulity and several odd, unsortable fleeting emotions were
  inescapably projected to her through the physical contact.  But she
  also caught pride and relief.
       afra palmed open the door, took her hand and, with a brief kinetic
  surge, renewed her energy.  Before she could read him, he had his
  shield up again.
       You don't need to treat this as so commonplace an occurrence, you
  know, she added, piqued.
       Why not?  It should be!  Yaw!  He sidled away from the pinch she
  gave him.
       Now, if fun and games are over for this morning, can I please
  review the day's schedule?  came the acid tone of Reidinger.  There are
  a few alterations.
       That night as the Rowan lay in her double lonely bed, she reviewed
  that lift.  She had felt nothing: not even that spinning - once she'd
  shut her mind away from the notion - that had consumed her on the
  'portation from altair to Callisto.  But, in the light of present
  knowledge, was it any wonder she responded as she had during her first
  space voyage?  Hadn't Siglen wept and moaned and wrung her hands and
  carried on as if she was sending the Rowan to her death?  And all those
  preventive shots and medicines which, since her middle ear was not
  impaired at all, had probably produced the nausea, the spinning and
  disorientation because she hadn't needed them.  Siglen had done one
  fine job of preconditioning her to react exactly as she had.
       She'd get Afra to take her back to Demos tomorrow and this time
  she'd look at it - and around her.  There was absolutely no
  physiological or psychological reason why she should be affected by
  space travel.
       No, there's not.  Keep telling yourself that, honey.  Keep saying
  it until you believe it with all your heart and mind, Jeff's voice
  said, gently inserted into her mind.
       Oh, your touch is so fragile.  . . She worried that the tasks set
  him were too much for his so recently acquired abilities.
       No, not at all, he replied, deepening his tone.  I didn't want to
  startle you.
       Don't try to deceive me, Jeff Raven.  I know you're exhausted.
       You shouldn't even be trying to contact me in that state Aren't
  you glad I have?  [His mental smirk was accompanied by a very delicate
  caress.] Wherever you are, no matter how tired I am, I shall always
  reach out to you.
       Though and now his tone altered suggestively, it doesn't help when
  I am trying to get some rest.  Sleep well, love.
       She sent a light kiss for his cheek, laughing as she did so and
  tried to calm his mind to the sleep pattern.
       Granny!  I can do that for myself!
       Tired as she was, she was not quite ready for sleep yet herself.
       So often she used sleep as a method of interrupting negative
  mental patterns, of unproductive and circular thinking.  Sometimes she
  
  could gain an insight into a problem by going over and over it again
  then wake the next morning with the solution.
       Tonight Purza appeared, not the remains that Moria had vandalized,
  but the comfort creature that had been her mainstay.  The Rowan paused,
  thinking back to those last days of her childhood, of all the
  conversations she carried on with Purza, of the silly things they'd
  discuss.  . . They?
       The Rowan caught herself up.  She had believed, for many years,
  that Purza was sentient, despite the unalterable fact that the Rowan
  knew the pukha was NOT.  She had imbued many qualities and
  characteristics into the comfort .  . . toy, say it, Rowan, toy!  .  .
       . No, not a toy.
       Device!  Monitor!  Surrogate!  The pukha had certainly been the
  receptacle of more confidences than any human being, even of matters
  she never could have discussed with Lusena.  Yet the Rowan distinctly
  remembered Purza advising her against things which she, the Rowan, had
  particularly wanted to do.  How could the pukha have such discretion?
       The loss still rankled in the Rowan's mind and heart.
       She had succumbed to a deep melancholia which Lusena had been
  unable to lift despite metamorphic treatment.
       Siglen had been irritated, having realized lust how much she was
  beginning to rely on her apprentice, but she was far more fearful of
  contracting even the merest sniffle.
       Then Gerolaman had acquired the barquecat.  And that ungrateful
  scamp whom the Rowan had counted on as a companion in her Callisto
  quarters had refused to leave the tibooti passenger vessel, to the
  intense delight of the crew.
       She'd had to let him stay, more angered than dismayed by his
  defection.
       'When I was a child, I played with childish things!' That phrase,
  which had been well dinned into her head during that painful
  readjustment time, now came to mind.
       The Rowan tossed restlessly in her bed, hating the phrase, and all
  the memories it evoked.
       Why would Purza come to mind now, tonight?  Except that Jeff had
  queried the memory.  Jeff was more than a substitute for a surrogate .
       . . except that he couldn't even do his courting of her in person!
       Why Purza?  Why not Rascal?  She had truly outgrown the need for
  the comfort surrogate!  Or had she?
       Puzzling through that, the Rowan fell asleep.  In the morning,
  searching her waking thoughts for an answer, she found none.  Instead
  she had an overpowering urge to seek Jeff.  And resisted.  She had set
  an additional clock to Denebian time and he would be hard at work.  She
  had overslept her usual waking hour but Jupiter did not clear Callisto
  for three hours.
       Listlessly she rose to face the day's routine.  She and Jeff might
  have their lifetimes to get to know each other, but she'd rather start
  in earnest.  Damn Reidinger!  How could he!  She'd like to tell him a
  thIng or two!
       In person.
       Watch out!  she heard Afra warn the Station staff.  She wasn't
  sure if she was annoyed or amused that caution was given.  She palmed
  open the door into the Tower and let it whoosh shut behind her as she
  observed the wary expressions.
       I don't think you're ready for a jaunt to Earth yet, Afra said.
       'Good morning, Rowan.  We've got some pretty heavy stuff to
  shift.' She glared at the Capellan, knowing he was right.  And yet, if
  she didn't take the plunge, when would she?  Why shouldn't she - if she
  was only reacting to a conditioning?
       But his caution, and his obvious concern, deflated her impetus.
  
       She was not all that sure of her reconditioning not just after one
  swing to Demos.  Her glare was the signal for everyone to become
  intensely interested in lists or keyboards or any task that took them
  out of her immediate vicinity.
       'Now listen up, you lot.  There's two hours and fifty minutes
  before Callisto clears Jupiter.  You all know how to set up the day's
  shifts without Afra and me.  Afra,' and she intensified her glare, 'I
  want to go back to Demos again.  Now!' 'As you wish, he said in an
  unexpected capitulation.
       She caught a very suspicious glint in his yellow eyes before he
  turned his head away.  And his shields were up tight as air-lock seals.
       She decided to ignore him and marched back out of the Tower and
  down to the launch.
       This time, though she strained her eyes wide to catch any motion,
  Afra's lift was so smooth that she had the bulk of Demos before her
  eyes again.  This time she did look about her, and if her breathing
  quickened, she initiated control and steadied herself.  The view was
  rather spectacular.
       Is Earth visible from his position?  she asked Afra.  She caught
  her breath again as her capsule altered direction.
       Cut in the visual magnification.  Second position on your right
  fingerboard, Afra told her.
       Four taps and the cloud-swirled marble of Mankind's world became
  clearly visible.  Its moon hung like a milky pebble, fully lit by the
  distant sun.  Awesome to think that the insignificant speck in the vast
  space-black panorama had spawned those now inhabiting the planets of
  far distant suns.
       Suddenly she became very conscious of the blackness around her:
  too much dark and she was confined in a very small space .  . . And she
  didn't even have Purza for comfort!
       Easy, Rowan!  And abruptly she was back in the launch site on
  Callisto, Afra unsealing the lid of her personnel carrier, his yellow
  skin sallow with anxiety.
       Shaking, she held her arms out to him.  He lifted her out of the
  capsule and ran with her back into the Tower, yelling vocally and
  mentally for a stimulant.
       Blackness!  Why blackness, Afra?  I was all right, truly all
  right, until I thought of the blackness -- And claustrophobia, Afra
  added.  He took the glass Ray offered and held it to her lips.  She was
  shaking too much to hold it herself.
       ROWAN!  Jeff's anxious shout made her wince.
       I'm all right, Jeff I'm all right.
       Blackness.  Why are you reacting to blackness, Rowan?
       Why do I see the pukha in your mind?
       I don't know, Jeff I don't know.  I'm all right.  Afra's
  determined to get me drunk early today!  She tried to lighten up her
  mind tone: she didn't want to upset him because she'd experienced a
  moment's silly panic.
       Scared me half to death, you did!  Jeff went on and she was as
  aware of the pounding of his heart as her own.
       Jeff, she's all right, Afra said, initiating metamorphic massage
  to reduce her tension.
       'It wasn't space.  It was the blackness.  The awful blackness.'
  Damn it!  I've had just about enough of this!  Jeff Raven said, his
  tone incandescent with fury.
       DENEB!  and Reidinger's roar made even the Rowan's skull vibrate.
       afra rolled his eyes in intense mental pain, clutching at his
  head.
       Primes don't have privileges!  She's only shaken.  And there'll be
  no more of these experiments, Rowan.  YOU HEAR ME?
  
       Even I can hear you, said David of Betelgeuse sourly.
       I think you're being extremely selfish, Reidinger, came from
  Capella.
       I told you this could be fatal, was Siglen's moan.
       Leave me alone!  the Rowan said, furious at being the center of so
  much unnecessary attention.  Go away and get back to business.
       Reidinger's made his point!
       Jeff's parting phantom caress did not make it any easier for the
  Rowan to ascend to the Tower, and her couch, and try to focus her
  thoughts on the day's business.  A steaming cup of java appeared and
  she reached for it gratefully Deep inside her something was frozen,
  some black.
       something odorous?  A whiff that she couldn't identity - a reek
  that was connected with the frightening blackness.
       Not today's darkness, a smelly, clanging, revolving darkness.
       That was what had set off her panic - revolving around to see
  Earth .
       . . Just as the bucking Miraki had panicked her with Turian
  sailing up the Straits that time.
       But it had been a 'spinning' motion that had triggered her on the
  Jibooti on her first space voyage.
       Cargo coming in, Afra said, bringing her back to her
  responsibilities.
       Once again Callisto Tower staff moved with dull efficiency through
  the day's tasks, with none of the livening humor or even bad temper
  that signalized an off day for the Rowan.
       Callisto was space-side of Jupiter and receiving the last of the
  in-bound receipts, which would be downshipped once the Moon was again
  Earth-side, when an emergency signal for live cargo lit up the board.
       Live one coming in, Rowan, Brian Ackerman warned her in his
  capacity of Stationmaster.  She'd lost her deft touch in the late
  afternoon, unusual enough for her, but as the packets were not marked
  fragile, he hadn't remonstrated.
       Now what?  she demanded but she retrieved the capsule with more
  care.
       Some Fleet nerd to judge by the ID - then broke off.
       At first the Rowan did not notice the silence from her staff.  It
  was day's end and, with that tardy capsule, the generators were
  growling down to rest.  She was making a neater pile of deliveries and
  transshipment copies when she heard someone taking the Tower steps two
  at a time.
       'Tut tut, I didn't think I could really put this over on you so
  easily!' And it was Jeff Raven who swung the door wide, his blue eyes
  brilliant with teasing - and his love.  'I don't think you've missed me
  at all!' The Rowan didn't bother to answer his jibe.  She grabbed his
  hand and launched them into her quarters, into her bedroom, out of
  their clothing, proving in every way possible just how much she had
  missed him and exactly what she had missed the most of him.
       Brian began and  At several points during that magical night,
  they had time to exchange words rather than emotional extravagances.
       'I've a new nephew, you see,' he said, cuddling her against him,
  her head on his shoulder, her body edged as closely to his as was
  possible, her legs entwined about one of his.  With one ear on his
  chest, she could hear his voice rumbling up from his diaphragm.  'And I
  was congratulating Mother when she reminded me that a day of rest from
  hard labor has long been ordained.  So, with the impetuosity for which
  I am known on Deneb, I tagged an assortment of reliable people to hold
  the planet secure for at least one day, and came back for what I've
  been aching for!' 'I shall bless your mother forever!' 'She's mighty
  curious about you, I will say.  I have informed her that holograms do
  
  not do you justice.' 'Does she have any Talent?' 'Oh, masses, but she's
  never trained much, so sometimes her use of what she has can be quite
  devastating,' and Jeff's chuckle began where her left hand rested on
  his flat belly.  There wasn't, the Rowan realized, a spare ounce of
  flesh on him anywhere.  He was much too thin.  Eating's the last thing
  on my mind, love!  'I don't think she has enough range for Callisto
  but, if she put her mind to it, she could blast a message to us
  anywhere in the City and down on the farm.' His chuckle turned rueful.
       'Could never put anything over on our Mom.' 'I never knew my
  mother!' Jeff's arms pressed her lovingly.  'I know, pet.  I know.
       He shifted suddenly, raising up on one elbow, breaking the
  physical closeness that the Rowan was reveling in.
       'Why is that Purza on your mind again?  I know the function of a
  pukha, but it's no surrogate mother!' 'You're digging deep.' 'No,' and
  Jeff frowned slightly, soothing her hair back from her face and
  gathering up a handful from the pillow, fascinated by its paleness in
  the dim tight of the room.  'I'm not.  Not half as deep as I intend to
  dig.  And speaking of digging, or delving .  . And that ended that
  conversation though the Rowan was fleetingly aware as Jeff stroked her
  body with deft erotic caresses that the interruption was deliberate.
       She was soon too involved on too many levels of exquisite
  lovemaking to complain.  Jeff was incredible and kept urging her on to
  new delights.
       When at last they moved apart an inch or so, Jeff's stomach
  emitted a rolling growl which the Rowan's answered.
       'By God, we've even got compatible digestions.
       'And you need feeding up.  Does no-one take care of you on Deneb?'
  she demanded, half her attention on manipulating food items from
  freezer to heating chamber.
       'Got any Terran beef steak up here?' he asked, following her
  efforts.  'We lost most of our food animals in the bombardments and we
  can't really plant until we clear the fields of metal objects.  I don't
  care how nutritious the processed stuff is supposed to be, it tastes
  bloody awful.
       Oh,' and he inhaled the aroma of grilling meat that wafted into
  the bedroom, 'and never smells right.  What a talented woman I've
  found!' And he expressed his appreciation in the most delightful way.
       'Jeff!  The meat'll burn!' 'Oh, a little charcoal does you no
  harm!  Got to eat a peck of dirt, you know .  'JEFF!  That's the only
  decent steak I have right now!' 'Oh, in that case .  . .' and he
  desisted.
       After they had ravenously consumed a huge meal - with the Rowan
  going back again and again to her larder to supply them with the
  high-protein substances they both needed to fuel their ardor - they
  made love again.  They slept so soundly that neither heard Afra's
  discreet knocking, nor the ringing of the comsystem.
       I do beg your pardons!  afra inserted the phrase politely in each
  mind, repeating it with more mental force until the Rowan roused.
       She felt deliciously rested, totally sated Rowan!  You're
  broadcasting.  . . Afra said with a discreet mental cough.
       Startled into full consciousness, the Rowan felt the unexpected
  heat of a blush.  Afra would never 'look' but nonetheless she covered
  herself with a fold of the thermal sheet.  Jeff Raven grumbled
  sleepily, one hand searching for a touch of her.
       'Jeff!  Wake up!  We've overslept!' 'Nonsense.  Today's my day
  off!' He opened one eye.
       'I think that was yesterday, Jeff.' She's right!  Reidinger
  doesn't know you're here Why not?  Jeff pulled himself to a sitting
  position and then hauled the Rowan back into his arms, his hands
  lightly caressing her.
  
       He's not .  . . Afra faltered.  He's in a very touchy mood.
       That's not unusual!  Jeff refused to be cowed.  He threw us
  together on purpose and now I'm here on purpose so he can like it or
  lump it.
       Tell him the truth, Afra, the Rowan added.  I overslept and I'll
  be back at work as soon as I've had a decent breakfast.
       Aware that she had, indeed, been delinquent in her own
  responsibilities, the Rowan tried to wriggle free.  But Jeff merely
  tightened his arms, keeping her close.
       Trouble with Reidinger is, he says jump, and every single one of
  you asks how high!  Well, this Denebian lad doesn't!
       'IS there anything left to eat in the house, darling?' And, as if
  he hadn't a care in the world, Jeff grinned fondly down at the woman
  held firmly against him.
       The Rowan swallowed, both appalled by and admiring of Jeff's
  nonchalance.
       'I think, lovely, it isn't only Siglen's conditioning you must
  slough off.' His voice was soft, very gentle but with an edge in it
  that gave her another, totally new perspective on Jeff Raven of Deneb.
       'That FT&T of yours has exploited you for such a long time that
  you've never stopped to realize that you, as a Prime AND a citizen of
  Central Worlds, have certain inalienable rights that you haven't even
  bothered to exercise!' He dropped an affectionate kiss on the end of
  her nose.
       'And it's time to exercise!  Last one in the pool has to take the
  day off.' He began to unwind himself from her and the covers.
       With all respect, Rowan, Raven, Afra said, still standing outside
  the dwelling, we managed well enough yesterday but there's a passenger
  carrier coming in that needs the Rowan's gentle touch.
       So it has to stay cradled for half an hour, Jeff replied,
  employing his mouth to plant kisses on places of the Rowan that he had
  somehow missed earlier.  Tell the Captain it's generator trouble.  I
  have it all the time on Deneb.
       None minds!
       'But, Jeff, not a passenger ship.  That's a contractual violation
  . . .' the Rowan began.
       'And violating the contract we've been forming is a far more
  heinous crime in my eyes,' and he leered at her, his black hair hanging
  over his eyes to give him a very piratical appearance.  We shan't be
  that long, Afra!  Tell them they have to give way to a priority
  shipment.  Me.  And it's not ready to launch yet.
       Their swim was less than brisk but more than languid, interspersed
  as it was with loving kisses and caresses.  Just the touch of his hand
  roused the Rowan, so totally unused to any physical contact.  She kept
  in tactile contact as if loosing touch would somehow lessen their
  incredible rapport.
       Between them - for Jeff was becoming familiar with the storage and
  cooking facilities in her kitchen - they had breakfast ready by the
  time they had dressed.
       On their way to the launch pad, the Rowan's hand tucked and held
  against Jeff's arm, Reidinger's angry shout made her wince.
       No need to shout, Jeff Raven replied mildly.
       WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?
       Spending my day of rest - HA!
       Now, now, Reidinger, there is a long-standing precedent for rest
  days, and I haven't had one, and my lovely Rowan certainly hasn't had
  one.  . . Jeff looked down at her, his blue eyes glinting with pure
  mischief and a broad grin spreading across his mobile features.  He
  restrained the Rowan from quickening her pace in her obedient effort to
  placate the angry Earth Prime and held her to his lazy saunter.
  
       You have a contract with FT&T So I do, so do you, and does the
  Rowan, but nowhere in that contract does it stipulate we are obliged to
  work a seven day week, twenty-four or twenty-six-hour day.  His tone
  abruptly changed.  Now butt out, Reidinger.  You're invading our
  privacy.  And that IS a contract violation!
       Some kind of a sound, initiated and abruptly severed, similar to a
  gargle of pure rage, echoed in their heads.  Jeff grinned and the Rowan
  looked anxious.
       'Honey, don't let him exploit you any more.  We can do without
  him, but he and the mighty FT&T can't do without us!  Remember that.
       Stiff upper lip and all that guff.' They had reached the battered
  personnel carrier, in which he had made his surreptitious arrival.  Now
  he took her into his arms again, tucking her head under his chin, their
  bodies as close physically as their minds were.  He said nothing,
  savoring the contact.  Abruptly he released her, kissed her cheek, and
  stretched himself out in the carrier.  'Same time six days from now,
  darling.' The hatch covered his reassuring grin.
       Scurrying to the Tower, the Rowan pressed her lips tightly against
  the pain of this farewell, somehow more intense than when she hadn't
  known what she would be missing.
       Now, then, honey, neither distance nor nine can really separate
  us!
       And he gave a quick demonstration that made her gasp.  See what I
  mean?
       Her cheeks were burning in the cooler air of the passageway.
       Ducking her head so that none of the Station personnel could see
  her face as she entered the Tower, she took the steps two at a time.
       By the time she had taken her place, the generators had hit their
  peak whine.
       Safe trip!  she said, as she spun his shell back to Deneb.
       A kiss that lasted beyond the moons of Neptune brought a smile to
  her face.  Then she flipped up the com to the waiting passenger liner.
       'I do apologize for the slight delay, Captain, but if you are
  prepared, we can launch at your convenience.' Either he was an
  unusually tolerant master or someone in the Station had dropped a
  discreet word, but he made no more comment than to request the lift at
  the mark of five minutes.
       Mi that day the Rowan half expected a blast from Reidinger, so she
  took particular care to keep incoming and outgoing shipments moving in
  a steady flow.  Nor did she receive any word from Jeff over the next
  five days.  She was, however, in very constant and reassuring touch
  with her lover: his presence palpable in her mind, like a silken touch
  in the corner of her mind, a feather-gentle caress.
       That was probably why it was such a shock when abruptly she became
  aware of the absence of that touch.
       Jeff?  She felt more alone than she had when Purza had been
  destroyed, than when she had .... . in the tumbling blackness.  Jeff'
  She strengthened her mental shaft, swiveling in her chair in Deneb's
  relative detection.  JEFF!
       Anxiety took the place of surprise.  JEFF RAVEN!
       What's the matter, Rowan?  Afra asked, now aware of her concern.
       He's gone.  His touch is gone!
       She heard several people rushing up the steps to her Tower.
       We'll link!  Afra suggested as he, Brian Ackerman, and Ray Loftus
  entered the room.
       She opened to them and, tapping the generator power, called again.
       Panicking, she turned to afra.
       'He isn't there!  He's surely heard us!' She tried to keep her
  voice steady, but Afra was far too sensitive not to feel her growing
  terror.
  
       The tall Capellan took hold of her hands.  'Breathe more slowly,
  Rowan.  There can be many reasons 'No!  No, it's as if he'd been
  blotted out suddenly.  You can't understand Rowan?  The mental call was
  faint, heard only because the Rowan was linked with the others.  Rowan.
       'You see, I told you .  . .' Afra began and she yanked her hands
  out of his.
       'That's not Jeff!' Yes?
       Come at once!  Jeff needs you!
       'Now, wait a moment, Rowan, and Afra caught her arm as she started
  out of her chair.
       'You heard!  He needs me!  I'm going!' I want a wide open mind
  from everyone on Station, she added, jumping herself out of Afra's
  physical grasp and to the launch.  She flipped open the canopy and
  settled herself within.  Where's my linkage, Afra?  There was a long
  pause, although the Rowan could feel each new mind of the Station's
  personnel adding strength to hers, Mauli wishing her luck as Mick
  echoed it.  Afra, do it now!  If Jeff needs me, I must go!  Do it
  before I realize what I'm doing!
       Rowan, you can't attempt.  Afra began, desperately worried for
  her.
       Don't argue, Afra.  Help me!  If I've been called, I must go!
       She already was consumed with anguish by Jeff's absence in her
  mind: she would go mad with the uncertainty of why his touch had been
  so abruptly withdrawn.
       I will be watching for her at the usual point .  . came that faint
  firm mind-tone.
       With her own abilities augmented by all those on the Station, the
  Rowan overrode afra's hesitation, bringing him so firmly into the merge
  that he could not resist or alter it.  Then, with the coordinates of
  the dwarf star firmly in her mind, she pressed against the generators,
  too, and launched her carrier.
       PART THREE DENEB It was black, yes, but the capsule made the jump
  with no rotation to remind her of an old terror.  She felt the
  unfamiliar multiple-mind touch hers, felt both urgent need and
  gratitude.  Inclining to it, she followed the path it showed her.
       Her carrier rocked as it landed roughly in the cradle.
       Simultaneous to the apology for the landing, she heard the
  gasping, clanking off-torque rattles of a malfunctioning generator.  If
  the multiple-minds had gestalted with that, she was bloody lucky to
  have reached her destination at all.
       Opening the canopy, she lifted herself out of the carrier,
  fighting to hide additional dismay at what she saw.  The generator,
  apparently hastefully installed at the side of what had once been an
  airfield control tower, gave one last wheeze as a stanchion collapsed.
       A cloud of black, oily smoke rose to obscure the mechanical
  corpse.
       From the temporary tower a group of people emerged, one of them
  carrying a child across her shoulder.
       The Rowan reached out and recognized the dominant mind of the
  merge: Isthia Raven, Jeff s mother.  Of the ten minds which had
  participated, only hers remained relatively unstressed by what the
  Rowan knew would have been a tremendous effort for a novice team.
       My profound gratitude, she sent gently to them all.  How badly is
  Jeff hurt?  she asked directly of his mother.
       Isthia Raven looked to her right, to an older man with such a
  strong resemblance to Jeff that she wasn't surprised to discover that
  he was an uncle.
       'A freak accident,' Rhodri said, guilt/grief/concern vivid in his
  mind as he spoke.  'We'd found an unexploded beetle bomb.  We're
  supposed to let them (and a thumb jerked skyward indicated the Fleet in
  
  orbit above Deneb) '. . . neutralize 'em but the fardling idiots set
  their great flaming pod down so hard it jarred the detonating mechanism
  and it exploded.  Jeff tried to shield us and forgot to duck!  Damn
  fool altruist.  I told him and I told him that you gotta think of
  number one first.' As he spoke, she caught a replay of the scene from
  his mind, which was an orderly one for all the present turmoil of
  self-recriminations.  She saw the cylinder uncovered in the trench it
  had plowed on the edge of the City; saw the disposal group's tentative
  investigation; saw the large armored Fleet pod come down, displacing
  dust and dirt in the ungainly landing, heard the shouts, saw the bomb's
  disintegration, and the searing rain of fragments and even their
  deflection.  Then she saw Jeff's body start to rotate, stagger, and
  fall.
       'The worst is the chest injury,' his mother said.  And from her
  clear mind, she showed an all too graphic image of Jeff's lacerated
  body and the long deep wound across the left pectoral.  'The medics say
  it's only shock but I couldn't reach him.  I thought you might be able
  to.  Time is critical.' 'Where is he?' the Rowan replied with a
  calmness and assurance she did not feel.  Especially as she sensed that
  Isthia Raven was withholding some information.  Something else had gone
  horribly wrong with Jeff.  She must deny despair as long as she could.
       She paid strict attention when Isthia projected an image of an
  underground facility, the only still functioning medical installation
  in the battered City.  A large '7' was painted on the pillars outside a
  lighted entrance.  'We'll follow,' Isthia added, nodding toward the
  assortment of groundcars.
       The Rowan nodded understandingly, for the kinetic effort had
  drained energy from everyone in that makeshift team.
       She concentrated on her destination's coordinates and teleported
  herself as close to the 7 pillar as possible, making it less likely
  that she would collide with a person or an emergency vehicle.  Her nose
  was only an inch from the pillar.  She turned herself toward the
  entrance.  Immediately she felt the presence of more Talents, Talents
  of varying strengths and most of them trying to cope with grief and
  anguish.  Well, this was a hospital!  What else did she expect as its
  aura?  Jeff Raven might be the most important one to her personally,
  but she had caught sight of peripheral victims in Rhodri's vision.
       The doors into the Level 7 facility whisked apart for her.  She
  was surprised to find people alert to her arrival, pointing directions
  to the intensive-care facility where Jeff Raven lay.
       She paused long enough in the anteroom to let the sanitizing
  panels purify her.  As soon as that procedure was finished, the inner
  door slid aside.  The recovery room was circular, split into ten
  wedge-shaped cubicles, several of which were curtained with patients
  already installed.
       Against the wall above each section, easily visible to the nursing
  staff seated at the central hub of the facility, were banks of screens,
  monitoring the vital signs of the injured.
       Jeff was in the fifth cubicle, four medics and a nurse watching
  his screens, murmuring occasional comments.
       Their mental comments over the erratic behavior of his life signs
  told the Rowan that two despaired of his recovery: Two more were
  Talents, and one was desperately trying to think of something more to
  do for Jeff.  Her approach was noted and room was made for her at the
  bedside.
       Despite what she had gleaned of Jeff's injuries from his uncle,
  she was shocked to see him, his tanned face bleached by the powerful
  surgical lights, his left side showing nearly a dozen wounds in an
  almost stylized pattern along his upper arm, chest, hip, thigh, and
  calf where fragments had been removed.  But the chest wound was the
  
  deepest.  She could follow it, through the layers of skin, muscle, and
  bone, right to his heart and see where the damage had been repaired.
       'Asaph, Chief Medic,' said the older man.  His mind still sorted
  out alternative treatments but he looked to her for some 'miracle'.
       'They got you here in record time.  We've only just come down from
  the theater.' He paused and the Rowan had no need of her Talent to
  recognize his reluctance to proceed.
       'Your prognosis?' He sighed, choosing his words, but the Rowan
  followed those he discarded and those he used.  'He has suffered
  massive shock and insult.  It was touch and go despite the fact they
  'ported him directly here.  The Admiral sent down two of his best
  surgeons,' and Asaph indicated two of the other medics.
       The Rowan's swift probe told her that the naval medics were amazed
  the man had lived through surgery and didn't give him a chance of
  survival.  Their doubt stiffened the Rowan's purpose.
       'Shock can be reduced, and major bodily insult, she said with such
  confidence and assurance that she surprised herself.  But this was
  Jeff.  Jeff Raven, her lover.
       'Get him through the next few hours and he could stabilize,' Asaph
  said, somehow taking heart from her positive attitude.
       'It'd be a miracle,' one of the naval men said, shaking his head.
       'There should have been a response by now The Rowan ignored him
  and looked at the two Talents the nurse, whose mind identified herself
  as Rakella Chadevsky, Jeri's aunt, and the medic, identified as his
  surgeon brother, Dean.
       'Have either of you tried for a response?' 'Tried, yes, when he
  was first brought in -- Dean admitted.
       There was not so much as a flicker, Rakella said, and a great deal
  to be done physically before it was too late.  At that, I only just
  managed to restart the heart!
       No delay?  the Rowan asked, refusing to panic for that was what
  Isthia Raven had withheld from her.  Hearts can be repaired, replaced
  if necessary, even in this temporary facility.  As long as the brain
  had not been deprived of oxygen, a heart wound was not as serious as a
  major head wound would have been for a Talent.
       None, Rakella reassured her.  I was monitoring his heart closely
  because of the wound she gave a tremulous smile, I caught it before the
  EEc could register it!
       Then no-one's tried to reach him on the metamorphic level...
       Neither of us know that technique, Dean added.
       'Then you're about to learn,' the Rowan said, wondering just what
  Talent medical staff were taught on Deneb, -apart from reviving a
  faltering heartbeat.
       Suppressing the fears which his moribund appearance had raised,
  the Rowan moved to the bed and placed her hands on Jeff's ankles.  The
  slight chill of the skin was only normal, she told herself, and pressed
  deeper, feeling the faint shallow pulse at the meridian point.  With
  fingers and mind she could feel the congestion there, as Jeff S system
  began to close down prior to cessation.  She dug her thumbs deep into
  the soles of his feet, in the solar plexus correlation point, rubbing
  with a hard, circular motion.
       Then she pressed hard on the top of each big toe, again, and
  again.  Then back to the solar plexus reflex.  As she pressed again,
  she heard Rakella's quick inhalation.
       There's a response.  Whatever it is you're doing got a response!
       You've repaired him on the physical level.  I will deal with the
  metamorphic May I assist you?  Rakella asked.
       By all means.  Copy my manipulations.  I admit that I've had few
  occasions to use such treatment, but it can be quite effective.  Any
  stimulus could make a difference.  Right flow, time would have no
  
  meaning for him so we use that timelessness to develop a support level
  strong enough to sustain his life force and restore balance.
       She was startled by the muted wail of an angry baby.
       Balance yourself, Isthia Raven said in a dry tone, entering the
  room.  Grateful for the tonic of Isthia Raven's presence, the Rowan
  did.  I think, Asaph, that there are far too many unnecessary bodies
  crowding around my son.  Do thank the Fleet men and send them on their
  way.  Their thoughts are too negative, and that's a bad aura to have in
  here.
       With Rakella now following her every move, the Rowan repeated the
  hard pressure on the sole, began to massage the whole foot, warming the
  flesh, then gently and lightly rubbing the main bones from toe to heel
  bone.  She worked longer at the groove between the internal cuneiform
  and navicular bones, which should quicken his flagging energies.  She
  moved on to the calcaneum, massaging the side of the heel back to the
  Achilles tendon.  Lightly her fingers crossed the top of the foot,
  down, and under the outer ankle bone.  Then she repeated the sequence,
  using hard strokes only on the sole and the big toe, before lightening
  her pressure up the bony ridge of the arch.
       Rakella had acquired the rhythm of the massage now, and they
  worked in unison.  Occasionally Rowan tested the meridian above the
  left ankle, willing the tempo of her own measured heartbeat to echo in
  Jeff's arteries, willing him to rally, to respond, however faintly, to
  show them that he clung to life.
       The superiluous bodies out of the way, Isthia moved to Jeff's
  head, smoothing back his sweaty hair.  Then she placed her fingers
  lightly on each temple and looked up at the Rowan.  Jeff's mother had
  the same startlingly blue eyes, the same direct, honest gaze.  But
  neither of them could 'feel' his mind.
       We Ravens have hard heads, Isthia said, closing off her emotions
  to the hope still deferred.
       And callused feet, added Rakella.
       As the Rowan kneaded the sole, she suddenly felt the breakup of
  that awful congestion.  She glanced at the monitors and they confirmed
  a slight but measurable improvement.  Yet still, there was nothing of
  Jeff to touch in that special area in which all Talent dwelt.
       We will not let him go!  Isthia said softly.  Her eyes held the
  contact with Rowan.
       No, we will not!  And the Rowan renewed her ministrations, sliding
  her hands up his legs to his knees and the next major meridian.  Even
  lax in his present condition, she could feel the muscular strength of
  him - memories flooded back.
       Even those could help, his mother said drolly.
       The Rowan looked up, caught off guard.
       Jeff said you had a loud voice, the Rowan said respectfully,
  gently stroking the bony ridge down the arch.  The lightest of caresses
  now to coax his return.  He didn't mention you had a long ear.
       Isthia smiled.  I'd heard about this sort of hands-on techniques.
       Interesting!
       It might take time to show results It takes time for most
  healings, Rowan.  And I 'feel' that this is working even if we don't
  see much progress.
       Suddenly Jeff's foot gave a feeble twitch.  The Rowan started in
  surprise.
       Now that's a definite reaction, Rowan!  Rakella said, looking much
  encouraged.
       So the Rowan pressed deeply in the pad of his left big toe and saw
  a wriggle in the Alpha line and a minute shudder in the Delta.  Rakella
  gripped the right toe, and again there was a brief response.
       'How long do you keep this up?' Medic Asaph asked, returning.  He
  
  was deeply anxious about Jeff, his broad face reflecting concern and
  fatigue.
       'Until we bring him back,' the Rowan stated flatly.
       'There is no time where he is now.' Asaph gave a snort.  'Time?
       He gave us a time, I'll tell you!  Worth it, though.  Jeff's sort
  of special to us here on Deneb.' Then he added hastily, 'Unfortunately,
  I need Rakella.  Jeff wasn't the only one injured.' Isthia touched the
  Rowan lightly on the shoulder.  'I should feed the baby,' she said, and
  through her mind the Rowan could hear the now frantic cries of a very
  hungry infant.  'If it's necessary he can wait a while longer The Rowan
  could also feel the dichotomy of her needs: two sons to succor.
       'Feed the child!' she said.  She could concentrate entirely on
  Jeff, then, free of the anxieties of others; alone with Jeff, who was
  her responsibility right now as no-one else had ever been.
       Isthia slipped away through the curtains.  The patient in the next
  cubicle groaned, and the Rowan heard the quick, soft steps of the nurse
  coming to attend him.
       Then, in privacy, the Rowan forced herself to look at Jeff's face
  again, so sickly pale beneath the tan.  For a man of such mental and
  physical strength and vigor, he looked boy like when unconscious, as if
  injury had wiped clean all traces of his charismatic personality as
  well as health.  The ache within her grew to alarming proportions, an
  insistent pressure of tears behind her eyes and her throat so clogged
  that she had to force breath out and then down.
       Easy!  Isthia's touch, stemming as it must from a pain as severe
  as her own, soothed her.  Do not compromise the good you've already
  done with negative emotions.
       Such a long ear his mother had!  The Rowan was both resentful and
  grateful for that reminder.  She paused long enough to bring the stool,
  the one other piece of furniture in the cubicle, to the foot of the
  bed.  And then renewed the metamorphic treatment.  Lightly, lightly,
  stroking endlessly.  Occasionally she placed her fingers on the
  meridian point, feeling the beat of the arterial blood flow, and trying
  to bring the tempo up to her own circulatory level.
       'Are you there, Jeff?  Are you still there?' she whispered,
  willing him to hear her voice, if not her mind.  And as she continued
  to stroke his feet, she talked to him in that whisper, so low that it
  would not reach past the privacy screen.  Oddly, the sound of her own
  voice soothed her.
       The Rowan had never sat in vigil.  Nor had she ever no, once
  before, a long, long time ago - felt so helpless.  In a tumbling
  stinking darkness?  But never had helplessness been so bitter a state.
       What good did Talent do her now?
       And yet it had!  His mind might not know that she was there, but
  his body did, borrowing her physical strength to holster his faltering
  grasp on life.  She placed her hand on his wrist, her fingers
  monitoring the slow but not so faint beat.  Yes, his body knew that she
  was there, even If that could not be recorded in the green lines
  wavering along the screens.
       Through her hands she continued to let her energy flow to him.
       When Jeff.  . . yes, when Jeff was well .  . . she promised
  herself she would take additional training in the metamorphic from
  those Earth Talents whose healing abilities produced effects close to
  the miraculous.  A miracle was certainly needed here.  How long did
  miracles take on this alternate level?
       Had she truly reached it?  Be positive!  Jeff would live, would
  revive, be wholly himself again.  She flowed life from herself into
  Jeff Raven in a calm and even stream, laden with love and dedication.
       Despite herself, despite her uncomfortable position on the low
  stool, despite her continued gentle massage, the Rowan must have dozed.
  
       For her head was resting against one foot.  She shook herself
  awake, ashamed at such weakness, which was negative, when positivity
  was so essential.  Apprehensively she glanced at the monitors: all
  registered stronger functions.
       The shout that then burst from her, bringing both nurses to the
  cubicle, was sheer exultation.
       Rowan!  cried Isthia, hope bursting like a meteor tail through her
  voice.
       Back where she had missed it was the light but tender touch of
  Jeff Raven's sleeping mind.
       He's there!  He'll live!  He's there!  He'll live!  she chanted,
  sobbing with almost unbearable joy and relief.
       She intensely resented the nurses who shoved back the curtain and
  briskly motioned her to one side.
       Let them do their job, Rowan, said Isthia in a tone of mild
  rebuke.  It's not as :if he could help raise his endorphin levels and
  reduce pain.  Which I guarantee you he'll feel soon.  He was brought in
  unconscious, bleeding to death, so there was no time to use less
  stringent methods of anesthesia.  It'll take him a while to revive from
  the chemicals.  But at least now we know he will!  You have my eternal
  gratitude.
       The Rowan did not like being pushed to one side so arbitrarily,
  having to watch while necessary things were done to the body of her
  lover.  Then the nurses, with no more than a curt nod to her, left the
  cubicle, twitching the curtains back in place.
       'Don't jump before you can walk, girl,' Isthia remarked dryly as
  she entered.  'In case you're thinking of singlehandedly nursing him
  from now on.  Frankly, you may know how to deal excellently with the
  metamorphic levels but not the medical, even as deeply as you can
  experience.
       And don't glare at me like that, child!  I willingly accept that
  my son has chosen you as his life mate but,' and Isthia raised a
  warning hand, 'you don't try to own a man like Jeff.' The Rowan found
  herself resenting Isthia's presence because it impinged on her privacy
  with him.  She resented her cautions all the more because she
  recognized their validity.  She did not wish to share Jeff, injured or
  sound.
       She hadn't realized just how much their necessary separations had
  rankled in her mind and emotions.
       'Sort it out in your head now, Rowan,' Isthia continued, ignoring
  thoughts which the Rowan didn't bother to shield.  'Don't let petty
  jealousy and other unworthy notions tarnish what you and Jeff share.
       Nourish your bond, don't stifle it.' When Isthia placed a
  reassuring hand on her shoulder, she almost jerked away from it, unused
  to casual physical contact.  Isthia's hand tightened.
       Well, we Denebians use a lot of tactile contact, so that's another
  thing to get used to.  It helps us lamebrains to function on the mental
  level.
       'You're no lamebrain,' the Rowan flared, her basic sense of
  justice denying Isthia's self-deprecation.  But in rejecting that, she
  made eye contact with Isthia and the older woman caught and held hers,
  using the anger to project a searching shaft past the Rowan's guards.
       You have never had it easy, have you, child?  Isthia's mind
  brimmed with compassion and a generosity of spirit that the Rowan had
  not encountered since Lusena's death and which dissolved her immediate
  resentments.  You love Jeff but so do most of the people left on Deneb.
       You can't deny them their share of his attention.  I wouldn't try.
       You're smart enough to know what I mean.  Be wise enough to accept
  it.
       You hold most securely what you are willing to let go.  Then
  
  Isthia frowned slightly.  'Who is Purza?' 'Jeff said you had a
  devastating Talent,' the Rowan said, stunned that Isthia had 'seen'
  Purza.  'And I cannot imagine how you managed to access that bit of
  ancient history.
       'It's right there at the top of your mind, my dear,' Isthia said
  gently and pressed for an answer 'Purza's not a who, it's a what.  A
  monitoring device in any one of a number of comfort forms for a
  troubled child.' 'Which you certainly were - also very much on the top
  of your mind.  You've too strong a mind for someone untrained like me
  to pry into very deeply.
       The Rowan gave a short ironic laugh.
       'That's better,' Isthia said, smiling back.  'You'd got locked
  into a very bad mind loop there, doing you no good when Jeff is still
  going to need you.  I'll have a meal brought in to you, and a more
  comfortable chair.' With that she left.
       Both the meal, which the Rowan forced herself to eat, and the
  chair, which was an improvement on the stool, were welcome.  The
  monitors above Jeff's bed all indicated much stronger body rhythms,
  good Alpha and Delta responses.  His light contact remained in her mind
  but it was still a passive one.
       It was another hour before he revived enough to recognize his
  surroundings.  At the sight of the Rowan beside his bed, he gave a weak
  grin which turned into a grimace of pain.
       'Rowan?' and he reached for her hand, 'I thought it was you, but I
  didn't know how you could be here.' His voice was a dry whisper.
       Sensing his thirst, she brushed his lips with water as she had
  seen the nurse do, then dribbled a teaspoonful into his mouth.  In
  fact, I argued with myself that I had imagined you from a deep
  subliminal level.
       'Hush, love.  You needed me.  I'm here.
       You made it on your own?  His mental tone was far stronger than
  his physical voice, and his fingers clutched hers with more force than
  she had expected.
       Your mother.
       Trust her to call in the cavalry.  But you came?  His astonishment
  and gratitude washed her mind.
       Isthia had assembled a team.  And then the generator fell apart!
       Relief made her silly.
       Reidinger let you come?
       Hush, love.  I hear the nurse coming.
       'Well, back with us again, huh, Raven,' said the sandy haired
  older nurse who flicked back the curtain.  She nodded approvingly at
  the Rowan.  'Medic Asaph will be very pleased.' Then she turned
  squarely to the Rowan.
       'Now will you leave his bedside and get some rest before I have to
  clout you on the head with that hardwood bat I keep for obstreperous
  bedside leeches?' 'I'm fine,' the Rowan said and her voice cracked with
  fatigue.
       The nurse cocked one eyebrow skeptically.  'Ha!  You've done two
  and a half shifts already.  Raven, you manage her.' Go and rest,
  darling!  Jeff urged.  I'll keep you in mind, you know.  And he gave
  her the tender smile that was hers alone.
       Over the next two days, now that Jeff was on the mend and she had
  time to observe her surroundings, the Rowan was increasingly amazed by
  the resilience of the Denebians.
       The planet had lost over three-fifths of its population, its two
  population centers had been demolished by bombardment, farming
  communities burned out, and the mines, on which Deneb depended for
  outworld supplies, were all but useless.
       All known survivors of both plague and attack had long since been
  
  centralized, along with available supplies and skills.  That had
  happened even before Jeff Raven had contacted the Rowan for assistance.
       Between their first momentous meeting and now, the City's ruins
  had been leveled, and temporary living quarters erected: rudimentary,
  to be sure, but supplying shelter for all.  The hydroelectric plant,
  deep in the cliffs through which the broad Kenesaw River surged down to
  the distant sea, had escaped damage but it was the planet's only
  operating power source.  An immense communal kitchen fed everyone and
  four facilities scheduled time for personal bathing and laundry.
       Except for toddlers and infants, even the children spent half
  their day on work teams, and schools for the older ones were devoted to
  on the-job training.
       While the Fleet had generously given urgent medical supplies and
  freeze dried emergency rations to the battered colony, the Rowan began
  to notice critical shortages .  . . such as work boots and warm
  clothing now that the Denebian winter was closing in.  Though the City
  was located in the temperate zone, winds with bitter chill factors were
  known to buffet the plain and the hunters could not bring in sufficient
  pelts from the meat animals they killed to clothe everyone.
       The Rowan knew she would receive private assistance from Capella
  and Betelgeuse as soon as she asked, but until she had a functioning
  generator, she couldn't bring any of it in to Deneb.  She 'ported
  herself out to the dilapidated facility to see just what was needed to
  make it functional.  The cracked housing, still on the ground, was not
  a priority repair.  The generator itself was jerry-rigged.
       Two slip rings had cracked, there were only the holders of the
  carbon brushes left, and the drive shaft looked doubtful.  She lifted
  the housing back into place, wondering if anyone in the City had
  pyrotic Talent to mend the crack and if there were any spare generator
  parts left on Deneb.
       When she entered the shaft (she couldn't give it the title of
  Tower), she realized that sheer blind luck must have been the guiding
  factor: the instrumentation was minimal, contrapted together out of
  spare parts not all of which seemed to perform any function when she
  tried to trace it.  She thanked Gerolaman from the bottom of her heart
  for teaching her so much about the mechanical and electronic workings
  of a Tower.  She might have passed the first essential lesson in
  'porting herself in her frantic dash to Jeff's bedside, but she
  couldn't - wouldn't attempt a return without more sophisticated
  safeguards than these.
       Isthia had helped her convince the pro teen Council that the Tower
  facility was a priority.
       'We're sort of used to doing for ourselves, you know,' Makil
  Resnik, the provisional Governor and Labor Manager, had told her.
       'Anything we can't make ourselves, we do without.' Hold it, Rowan,
  Isthia advised when she felt the surge of the Rowan's protest.  'We can
  make a great deal ourselves mostly, Makil.  We may even get through the
  winter without suitable clothes.  But we must import seed and medical
  supplies.  We've got too few survivors to risk any on the horns of
  false pride.' 'You got a point there, Isthia.  Even so, can't spare a
  big team to help.  Got to open the Benevolent Mine right soon.
       They'd just hit a big seam of platinum.' 'I can do a good deal of
  the contracting myself but I need someone with electronic skills,' the
  Rowan said, managing a calm tone.
       Resnik consulted his compack, tapping keys with a blunt thick
  fore-finger.
       'Zathran Abita's the one she needs, Isthia said calmly.
       'She knows more about Towers than Jeff did.  Give her a team of
  kids to scrounge.  With any luck, she'll find most of what she needs in
  the salvage sheds.  Oh, and Jeff has those I-beam specifications for
  
  you.
       You've all this down to a fine art, haven't you, Isthia?  the
  Rowan said, appreciating such deft manipulation.  Was it you who taught
  him how to charm?
       No, I learned in self-defense against his father.  Bear that in
  mind!  Isthia turned her smile from the Rowan to Resnik, her manner
  acquiescent and grateful.
       'Little thing like you can refit a Tower herself?' Makil asked,
  peering at her appraisingly.  'Hmm.  When d'you want to start?' She who
  hesitates loses her advantage, Isthia drawled.
       zerrs occupied at a suitably sedentary task that'll keep him out
  of mischief A little fresh air and exercise will do you good.
       'No time like the present,' the Rowan replied, deciding to ignore
  the fact that Isthia was manipulating her as easily as she did everyone
  else around her.  Why weren't you made Governor?
       The rich sound of Isthia's chuckle echoed in the Rowan's skull.  A
  nursing mother would make an awkward Governor.  Otherwise 'I can detach
  Zathran only two days.  Then he'll be needed at the mine, when we've
  got the adit cleared.
       Sooner we get a mine running, sooner we'll have something to cheer
  about.' 'You've already done marvels,' the Rowan assured him, slightly
  distracted by Isthia's asides.  Then she wondered if she would manage.
       She'd never done anything like this before.
       You'll do fine!  Jeff told her.  His mental tone was considerably
  more vibrant today than his physical condition.  The Rowan knew that he
  struggled to overcome his injuries.  And when you're stuck, you can
  always call on me to bail you out!
       Ha!
       By the end of the first day the Rowan found herself exceedingly
  encouraged by the result.  With a half dozen mid-teens, she had gone
  through the open sheds where the salvaged items were stored.  She had
  reviewed her requirements with Jeff, to see what he thought she might
  be able to find among the salvage.  Having quick-witted kids who knew
  where to look among the bewildering aisles and sheds was one advantage:
  being kinetic and able to shift what was found immediately out to the
  Tower shack was another.  The list of needed parts was reduced
  drastically by the end of that day.  But before she could make the best
  use of Zathran Abita, she needed items like carbon brushes, two more
  large magnetic coils and slip rings, as well as small transducers and
  some circuit boards, which she could only get with Reidinger's
  assistance.
       The unexpected fillip in the day was discovering three burgeoning
  Talents in her young team.  The oldest girl, Sarjie, had a definite
  metal affinity and could assay metallic content, discern metallic
  fatigue or flaw in any piece she handled.  She tossed more into the
  meltdown bins than on the pallet for transfer to the Tower.
       Fourteen-year-old Rences could snatch the shape of what the Rowan
  wanted from her mind and unerringly locate it among hundreds of rods,
  pipes, fittings, coils, and other 'junk'.  Morfanu was struggling to
  understand a kinetic ability and the Rowan deftly guided her efforts
  into more positive channels.
       Sarjie had no telempathy: Rences' was limited to shape finding (he
  preferred to see drawings or pictures of what was required), and
  Morfanu could not project.  They needed years of training to refine
  their innate abilities.
       For someone who had always worked with mature, trained Talent, and
  those mainly kinetic or telepathic, the Rowan found the association
  with new abilities a fascinating experience.
       You've got a lot of patience with them, Jeff said approvingly.
       You've tired yourself out, the Rowan accused, furious that she
  
  hadn't been keeping a watch on him along with her salvage operations.
       It wasn't my head that was opened.  Jeff sounded irascible and,
  remembering Isthia's cautionary words, the Rowan aborted a scathing
  retort.  Sandy's read me the riot act.  But the drafts for the mine
  reopening are finished.  She felt his sense of satisfied achievement.
       He was a difficult patient, hating to be incapacitated when he was
  most needed, railing at medical restrictions and supervisions.
       The day after major surgery, he had insisted on taking on
  paperwork: freeing up uninjured personnel.  Sandy slipped enough of a
  sedative into a 'restorative' drink to send him to sleep for several
  hours.  That night, fretting because he hadn't finished the task he'd
  set himself that day, he refused to stop work.  So, the Rowan simply
  shut him down into sleep.
       In the small hours of that night the Rowan, tapping as lightly as
  possible into the generators that supplied the hospital's power,
  contacted Afra with the order for the most urgent items.  He was
  reassured by her touch and reassured her that all was still functioning
  smoothly there, but he wasn't certain how long that would last.
       Relieved, the Rowan then curled up on the cot beside Jeff's bed
  and told herself to go back to sleep.
       Don't try that on me again, Rowan, Jeff told her when she finally
  let him wake up late the next morning.  He was livid at her
  high-handedness.
       At least you've the strength today to get mad, she replied,
  unrepentant.  There was more color in his face and more vigor visible
  in the monitoring graphs.  And quite likely strength enough in that
  fist of yours to handle a spoon.  Your breakfast's ready.
       He glared at her, his eyes glinting as he imaged what he would
  like to do to her.
       Tsk, tsk!  How bizarre!  she responded very sweetly.  With careful
  kinesis, she lifted his upper-torso, inserting several pillows behind
  his back before she spread a napkin over his chest.  Any day now you're
  strong enough to try that, my own true love, I shall give in gracefully
  to the inevitable.  Will you return the compliment now?  Here's your
  breakfast!
       'Now,' she went on pleasantly, 'I have to figure out when is the
  best time to use the tower, so as not to brown out.
       Reidinger caught up with her on her fourth morning on Deneb.
       ROWAN!  HOW IN HELL DID RAVEN GET YOU THERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?
       It was as well, the Rowan thought with grim humor, that she was on
  Deneb instead of Callisto.  He'd have singed her shields out with that
  roar.
       Perhaps I was wrong to assume that you would prefer Jeff Raven
  alive?  she asked acidly and grinned at such a suave throttling of
  Reidinger's officious outrage.  She wished she could have seen his face
  at that moment.  She followed up that shock by a clear image of Jeff as
  she had first seen him, adding a macabre view of the gaping chest
  wound.
       She followed this with Jeff's current appearance, palely sleeping
  after his chest wound had been dressed.  Even with her assisting
  Rakella's kinetic manipulations, it hadn't been an easy ten minutes for
  Jeff.  The medical facilities here were reduced to the medieval by the
  bombardment.  Which reminds me .  . . I sent in a Top Priority
  Emergency order for replacement parts and unless you want me lodged
  permanently here on Deneb, they'd better be 'ported out this way NOW!
       At that it will take me another six days to organize a Tower I'd
  risk myself with.  It is also, she added, suppressing a desire to
  smirk, too far for you to lift me.
       She knew that Reidinger was listening, and hard, for she could
  feel the throb of continued contact between their minds.  Since she had
  
  his attention, she continued.
       What you cannot have appreciated, as you haven't been on this
  planet and none of that irrelevant armada on retrieval patrol would
  think to mention it, is that Jeff Raven had only a very elderly
  jury-rigged generator for his gestalt when he was lobbing back missiles
  and repelling three alien vessels.  Just think what he could do with
  the kind of equipment most Primes consider absolutely essential before
  they tax their lobes.
       Deneb's broke, Reidinger roused sufficiently to growl at her.
       I'm not, the Rowan replied in her sweetest tone.  That order's
  paid for and should be ready for shipment today.  Any time you have a
  spare moment.  Oh, and if you'd send Afra a couple of T-2s, he'll see
  that Callisto Station operates as efficiently as if I were there.
       And how long, came the slow acid tone of Earth Prime, do you fiel
  this new Denebian emergency is going to last?
       Well, until I have a Tower facility of an operational standard.
       If Raven was that badly wounded, who brought you in?
       Reidinger's tone was suspicious.
       Pure luck, I think, she replied soberly now that she had had
  plenty of time to poke about in the tower.  When she realized what
  little formal kinetic training Isthia Raven had had, and all the things
  that could have gone wrong, she'd been horrified.  Desperation can
  produce amazing stimulae.  I'm not about to risk a return without
  properly drilled personnel.  She felt curiously reticent with Reidinger
  and unwilling to disclose just how many strong Talents existed on
  Deneb.  If Jeff Raven had not informed Earth Prime, she wouldn't.
       There are some Talents with enough range for short-range stuff But
  nothing is really short-range to Deneb, is it?  Not until Jeff is
  recovered.  Desperation got me here but calm, cool reflection is
  unlikely to get me back to Callisto!
       That was little more than the truth.  In the first place, she was
  not leaving Jeff until she was certain of his complete recovery.  In
  the morning he would be transferred to a private room.  He had already
  taken a very short walk, gritting his teeth until his endorphin level
  compensated for the pain of sore tissue and muscle.  The Rowan had had
  to exercise a stern control over the almost overpowering desire to
  support him kinetically.  But Isthia flicked her a warning glance so
  the Rowan had endured the mental echoes of Jeff's discomfort without
  interceding.
       In the second place, she wasn't at all sure that she was
  sufficiently confident enough to push herself, coldmindedly, out on
  such a long kinetic haul.  She wondered if she could try Reidinger's
  patience enough to wait until Jeff could handle gestalt again.
       If you don't have a generator, Reidinger said with dangerous
  logic, how can you expect to catch a shipment?
       My immediate need is light stuff I've access to a small generator.
       Toss it out to reach here at 0300 Deneb time, and I'll catch.
       If you're trying an unpowered catch, you little -- Burning my mind
  out is the last thing I want, I assure you, Reidinger, but I must have
  those parts or we don't get the tower functioning.  If there isn't a
  proper tower here, you don't get me back at Callisto!  Understand?
       I'll deal with you later, you may be damned sure of that, Rowan
  child!
       Despite her valiant words, the Rowan shivered delicately at the
  malice in those last two words.  A Reidinger threat was never idle.
       But no threat could be severe enough to remove her from Deneb
  right now.  Besides Jeff Raven, the planet was eminently worth any
  effort on her part.  Like her devoted team of scroungers, Isthia, and
  other intangible things, like sunsets.
       For ten years, she had seen none.  Here, Deneb's primary went down
  
  with blazing red and orange clouds, the hectic colors fading slowly to
  a bleached-blue sky until the sharp peaks of the mountains that ringed
  the plain stood out with incredible clarity.  Though starscapes were
  nothing new to her, the night sky was equally brilliant.
       Deneb VIII had three small moons whipping about it and an asteroid
  belt beyond their orbits that was the remains of a fourth.  But it was
  the crispness of the night air, scented with pungent and unfamiliar
  fragrances when the wind blew down from the mountains, which the Rowan
  found truly remarkable.  She liked the feel of it riffling her hair,
  caressing her face, pressing gently against her raised hands.  Callisto
  had no breezes.  She hadn't realized how much she had missed them until
  now.
       So she didn't mind standing out in the dark, waiting for the
  shipment, ready to gestalt with the hospital's generator, taking an
  atavistic pleasure in the night.
       Reidinger sent exactly what she ordered: not a brush, bar, or
  board more.  It took the Rowan and her team a long day to get the
  generator cleaned and repaired, to reconfigure the control panel, and
  strengthen an adequate link to the Kenesaw hydroplant.  Scarcely an
  aesthetic installation when finished, but it worked.  Zathran Abita
  worried about the drain on the City's power.  As the electronics expert
  had no notion of how Talent worked, she had to explain that the tight
  focus of gestalt required a short burst of power: Flow rate and
  pressure altered slightly with the distance and/or the weight of the
  object 'ported, but the actual 'use' of power was split-second.
       Finishing the Tower gave Deneb one more short step toward
  independence.  The Rowan's team had broadcast her efforts so that she
  was greeted wherever she went on the streets or in the hospital.  She
  was both slightly embarrassed - since Talents preferred nonentity - and
  delighted.  Morfanu followed her about, which could have been a
  nuisance, except that it allowed the Rowan more opportunities to train
  the girl's innate Talent.
       Had every single Talent instructor been killed?  Or was it a
  result of Deneb's rather off hand colonial mind-set?  On Central
  Worlds, parents had their children tested at birth for any sign of
  viable Talent.  (Birth trauma often produced a measurable spark even if
  the ability did not mature until adolescence.) Talented children were
  assiduously guided and trained, even as she had been.
       So far only Jeff Raven was formally contracted to the FT&T, and
  the Rowan knew that he was determined to keep it that way.  It was also
  obvious to her that Deneb needed to keep every useful citizen on the
  planet, to ensure its revitalization.  But they ought to be trained.
       Was it fear of the exploitation by FT&T that Jeff had mentioned to
  her which inhibited training?  But if you liked what you were doing,
  did it well, was that really exploitation?  She had everything she
  wanted, anything she asked for, including tonnes of generator parts and
  comm equipment.  Apart from her intense loneliness and isolation which
  had always been with her - as Callisto Prime, she enjoyed enviable
  privileges along with her responsibilities.
       Once Jeff was in a private room, he had almost nonstop visitors:
  additional workspace had to be sent for to accommodate files and
  monitors.  He seemed always to be conferring with some group or other
  'I thought Makil was Governor,' the Rowan remarked acidly to Isthia,
  seething with worry that Jeff would work himself sick again.  'Can't
  you do anything to curb him?' 'He's one of the best engineers we have,'
  Isthia said, though her thoughts echoed the Rowan's worry about Jeff's
  stamina.  'So much needs to be organized for us to get through this
  winter.  You know how short his time is.' Short?  The Rowan demanded of
  Isthia with sudden panic, probing to comprehend her qualification.
       Easy, girl, and Isthia bounced the probe back.  You know he's
  
  under contract to FT&T.  When the Fleet is satisfied they've swept sky
  and surface clear of alien artifacts, they'll go and Jeff will be
  transferred elsewhere.  Deneb's not due for a Prime.
       Reidinger made that clear to Jeff in their initial interview.
       The Rowan had forgotten about that.  If he's trying to work
  himself into a relapse to stay here longer, Reidinger can invoke
  punitive measures.  He wouldn't like that.  I wouldn't like that for
  him.
       Then make him stop working, my dear.  I'm only his mother!
       And, grinning at the Rowan's astonishment, Isthia left the room.
       And you have measures that I can't use!  Then her laugh echoed
  merrily in the Rowan's ears as the girl suddenly realized what she
  meant.
       The Rowan waited until the current delegation left, then she
  closed and locked the door.
       'Now don't start on me again, Rowan,' Jeff said, looking up from
  the files he was scanning preparatory for his next appointment.
       'You have ten minutes free-time right now,' she began, affecting a
  provocative posture, 'and it's mine!' She snuggled up to him in the
  bed.  'Everyone on this planet gets a piece of the action but me,' she
  went on, 'and I 'Rowan,' he began, not quite masking irritation at her
  form of interruption.  Then, he took a deep breath and smiled.  'I do
  have a lot to do.' 'You'd do more if you give yourself a chance to rest
  Was rest what you had in mind?  His startlingly blue eyes began to
  sparkle.
       Well, it's plain you've got your mind on many things far more
  important.  . He laughed then, and dropped the films on to the bedside
  table, putting his good right arm about her.
       And while cerebral activity is all you' re able for .
       'We've got ten minutes alone and I'll just prove what I'm able
  for, my darling,' and that is just what he did, with considerable
  invention to overcome the handicap of his injuries.
       When he was totally relaxed, she subtly nudged his mind into a
  sleep pattern and postponed his next appointment.  His nap was brief
  but he ruefully admitted that it had done him so much good, he wouldn't
  fight her on that point again.
       By the end of that week, healing had progressed so well that Jeff
  was allowed to move to the Ravens' accommodation.  The Rowan was amazed
  to see so many people living so congenially in such cramped quarters.
       The room she shared with Jeff was smaller even than the one she
  had occupied in Lusena's neat apartment.  There was space for the bed,
  a workspace and monitors, and one had to step around the foot of the
  bed to get in and out of the room.
       'Of course, we don't need much space,' Isthia remarked as she
  easily read the Rowan's dismay despite a quick shield to hide it.  'We
  don't have much in the way of possessions at the moment,' and she gave
  a wry laugh.
       'Except for Ian, none of us have more than one change of clothes
  right now.' At the best of times the Rowan rarely paid much attention
  to what she wore, but footwear, appropriate for walking between Tower
  and her quarters on Callisto, was coming apart at the seams.
       'I think I can help you there,' Isthia said and passed Ian over to
  the Rowan who had never held a baby in her life.
       The child regarded her with solemn wide eyes and his fist crept up
  to his mouth.
       You can trust me, the Rowan said carefully, wondering how you
  reassured a nonverbal infant.  She was rewarded by an astonishingly
  jubilant smile so infectious that she grinned back in an idiotic
  fashion.
       'Yes, he has that effect on one,' Isthia remarked, rummaging in a
  
  small chest that also served as seating.
       'Ah.  You've small enough feet.  Maybe these will fit.' The Rowan
  had grown accustomed to Isthia's openness so that when it shut down
  completely, as Isthia handed her a pair of country boots, she looked at
  her questioningly.
       'A granddaughter's,' was Isthia's terse response.  Then she
  repossessed Ian, who squirmed about to watch the Rowan try on the
  boots.  'She'd be thrilled to think her beloved uncle's wife could use
  them.  Put them on.' The moment of closure passed, but the grief behind
  it had not.
       The Rowan carefully put them on, folding over the flap and
  standing up to test the fit.  A little loose but a thicker pair of
  socks would solve that problem.
       'I should have some socks around here, too,' Isthia said and
  those, too, were passed on to the Rowan.
       'This is becoming a most salutary visit for me,' the Rowan said.
       'One gets accustomed to taking ordinary things for granted, like
  socks and shoes and a change of clothes.' Isthia smiled warmly at her,
  taking Ian's fist out of his mouth.  'A new baby helps, too,' she added
  in the same thoughtful tone.  'A new life means continuity.  In one way
  I'm sorry he's the last of them.  However, an even dozen was all I
  promised their father.
       The Rowan felt an unexpected shaft of pure envy for Jeff.  To be
  one of a large and, from what she'd now seen, extremely congenial,
  loving family was truly enviable.
       Lusena's two children, Bardy and Finnan, had been much older, so
  she'd missed a true sense of family.  Turian had also had a similar
  deep familial attachment.
       'You had no family at all?' Isthia asked, surprised.
       Shaking her head, the Rowan dropped the eye contact.
       'I was the sole survivor of a mining camp that was buried in a
  freak mud avalanche,' the Rowan said quietly.
       'The Company office narrowed it down to three possible sets of
  parents --'But surely, you'd remember?' 'I was three.  When I cried
  for my mother, an entire planet heard me.' The Rowan managed a weak
  chuckle.
       'They had to shut me up so all memory of the tragedy was blocked
  out.' 'And no-one's removed the block?' 'Yes, they tried once,' the
  Rowan said, frowning as she remembered the occasion.  'The block was
  well constructed.  I resisted and they couldn't go deep enough.  So,'
  and she firmly changed mood, 'that's it.' 'Is it?' Isthia remarked
  cryptically as she left the room.
       Startled, the Rowan probed but she came smack up against Isthia's
  formidable shield.
       It took the concerted effort of his entire remaining family to get
  Jeff, complaining that he had a lot of catching up to do, to retire at
  a reasonable hour.  But he surrendered gracefully.  'Not that I had any
  choice,' he muttered to the Rowan as she preceded him into their room.
       'At that, we're lucky,' he added.
       'We are?' and the Rowan heard the faint sibilant shushes and loud
  whispers for 'silence' 'We've got a room with a lock.' He yawned
  mightily, wincing.  The wounds across chest and ribs remained tender.
       Cautiously he lay down on the bed, then negligently reached out to
  draw her close to him.  'I made them all promise to knock, too.  'Will
  they?' the Rowan asked, experiencing a sudden inhibition.  She'd been
  looking forward to some privacy after the comings and goings of the
  hospital.  'Will they, Jeff?' A gentle snore informed her that the
  convalescent was already asleep.
       Living in the boisterous Raven household was at first a novelty
  for the Rowan, totally foreign to anything in her experience.  His
  
  various brothers and sisters, their mates, children, occasionally
  in-laws, orphaned nieces, nephews, and some elderly relations of both
  Isthia and Josh Raven lived happily in each other's pockets.  The
  accommodation wasn't even quiet late at night since some of the
  residents worked late shifts.  While there may have been an
  understanding about knocking on the door, in practice a knock was
  usually immediately followed by the door being opened to admit anyone
  who wished to speak to Jeff The first day, the Rowan took it in good
  part: she remembered what Isthia had said about 'sharing'.  But she was
  unused to continual babble and certainly all the touching that went on,
  friendly though it was and meant in the nicest possible way, made her
  edgy.  She firmly suppressed the irritation and sublimated it into hard
  work.
       Along with manning the Tower for 'porting men and supplies out to
  the platinum mine, the Rowan did some judicious investigation into what
  could not be found in the salvage sheds.  No-one had fully inventoried
  what had been saved from the ruins so, when she learned from Rences
  that he had spent fruitless hours trying to find certain unusual bolts
  and fasteners, when she heard Rakella complaining about the lack of
  some surgical instruments, or from Isthia which size of work boot was
  no longer available, she discreetly contacted other Primes and,
  pledging her credit, made up the shortages.  She respected the fierce
  independence of the Denebians but they could carry it too far, even if
  the planet was poor.  A few bits and pieces could be added without
  offending anyone's pride.
       Then Jeff paid her a surprise visit at the Tower while she was
  shifting some internal freight, including two crates of tools which she
  had discreetly brought in from Capella.
       The kinetics she was training for in-planet freight never
  questioned what she asked them to 'port.  Jeff was another matter
  entirely.  Unfortunately, not only was the origin of the crates clearly
  stenciled on the side, but also they were far too fresh-looking to have
  been miraculously 'unearthed'.  There were also two inbound shipments
  still in their cradles, waiting to be dispersed.
       Where did all that come from?  Jeff wanted to know, striding into
  the Tower room.  He halted, staring about a facility which bore little
  resemblance to its previous appearance.  He whistled in apparent
  appreciation which made the three youngsters grin, but the Rowan had no
  trouble sensing a growing concern and anger.
       'All right, Tony, you and Seb link and send Cradle 4 to the mine,'
  she said, continuing the procedure.  'Good,' she added as Seb punched
  the appropriate coordinates up on the screen.  'Touch the gestalt .  .
       .' The generator's whine peaked.  'No, don't look at me for the
  go.
       You have to know yourself when it's go .  . . that's right.  On
  the button!  Good transfer!' Jeff found himself a seat and, if he
  seemed to be interested in how the three trainees were teleporting, the
  Rowan was all too aware of the tension building in him.
       His eyes were brilliant with what she identified as suppressed
  outrage.
       'That's all for today, crew,' she said.  'Now, why don't you take
  all you've learned 'porting inanimate objects, and take yourselves back
  to the City while the generator's still running sweetly.' She added
  that impudently.
       'You'll never know until you try,' Jeff added with a hearty
  enthusiasm for them to be well gone from the tower.  'Out you go.
       You've thrown heavier stuff than yourselves.  And you ought to
  know where home is by now.  Off with you.
       One by one they managed the feat, echoes of astonished delight
  from each of the three minds before their touches dissolved.
  
       'And why are you annoyed, anxious, outraged?' the Rowan demanded
  because she couldn't bear his displeasure 'Deneb's bankrupt!' The words
  exploded from him and his eyes seemed to shoot sparks at her.  'How're
  we going to pay for all this?  Hire more kids out to FT&T when we need
  every survivor we've got to rebuild?' 'It's all paid for,' she said,
  clamping down but not quickly enough for someone as swift to see an
  opening as Jeff Raven.  Why not?  I never use half my contractual
  monies anyway.  I called in a few favors .  . Deneb isn't your planet,
  isn't your problem Don't be so damned proprietarial!  It's my problem
  if I make it mine.  I've great respect for this planet's people.  I
  admire your family tremendously .
       Family's the keyword, isn't it?  Jeff's tone had abruptly altered
  and his eyes narrowed.  He caught her by the shoulders then and before
  she guessed his intention, he had pierced through every layer of
  privacy in her mind.
       She cried out at the force of his mental penetration as he also
  broke through the block that had remained intact against every other
  invasion.
       Trembling violently, she clung to him as his intrusion restored
  the memory of that horrendous time.  Then slowly, with infinite
  tenderness, he withdrew, soothing away forever the terrors of a
  three-year-old girl, battered about in the dark of a rolling, plunging
  vehicle.
       They stood a long while locked in each other's arms, until the
  glorious sunset colored the sky and they realized just how long this
  passage of restoration had taken.
       Rowan's tears were dry on her cheeks and she was no longer racked
  by shudders.
       'I was named Angharad Gwyn.  My father was a shaft supervisor and
  my mother was a teacher.  I had a brother named Ian 'She looked up in
  amazement.
       'We have something else in common then.  He tucked her head under
  his chin again, holding her more firmly now.  'It was a rough trip all
  right, enough for one small, lonely girl.' He pressed her tightly when
  he felt her begin to shudder again.  'You know, I don't think that it
  was all Siglen's fault that you were afraid of big, black holes in
  space.  Not after that trip!' 'You know, you might be right,' the Rowan
  said slowly, for she remembered all too clearly her terror at being
  propelled toward the shuttle that was to have taken her to Earth for
  training.  She'd been so frightened that she'd even dropped Purza as
  she 'ported herself back to the one safe place she knew.  'I couldn't
  think of anything but you on my way here.' She gave a convulsive shake
  at the memory of her first glimpse of Jeff.
       'I was really messed up, wasn't I?' he said in a thoughtful tone
  as he caught the image in her mind.  'It's probably a very good thing
  that patients don't see how they look to observers.' She hugged him as
  hard as she could.  'So, if you don't object, may I please contrive in
  my own small way to be of assistance to the beloved planet of your
  birth?' Jeff cocked an eyebrow as he looked down at her.  'You do mean
  well.  And Makil and the Council are about to give you honorary
  citizenship for getting this facility working again, so I'll trust your
  discretion.  Now, since the Tower is functional, how much longer do you
  think Reidinger is going to allow you a leave of absence?' The Rowan
  smiled beatifically at him.  'Oh, as long as I can make him believe
  you're still recuperating.' 'Oh?' and Jeff was highly skeptical.
       'It's nice and quiet out here,' she said, pulling him toward the
  long bench under the windows, 'and no-one will knock on the door and
  then just .  . .' she halted, hearing the edge in her voice.
       Jeff chuckled understandingly.  'I thought it was getting a bit
  much for you - all the Raven togetherness.  You have to grow up in such
  
  bedlam to be able to ignore it, and you never really had much
  childhood, did you?' 'Don't patronize me!' 'Temper, temper!' And he
  kissed the corners of her mouth in a way that put all trace of temper
  out of mind.
       AND JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU WHITE-HAIRED,
  BUG-EYED ALTAIRIAN LOON..
       An empath with half your range should instantly perceive that I am
  feeding my nephew his breakfast, she replied equably, as she managed to
  get another spoonful of thin cereal into Ian's mouth.
       Jeff, hands cupped under his chin, was closely observing this
  totally unexpected facet of his lover.  Ah!  Our master's voice.  Glad
  it's directed at you!
       NOW, LISTEN YOU, YOU UNREGENERATE - You know I'm immune to
  flattery, the Rowan replied.
       You're not immune to contract penalties.  And that goes for that
  culchie whom I sense is in your immediate vicinity.  If you and that
  bondmate of yours are not back at your respect:ve stations by the end
  of this day - this Earth Day - you will both suffer the maximum
  deductions for dereliction - of duty.  And that should put a crimp in
  this altruistic spending spree of yours, Rowan of Callisto!
       'I think he means it,' Rowan told Jeff, giggling.
       'I am sufficiently recovered to shove you back,' he said ruefully,
  for the past week had been one of joyful discoveries about each other.
       Despite busyness requiring long days, they had managed to work in
  tandem now whenever possible.  And they had managed to get sufficient
  sleep at night to work equally hard the next day.
       'I'm secure enough now to do my own 'ports,' she replied, deftly
  scraping up the residue of cereal around Ian's mouth and popping it in
  again.  'This doesn't seem to be too arduous a task.' The first time,
  no, Isthia Raven said from another room.
       By the twelfth, you, too, will be delighted to have volunteers.
       My, what a long ear you have, Granny Raven, Jeff said.
       I can hear with it, too, she added drily.  Or are you two so
  totally engrossed in each other that you can't tell when you're
  speaking or minding it?
       'I'll mind leaving here,' the Rowan said with a deep sigh, mopping
  young Ian's mouth clean.  Her brother's namesake was twice as precious
  to her for having had the brief care of him.  The baby waved his arms
  vigorously, a deep scowl on his little old man's face which utterly
  entranced the Rowan.  She lifted him over her shoulder, patting his
  back.
       'Anyone would think you'd been handling babies all your life,'
  Jeff remarked with a snort though he regarded his littlest brother with
  great affection.
       'A natural talent,' was her quick retort.  Simultaneously each
  realized that their inane remarks covered the dismay both felt at the
  imminent end of this idyll.
       It's not an end at all, Rowan, Jeff said, his tone infinitely
  tender and his blue eyes ravishing her with love.
       It's a separation!  she said rebelliously.
       For six days?  He raised both arms, to dismiss such a minor
  parting.  Your place or mine?  His eyes glinted mischievously.
       I'd prefer to come here, but it might be more politic to remain at
  Callisto after being away over three weeks.
       The first vacation, may I point out to you, my love, which you've
  had in the ten years you've been Callisto Prime!
       Ah, but I never had vacation plans before now!  And I suspect from
  the depths of our Master's anger, that it had little to do with my
  absence.
       Oh??
  
       I may, of course, be doing Reidinger an injustice .
       That's hardly likely, love, considering the terms of the contract
  he made me sign -in heart's blood.
       Just keep everyone at their exercises while I'm gone, Jeff I know
  Sariie's young but she should be at the mines, learning all she can
  about metals and mining.  She should go to Earth for training.
       Especially since mining's Deneb's main source of income.
       We can't afford to send her away.  She'd hate Terra, Jeff added.
       We Denebians are real home bodies and don't like leaving our
  birthplace.
       You did!
       I, my love, had devious ulterior mot:yes .  . . and besides, I
  lost the toss.  He grimaced in mock horror.  However, lest he chastise
  me by sending me somewhere too remote from Deneb Nothing habitable is
  remoter than Deneb Checking appropriate times, the Rowan and Jeff
  decided it was best for her to arrive at the beginning of Callisto's
  working day, when shipments would be forwarded from Earth.  For the
  first time, the Rowan could enter her personal capsule without a single
  vestige of the old inhibiting terror.  In fact she was eager for the
  challenge.
       That's the girl.  And aren't you going to surprise Reidinger!
       Through him she felt the generator whining up to full power.  Jeff
  had done some fine tuning, though he had been full of pride in how she
  had effected the initial repairs.  Closing off the fierce regret at
  having to leave him for even six days, the Rowan settled her mind
  against his and readied herself to exert their mutual gestalt.
       The voyage was accomplished in a mood of high elation, for Jeff
  followed her all the way back.  As she felt the slight jar of her
  carrier settling back into the cradle it had left twenty standard days
  before, she felt another of his special phantom caresses.
       ROWAN?  Afra's incredulous shout was accompanied by cheers from
  every other empathic Talent in the Station.
       Those who could teleported to the landing area.
       Protocol and privacy was forgotten as she was grabbed, hugged,
  slapped, and made to feel royally welcomed.  She found herself
  unexpectedly warmed by such a reception and felt color flooding her
  cheeks.
       'We'll lay on a real celebration later, folks,' Brian Ackerman
  said, 'but we got a heavy morning's work.  Boy, am I glad to see you,
  Rowan!  You'll just never know!' 'You know,' she said with a surprised
  laugh, 'I'm glad to be back, too!' When she reached her Tower, with all
  the sophisticated technology which the makeshift one on Deneb lacked,
  she was surprised to see two couches in place.  And then turned to meet
  the T-2s who had replaced her.  The rising whine of the generators
  reminded them all of duty.
       We'll talk later but you have my deepest gratitude and
  appreciation, she told Torshan and Saggoner.  She realized from a quick
  'look' that their deep, personal attachment raised their efficiency to
  a level close to Prime.
       The entire Station knew the difference when the Rowan began to
  spin outbound materiel in or launched waiting inbound shipments.
       Deneb's facilities would need to be quadrupled to match
  Callisto's, she thought with the part of her mind that was not needed
  in these routine shunts.
       There was so much still to be done there: so little more that
  would be wise to do without giving offense.
       Finally back at work, are you?  demanded Reidinger as she deftly
  caught a 'fragile' shipment directly from him.
       I thought you'd never notice!
       I'll have a few private words with you later, girl!  he said in a
  
  tone that once might have distressed her.
       Deep down inside herself, she chuckled.  He'd have those words.
       In private and in person.
       Then, one by one, the other Primes contacted her with welcoming
  thoughts.  David remarked rather caustically that she had finally found
  out what it was all about, and did she like it?  The Rowan had
  forgotten how clever he could be.  Fortunately Capella had so many
  complaints about 'inefficiency' from Callisto that she didn't bother
  with personal remarks.  The others were courteously glad to have her
  back in her Tower and relieved that Jeff Raven was able to resume his
  own duties.  Siglen alone sent no greeting, but the Rowan wasn't
  particularly surprised by silence from that quarter.  Siglen would not
  have understood why she'd jeopardize everything to go to a sick man!
       Once outward bound freight had been received, and inward stuff
  dispatched, there would be a four-hour period in which Jupiter's bulk
  still shielded Callisto Station from deep space.  As the Rowan figured
  she could complete her 'talk' with Reidinger well within that time
  frame, she spoke in a tight shaft to Afra.
       I've a few things to discuss with Reidinger, old friend, she
  began.  And felt his astonishment.  Yes, of course, I'm going to Earth!
       I can make my points a lot stronger in person.  And, it's about
  time we met face-to-face.
       Is that wise?  Afra asked noncommittally.  He had met Reidinger on
  a number of occasions and was always relieved to escape unscathed.
       He can't be that bad!  He's got no call to discipline me for
  responding to an emergency.  The Station was covered.  I' ve just had a
  look through the records, and you've managed quite nicely without me:
  Nothing got cracked or spilled and no freight got misdirected.  What's
  his problem?
       The risk to Callisto Prime, Afra replied, his tone dry and his
  yellow eyes sardonic.
       He gained a lot more than I risked, she said tartly.
       I know, Afra answered with gentle emphasis.
       The Rowan grinned.  I'd like to surprise the old geezer.
       Geezer?  Afra sputtered at her impudence.
       You've contacts at Earth Prime Headquarters.  Can one of them
  sneak me in without having to announce my arrival?
       Hmmm, that's not the easiest thing to arrange, you know.
       Callisto keeps you secure but there're still a lot of crazies on
  Earth.  Reidinger's pretty heavily guarded.
       Guarded?
       Guarded!
       But surely a Prime is able to defend himself A waste of energy
  that could be expended elsewhere on FT&T's behalf, Afra remarked dryly.
       The Rowan snorted.  Well, can you help at all?
       There's a T4 I trained with: one of Reidinger's trouble shooters,
  a Terran named Gollee Gren.  I'll see if he can oblige Don't tell him
  who I am!
       At that Afra laughed.  I doubt there's a single Talent who doesn't
  know who you are, my dear Rowan.
       Oh!  And when she had absorbed the implications of that, What if I
  shield tight?  And if he's not expecting the Rowan, why would he know
  my identity if he can't read it?
       A point there but you still have to pass Security to get into the
  FT&T cube.  A routine check will reveal your identity.
       If a Prime can't manage a minor formality like that The Rowan was
  dismissive.
       If you want to get in quietly, to surprise Reidinger, it'll take
  managing.  Let me check with Gren.  There was a fairly lengthy pause
  before Afra came back to her.  Well, he's agreed on 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 entrance.
       The journey was so effortless that the Rowan wondered that
  self-portation had once seemed so arduous and terrifying.  She wondered
  if there was anything to be done to release Capella or David from that
  imposed travel fear.
       She indulged in a projected scene, where she just waltzed into
  Altair Tower and told Siglen that she had just come in from Callisto
  Station.  The old dear would probably faint.
       She settled her carrier at 14.30 Earth time in one of the single
  cradles just outside the reception building.  She had always known what
  the main FT&T facility looked like, having shifted carriers, pods, and
  vessels of all sizes in and out of the great landing field.  But
  standing in the center of it, dwarfed by the immense cube to her right
  that was the Headquarters building on a field of twenty-square
  kilometers, gave her the proper perspective.
       Cradles, scarred by long use and rough handling, surrounded her,
  from the singles and doubles nearest the building to those looming on
  the edges of the field that could receive the largest freighters,
  passenger and naval craft.  To the east she caught the glint of water.
       Surrounding the field on its land sides were rank upon rank of
  buildings, starting with low industrial complexes.  Behind them, in
  seried ranks of varying height and bulk, the business and residential
  towers of the largest single metropolis of the Central Worlds receded
  into the distance.
       The Rowan knew from childhood lessons that The City was unbroken
  along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean and each decade penetrated
  farther inland.  By the turn of the next century, The City would
  inexorably engulf the entire continent as the western habitations
  expanded eastward to meet it.  What a contrast to Deneb!
       Beneath her feet she could feel the rumble of immense generators,
  and the wind carried the high pitched whine of hard working turbines.
       A light sea breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the taint of
  brine.  That was almost a welcome change from the metallic stink of air
  that caught at the back of her throat.  Even Callisto's recycled
  atmosphere was better than this.  She began to cough as the acrid air
  irritated her throat.
       'Hey, where did you sneak in from?' asked a man in the bright
  orange of a cargo handler, appearing from behind a rack of single
  carriers.
       'I didn't sneak in,' the Rowan replied.  'I've come from Callisto
  with orders to report to Reidinger.' 'Prime Reidinger to the likes of
  you,' he replied with a sneer.  He peered at the number of her shell
  and consulted a wrist-unit.  'Hey, your carrier 5 not listed.' 'T-4
       Gollee Gren has been delegated to escort me, she replied.  So much
  for Afra's contention that Callisto Prime was well known.
       'Talent Gren?  Well, now, we'll just Suddenly his expression
  altered to nervous surprise and he straightened, giving her a strange
  glance.  His right hand went to his ear and it was then that the Rowan
  noticed he was wearing a com device.  'Yes, sir, Talent Gren.  A
  carrier of that ID has arrived.  Yes, I'll direct her.' With a much
  altered manner, he pointed toward the FT&T building.  'You go there.
       Talent Gren's waiting for you.  And you don't keep Talents
  waiting.  Not around here you don't.' He jerked his head toward the
  airy shell of concrete and plasglas that extruded from this facade of
  the vast opaque cube of the Federal Telepathic and Teleportation
  Agency.
       From the sides of the great cube she could see transport cables
  stringing out to the edges of the great portfield and the dewdrop
  vehicles speeding along them.
  
       Housed within Earth Prime Station were the administrative and
  training facilities of Federal Telepath and Teleport, and somewhere
  inside was Reidinger.  The size of the place was daunting.  Her
  whimsical notion to surprise Reidinger would tax her ingenuity.  She
  ought not to have dismissed Afra's mental reservations so airily.
       How had Jeff got in to see Rowan?  She pressed her lips together:
  that man could charm his way anywhere in the galaxy.  But if he could,
  so could she.
       The Rowan straightened her spine, rejecting the grandeur and sheer
  size of Earth Prime Station.  Would Reidinger be as grand face-to-face?
       How truly realistic had that hologram cube been?  She squashed
  notions of inadequacy, and impudence, and walked as briskly as she
  could, considering the difference in gravity between Callisto and
  Terra, toward the shell entrance.
       As she neared the entrance, she saw a lone figure waiting by the
  door, highly visible in the deep crimson suit he wore.  Suddenly she
  wished she had taken time to plan this expedition, for she was in
  rather drab work clothing.
       So much for impulsive decisions.  Perhaps.  But she was here on
  Earth and that was a positive action and long overdue.
       The central door panel of the plasglas facade whooshed open and
  the man stepped forward smiling, hand extended.  She battened down her
  shields.
       'Good afternoon, Angharad Gwyn.' The Rowan took a second to
  recognize her birth name.  That was clever of Afra.  Had she actually
  told him or had he accessed that discovery from her mind?  Sometimes
  she wondered if Afra had not improved beyond a T-4.  'I'm Gollee Gren.
       Afra of Callisto requested that I escort you to the Prime's
  offices.' Smiling, she shook the offered hand and deflected the
  tentative peek which the physical contact allowed.  She permitted him
  to glimpse an inexperienced mind awed by its present surroundings.  In
  return she extracted a good deal more from the T-4's mind.
       'I appreciate your escort, Gollee Gren,' she said in a breathless
  manner.  'I had not realized how massive the installation is.' He
  hesitated, holding her hand longer than the courtesy required, and he
  frowned slightly.  'Have we met before?' 'I doubt it.  This is my first
  trip to Earth.' 'I see.  Well, let's get inside, shall we?  That air's
  bad for the lungs,' Gren said with an ingratiating smile as he gestured
  for them to proceed.  'I've always been in Afra's debt,' he went on,
  'but I'm not at all sure that I can assist you very much, no matter
  what Afra may have hinted.
       Especially today with all that's happened.' He led her to a bank
  of shafts, set in the rear wall, on one side of the main exits.  'Once
  we've got your Security Clearance,' and from his mind she neatly picked
  all she needed to know about that procedure, 'I can, of course, escort
  you to the Prime's office.' 'I'm properly cleared,' she said and showed
  him the Top Security Clearance badge which she had just procured for
  herself.  'Afra took care of everything.' She stepped into the first
  vacant lift.
       'Oh?' Gollee was amazed.  'I didn't realize well, never mind.  But
  even with that, it's still not going to be easy to see Prime Reidinger
  today.  You'll have to be content with an appointment for another day.'
  Then he placed his hand on the palm plate marked 'Restricted' and the
  door closed and the lift rose.
       'I heard,' and she stressed the verb, 'that the new Deneb Prime
  didn't have to wait.' To her surprise, Gollee Gren gave a hearty
  chuckle.
       'How that lad knew where Reidinger's real office was located has
  given the Security Talents bad nightmares.' So, because that location
  was very much in Gren's mind, Prime Rowan had no difficulty extracting
  
  it.  Jeff Raven, with that charismatic charm of his, had probably used
  the same trick.
       They stepped out of the lift into a handsomely furnished lobby,
  with wall hangings of exquisite design and vivid colors.  Elegant
  hardwoods in an intricate pattern covered the floor although corridors
  branching from the big room were carpeted.  There were finely wrought
  seats, couches, and some odd resting pods to accommodate nonhuman
  forms.  Two women, elegantly dressed in wildly striped, tight-fitting
  body-suits with their hair in intricate braids, seemed intent on the
  monitors of their consoles.  Both had instantly identified and made
  mental notes of the new arrivals, slightly uncomplimentary about the
  Rowan.  A man appeared at the side of the main desk complex, smiling at
  Gren and attempting to read her.  A T-3 had no chance of doing that.
       'I'd like to freshen up before --' the Rowan said in a meek tone
  after looking about her with suitable awe.
       Gren pointed to the green carpeted hall directly to their right.
       'I'll wait for you,' he said and walked jauntily to the front desk
  to speak to the man The Rowan heard him greet them by name as she moved
  out of sight.  In the toilet she did give her silver hair a brush and
  washed her hands.  The T-3 had kept a loose touch on her as she made
  these ablutions.  He broke that light contact with propriety as she
  entered one of the stalls.
       Then, grinning at such a splendid opportunity, the Rowan
  teleported herself down three stories and into the southwest corner of
  the great cube, right into the center of the spacious suite that was
  the operational 'tower' of Peter Reidinger IV.  She blanked herself out
  totally as she emerged so that not even Earth's Prime would know she
  was there, since he didn't waste his energies on personal safety.
       His contour chair was similar to her own, but larger, to
  accommodate his heavier, taller body.  In front of him was a console,
  far more extensive than hers on Callisto.  Like a shadow she glided to
  a point where she could see his face in profile.  His hair was black,
  with just a touch of white at the temple.  She had thought he'd be
  younger for his mental tone was so forceful, reeking of authority and
  vitality.  His beard must be a recent affectation, for he had been
  clean shaven in the halos she had of him.  But the beard was cut close
  to his jaw and, oddly enough, was dark red as was the carefully trimmed
  mustache on his upper lip.  Standing he would not be as tall as Jeff
  Raven, but he was more powerfully built.  He wore an ordinary worksuit
  just as she did.  He was frowning in concentration and the dials
  reflecting generator power were jumping toward the right-hand sides as
  he exercised considerable gestalt.  Since he was obviously in mental
  contact, she would not commit the worst solecism of her kind.
       Suddenly a long, red panel flashed wildly across the top of his
  console and a weird hooter broke the silence.
       'Heat readings detect an intruder, Prime,' said an agitated male
  voice.
       'Well, I am glad that people can't just sneak up on you,' the
  Rowan said with a laugh, opening her mind enough for him to recognize
  her, as he swung his chair about, glaring savagely.
       His eyes quite literally bulged as he recognized her.  She
  continued to laugh at the conflicting expressions mirrored on his face
  and did not intend to establish a mental contact until he had calmed
  down.
       'Prime?  Answer!  Are you all right?' 'Abort measures.' Reidinger
  continued to stare at her.
       'But there are two heat sources 'Identify the second as Prime
  Rowan of Callisto and leave us alone.' There was an audible click as
  the comunit went silent.
       'So true love really works,' he said.  'Which is serendipitous and
  
  saves that wretched Denebian for other duties.  Since you have mastered
  the inhibition, you will in fact do far better than Raven.' There was a
  smug look on Reidinger's heavy-featured face.  He steepled his fingers
  and actually smiled at her.  She did not like that smile.
       'Yes, by far the better since you're familiar with the Altairian
  Tower.
       She caught his news then, and realized she had not only
  misinterpreted Siglen's lack of greeting but Gollee Gren's remark about
  recent developments.
       'Siglen?' 'She's had a massive coronary and it would be kinder if
  she didn't survive.' To do him credit, Reidinger deeply regretted her
  illness.  'I didn't fancy putting Raven m charge of a Tower .
       'He's more than capable of it,' the Rowan interrupted, with fierce
  pride.
       'Have the courtesy to be silent!' His vocal bark was quite as
  severe as his mental chastisements.  'Capable, yes, but unfamiliar with
  procedures and rather rough and ready in deliveries.  As I recall it!'
  He cocked a heavy eyebrow at her.
       'I think he's done exceedingly well considering the fact he's only
  just emerged.' 'How is his convalescence progressing?' The Rowan
  suppressed the biting answer that was her reaction to his acid tone and
  shrugged noncommittally.
       How could she have been naive enough to believe she could best
  Reidinger.  Except.  . . and her swift mind caught a wisp.  So!  Prime
  Reidinger could be read.  He wasn't used to the shielding needed in the
  presence of another mind as strong as his own.  To distract him she
  brought over the most comfortable of the few chairs in the big room and
  arranged herself languidly on it.  A Prime need not stand about
  shifting from foot to foot like a lackey.
       'His injuries are healing well but he doesn't have much stamina
  yet, no matter what he thinks!  I set up a fairly decent Tower
  facility, and he did a rather nice job of fine tuning the components.
       Deneb's effectively back in full contact.' Reidinger waggled a
  finger at her.  'Deneb's also broke and Central Worlds has no intention
  of planting a Prime Station there no matter how many Talents you
  discovered out there in the boonies.' 'They concur completely, Peter,'
  and she smiled when her use of his first name caught him off guard.
       Is everyone and his brother awed by Earth Prime Reidinger?  Surely
  your wife.  -.
       If you don't get personal, neither will I, you white-haired scut .
       . . He scowled, his eyes glittering.
       She laughed.  'In fact, it was all I could do to muster the Talent
  I needed,' she added which was true enough, 'to repair the Tower for my
  uses.
       'Speaking of use, you've exhausted all your private funds.  'And
  borrowed as much as I could, she added, airily.
       'In an excellent cause.  You may not have bothered to find out,'
  and then she realized that Reidinger had been well briefed, 'that that
  aborted invasion cost Deneb three-fifths of its population and every
  single installation.' Reidinger shrugged.  'Colonists know the risks.
       They get what they can pay for.  And you .  . . he shook his
  finger in her face again.
       Don't tell me what I can or cannot do, Reidinger, she darted at
  him before he continued.  'Nor would I humiliate such valiant people
  with spurious assistance.  They'll do fine on their own 'Great!
       Because you'll be too busy at Altair Station from now on, and that
  man of yours is going to learn about contractual obligations.' 'He'll
  honor them,' the Rowan began, incensed by the slur implied.
       Now Reidinger laughed.  'And he'll learn how to function as a
  Prime.' 'He already does!' 'No Station discipline.  You,' and Reidinger
  
  picked up a jade statuette and began toying with it, 'will go to Altair
  and he will work Callisto, right where I can keep track of him.' The
  Rowan deflected the quick lance of Reidinger's querying shaft so that
  he wouldn't see her delight.  She couldn't have wished for a better
  situation.  Reidinger would soon learn more about Jeff Raven than he
  wished.
       'Callisto?' She kept her voice neutral, with just a tinge of
  surprise and consternation in her mind.  'How are you going to get
  those naval units back from Deneb then?  He's good but even I can't
  reach that far from Callisto.  Nor you!' 'Torshan and Saggoner managed
  quite well at Callisto in your unavoidable absence.' Reidinger made no
  attempt to disguise how much that absence had rankled.  'You say you
  made a working facility there?  That'll be sufficient for the naval
  displacement.  Then Deneb will just have to rely on its natural
  resources.' And he dismissed that battered planet from further FT&T
  considerations.
       Very privately the Rowan thought that Torshan and Saggoner would
  do very nicely to carry on the training she had started.  Or was
  Reidinger better briefed about Denebian Talent potential than she could
  discern?
       'You'll have to 'port out to Altair .  . . you are able for
  distance now, I believe,' Reidinger continued to poke subtly at her
  mind.
       'Home the Conquering Hero comes!' she replied flippantly.  Then
  abruptly altered her tone.  'There isn't any chance that she'll
  recover?' She owed Siglen some compassion.
       'None!' Reidinger interrupted her harshly.  'We owe her surcease
  now, Rowan,' he added in a kinder but still gruff tone.  Then, for the
  first time, he really looked at her, his eyes falling to the security
  badge.  'Angharad Gwyn?' The Rowan chuckled for his surprise was
  genuine.  'My true name.' For the first time, Reidinger's expression
  was respectful.  'You let him read that deeply?' 'Of course.' She did
  not bother to mention the circumstances.  'Dai Gwyn, a mining
  supervisor, was my father, and my mother was Marie Evans Gwyn, one of
  the camp's teachers.  I had an older brother, Ian.  You may wish to
  correct the records.' 'Why?' And Reidinger was his truculent self
  again.
       'Everyone knows you as the Rowan.  You won't ever turn into an
  Angharad Gwyn at this late date.  Now, finish the inbound stuff at
  Callisto.  I've already called that impudent manipulative Denebian in.
       But, if you hang about to have a snuggle on Prime time, I'll blast
  the pair of you so hard where it'll hurt, you'll neither of you want to
  sleep together for a month.  I've allowed you two far more leeway than
  you deserve.
       'I wonder I don't see it that way, g, she said with a laugh,
  'considering all that our association has achieved.' Reidinger probed
  swiftly and she countered, laughing.  'Don't bother to see me out.' She
  could afford to be gracious.  'I know the way.' She put herself back
  into the reception area to find Gollee Gren in a heated argument with
  five angry men m Security garb.
       'I completed my errand, Talent Gren,' she said, interrupting the
  dressing down he was getting.  She lifted enough shielding for every
  one of them to realize who she was.  'I didn't mean to get you in
  trouble but I considered it necessary to speak with Earth Prime as
  quickly as possible.' 'Couldn't you have done it the normal way?' asked
  Gren, understandably aggrieved.
       'No,' she replied without remorse.  'But don't fault Afra.
       He could only comply with my wishes.  You were most helpful and
  courteous.' Gren gave an audible groan of resignation.  Then she smiled
  winningly at the Security team who were considerably less forgiving.
  
       'There really is no way to keep one Prime from seeing another, you
  know, though the heat sensors relayed my presence.  I promise that the
  next time I call in, I'll do so strictly by protocol.
       Come, Gollee, escort me back to my carrier.' PART FOUR ALTAIR AND
  CALLISTO For the Rowan to return to Altair Prime Station under her own
  power was cause for considerable surprise, elation, and pride.  The
  hastily assembled reception committee included many people known to
  her; among them her foster brother and sister whom she was very pleased
  to see again.  She suppressed a surge of pain that Lusena was not alive
  to see this day.  Nor Siglen, for between her interview with Reidinger
  and her departure from Callisto at the end of the working day, the old
  Prime had, mercifully, died.
       Foremost of the welcoming committee was the Secretary of Interior,
  who abandoned protocol to embrace the Rowan, crying happy tears.
       'Oh my dear child, it is such a blessing to have you back with
  us!' Holding the Rowan away from her, she gave her a quick, satisfied
  appraisal, and then hugged her again.
       The Rowan returned the embrace willingly, warmed by the
  Secretary's spontaneity.  The woman had perceptibly aged in face and
  form but her mind was as lucid, open, and kind as ever, her touch a
  cheerful bright green.  In that contact, the Rowan understood even
  more: that Secretary of the Interior Camella had hated turning the
  Rowan, as a child, over to Siglen's cheerless establishment; that she
  had often felt guilty that she hadn't been able to keep a closer
  personal contact with the orphaned child.  The Rowan was also aware of
  the Secretary's enormous pride and relief that the Row an had returned
  to Altair as their Prime.
       'And I wish I could have returned in less urgent circumstances,'
  the Rowan said, replying to the spoken welcome.
       Dismay colored the Secretary's face briefly.  'Oh, poor Siglen.
       At least she was spared undue pain and never knew the ignominy of
  her condition.  It's such a relief to have you: so fitting that
  Altair's native Prime should take over.' The Mayor and Governor were
  introduced, both new to their offices, though the Rowan recognized
  their faces from earlier service in less exalted roles.  They observed
  scrupulous protocol with respectful bows.  Gerolaman came forward then,
  beaming with pride.  For such a splendid occasion, he had dressed in
  the formal deepgreen FT&T uniform.  He then introduced to her the four
  Talents new since her time there.  The rest of the station staff she
  greeted by name, feeling this odd sensation that she hadn't been ten
  years gone from Altair.
       Bralla?  she asked Gerolaman privately when she noticed another
  missing face.
       She had to retire from active service last year, Gerolaman replied
  testily, which suggested to the Rowan that he felt Siglen might still
  be alive if Bralla had been on duty.  And she deeply mourns Siglen's
  death.
       'We've arranged a proper reception for you later, Rowan,' the
  Secretary of the Interior said, and then added hesitantly, 'that is, if
  you wouldn't mind attending.' Siglen had rarely responded to
  invitations.  Nor allowed the Rowan to.
       The Rowan laughed.  'I'd love to come.  I've been mewed up in the
  Callisto Dome quite long enough.  It'll be a real treat to have a
  planet to range.' 'When work's over,' Gerolaman said with a discreet
  cough.
       'Oh, dear, yes,' and the Secretary was briefly dismayed.
       'It seems so uncharitable to shove you into the Tower as soon as
  you've arrived.  Stationmaster and the others have done a magnificent
  job coping 'I can see the loaded cradles, Secretary,' the Rowan said,
  grinning.  'It won't take me long to shift it all.' The Secretary's
  
  dismay melted into a relieved smile.
       'Then just send word when you're free, Rowan .  . . or should I
  call you Prime now?' 'My name is Angharad Gwyn,' the Rowan said,
  grinning impudently and enjoying the shock on the Secretary's face.  'I
  prefer being the Rowan.  I'll send word,' she added and walked briskly
  into the Tower.
       Towers followed the same basic design throughout the Central
  Worlds' sphere of influence but the Rowan quickly noticed both subtle
  and obvious differences in the Altair Tower since she had last occupied
  it.  The new generating system was three times as powerful now.  The
  console had been updated, quite likely to compensate for Siglen's
  depleting energies.  She noticed the overrides in every system and
  realized that Gerolaman and the T-2s, Bastian and Maharanjani, had
  discreetly monitored the old Prime.
       Briefly glancing through the stack of manifests to check for
  priorities, the Rowan settled in the chair and ordered the generators
  powered up.
       This is a grand new system you've got, Gerolaman, she said
  appreciatively for the warm-up was accomplished in seconds.  That
  blasted Reidinger gave me substandard junk to use on Callisto.
       Gerolaman's chuckle echoed in her head.  You didn't recognize
  them?  The old Altairian system was sent to run Callisto!
       I don't know why I work for this Cheap outfit.
       Only one in the Galaxy.
       The Rowan smiled to herself and, deep in her mind, heard Jeff
  Raven's chuckle.  Then, picking up the power of the generators, she
  sent cargo spinning out of their cradles in a steady stream.
       I taught you well, Gerolaman remarked smugly and settled in to
  work.
       Later the Rowan teamed up with Bastian and Maharanjani to get
  accustomed to their minds and methods.  Both She was touched to learn
  that Gerolaman had saved were capable, if at first very formal with
  her, but they relaxed as the day progressed.  It was an advantage that
  they'd all been taught by the same Prime.
       That first six days were occasionally upset by minor adjustments
  which the Rowan would have solved much differently at Callisto, and in
  the days before she had met Jeff Raven.
       You've had a soothing effect on me, love, she told him in one of
  their conferences.  Late night Altair was often early morning on
  Callisto and she easily pictured him in her bed, hands clasped behind
  his head, blankets pulled up to his chin.
       One day, he began, his mind tone deep and sensual, I might be able
  to enumerate the colossal alterations you've effected on this poor ll'l
  boonie boy.  What mischief have you been up to today?
       Mischief?  When was I ever allowed to get into mischief?
       But I did clear all of Siglen's junk and got the bedroom
  repainted.  So tonight I'll have no more nightmares about those ghastly
  vines and flowers trying to eat me alive.
       The Rowan had not wanted to take the Prime's accommodations.  Not
  after her first horrified look at the main lounge.  Siglen's bazaar
  tastes had never improved and the Rowan wondered how the crippled,
  obese old woman had managed to move about without knocking things off
  tables.  Shuddering at the clashing colors and hoarded junk, the Rowan
  had closed the door, whooshing some of the heavy musky scent Siglen had
  been fond of into the hall.  She would have preferred to move back into
  her old accommodation, now occupied by Bastian, Maharanjani, and their
  two children.  But Siglen's quarters had to be redone for the Rowan to
  feel comfortable in them.  At that, about all she could afford was to
  strip off the ghastly wallpaper and paint the rooms.  She had spent
  well into next year's salary on Deneb's needs.
  
       those furnishings she had not had sent on to Callisto.
       Despite fresh paint and sparsely furnished rooms, the Rowan spent
  a few uneasy nights before she settled in.
       You're sure you don't want anything from here?  Jeff asked.
       I can ship you anything you want.
       I'd rather see you enjoying them, Jeff, she said in a wistful
  tone.
       Oh, I do!  Though it's your Station equipment that I really covet!
       He imagined himself, rubbing his hands, a caricature of a greedy
  expression and an unctuous grin.
       Don't bother.  Covet Altair when you get here.  Though anything
  would be an improvement on what you made do with on Deneb.  HOW you
  managed so much with that one puny little generator, I'll never know.
       Reidinger doesn't realize just how powerful you are!
       Me?  There was such genuine surprise in Jeff's tone that the Rowan
  stifled a flash of envy.  Her lover really didn't appreciate his unique
  strength.
       The way Reidinger referred to Jeff in such uncomplimentary tones,
  the old man evidently hadn't realized Jeff's full potential.  Odd that
  Reidinger, usually so quick in matters of Talent, should have missed
  it.  He'd been in the mind merge, too.  Or had he simply assumed that
  the merge had made Jeff Raven so omnipotent?
       Yes, you, love.  You're a Prime and a half I realize it :if no one
  else does.  But don't let any one else realize it.  Not yet, at any
  rate.
       Which reminds me: it's a good thing I've got Afra and Brian
  coaching me on all that FT&T protocol nonsense .  . . The Rowan grinned
  at his disgust: Jeff found those nuances and niceties the hardest part
  of his new duties.  Deneb was too young, raw, and struggling a colony
  to waste time on conventions or unnecessary priorities of rank and
  precedence.  Otherwise I'd have made a right drone-brain of myself!
       May I live to see the day you're really droned!  The Rowan knew
  from a chance comment of Afra's that the Callisto crew found him a lot
  easier to work with than she.  He had assimilated procedures and the
  subtleties of dealing with freight and passenger captains as if he'd
  been trained as Prime since his early teens.  He was adapting more
  easily to Callisto than she was to the greater responsibilities of
  Altair.  But then that ineffable Raven charm was a considerable asset.
       Are you coming home this weekend?
       I really shouldn't.  I'm still settling in.  The Rowan remembered
  with a twinge of conscience the bruising schedule that Siglen had
  maintained.
       That got her dead, didn't it?  Jeff remarked, reading easily into
  the more private areas of her mind.  Come to think of it, it would be
  more educational for me to visit Altair.  Reidinger is so hot on
  extending my abilities and horizons, and Jeff chuckled with pure
  malice, I'm only too willing to oblige.
       Besides, this weekend, I have a whole big thirty hours to 'rest'
  unless I've misread Callisto's orbit.
       he hadn't and she told Gerolaman to turn off the generators.  He
  did a repeat of his act at Callisto Station, only this time the Rowan
  listened in.  Just to see how he managed to charm so many people so
  completely in so short a time.  He imaged her as a tiny mascot tucked
  over his ear as he talked Gerolaman into a buoyant mood.
       He was nearly as fast charming both Bastian and Maharanjani,
  despite the fact that they had recognized him as heavy Talent and
  suspected his true identity.
       When she heard him meekly admit that the Altairian Prime had sent
  for him, she responded with a mocking laugh that preceded her into the
  main office.
  
       'And if you believe everything a Denebian tells you,' she said as
  she entered, 'I'm thankful there's only one in FT&T.
       When she saw Maharanjani blush furiously, she knew the woman had
  caught some of the very vivid, naughty imagery which was Jeff's
  response to that insult.
       'So you're Deneb's Prime?' Gerolaman asked, too bemused by the
  Raven charisma to take offense at the little charade.
       'Callisto's,' Jeff said with a little bow.  'I take whatever
  leavings that drop from this one's fair hands.' His blue eyes were
  glinting with such mischief that the stationmaster chuckled.  'Can I
  help you clear up any last little chores, Rowan?' he asked, all
  politeness as he gathered her proprietarially under his arm.
       'I do believe,' and she announced magnanimously, 'that our work
  day is finished.  Altair will resume operations in thirty-two hours.
       Enjoy your respite.' They exited, leaving the Station crew bemused
  by their vivid delight in each other.
       Halfway through the next day, the Rowan asked Jeff to accompany
  her.  He knew instantly where she meant to go and kissed her gently on
  the cheek, compassionately supporting her.
       At their destination, the smell of the minta, heavy in the air,
  made the Rowan shudder with memory.
       'Rather a remarkable odor.  Hard to forget.' Jeff's nostrils
  flared at the reek.
       In the quarter of a century that had passed since the devastating
  mudslide, minta had grown to formidable size on the mud-filled valley
  that had once been the site of the Rowan Mining camp.  She found
  nothing to recall here, yet somewhere, fifty meters below where they
  stood, Angharad Gwyn had lived for three years.  Though Jeff had
  fractured the mind block, she remembered little more than her name and
  an impression of faces peering down at her, no sharp details at all,
  though she knew some of the faces had to be her mother, father, and
  brother.  She remembered the rag rug on which she had often played in
  front of a screened fireplace.  And the permeating stench of minta.
       'Not much truly memorable happens to a child of three.' 'Unless
  she gets very unlucky,' Jeff said gently.  'Where did they finally
  locate you?' Jeff asked, knowing this return had to be played out in
  its entirety.
       She took him down to the Oshoni valley, to the ledge where her
  rescuers had landed.  The little hopper had long gone to scrap.  The
  tongue of mud had dried in the ensuing years and was much eroded by
  rain, sun, and wind.  She had a more vivid, if brief, memory of her
  release from the little broached hopper.
       'There should be something more than this,' she murmured, unable
  to express her unease on any level.  'I don't even remember more of
  that awful journey than the rolling and bumping and then I was knocked
  unconscious.
       'You were lucky in that,' Jeff said, trying to fathom the nebulous
  disquiet which she could not express.  'Coming to, with mud oozing in
  on you, scared, cold, hungry, and thirsty and no-one to reassure you
  was surely the ultimate horror for a three-year-old child.  But that's
  over and done with.  Long done with,' and he put his arms around her,
  resting his chin on her silvery hair.  'I don't know what you were
  hoping to see, or find here, love,' he added in a caressing tone, his
  mind soothing against her frustration.
       'The miracle is that you emerged alive and had a future which
  no-one else in the Rowan Mining camp did.  Don't keep looking at the
  past: that can't be changed.' 'I checked with Immigration, you know,'
  she said, still depressed.  'There were three families with the same
  surname, an older couple and their two sons and wives, so I still have
  a choice.  The Rowan Mining Company was only too willing to open up
  
  their records for the Prime,' and she muttered bleakly.  'I could be
  the daughter of Ewain and Morag Gwyn or Matt and Ann Gwyn.  Both Ewain
  and Matt were mining engineers and the occupations of their wives was
  not given.  So, although I do remember that my mother was a teacher, I
  still don't know if she was Ann or Morag.
       'Does it matter very much, love?' Jeff tipped her head up to gaze
  with the intense fondness that his blue eyes could reflect.
       'I don't know why it should since I know a lot more about my
  background now than I ever have, but it does.
       Especially when I see - and envy - your big family.' Jeff threw
  back his head and laughed aloud, the sound spun away on the wind that
  soughed down the valley.
       'Didn't a large family put you off back on Deneb?' 'You Ravens
  take getting used to,' she admitted, burrowing into his shoulder.  'I
  want as many children as I can have.' 'That's one way of redressing the
  balance,' he said with a chuckle.
       'I also want them to know as much about my side of the family as
  they do about yours.
       'Don't tell me you intend waiting until you do?' Jeff pretended
  dismay.
       'I can't.' And she opened her mind to reveal what she was only
  beginning to suspect.
       'Rowan!' Then he whirled her about, his mind reverberating with
  his elation.
       Easy on me!  I'm having enough trouble with vertigo without you
  spinning me about like a wheel.  But she clung to him and grinned at
  the effect of her marvelous secret.
       When he deposited her gently to the ground again, he pressed her
  as close to him as possible, and she could feel his mind trying to
  reach the new life in her womb.
       'Not yet, dear,' she said in gentle amusement.  'At a bare three
  weeks, it's no better than a tadpole.
       He held her from him with mock dismay.  'My son, the tadpole.' 'We
  don't know "son" yet awhile.  Be patient!' 'I don't feel like being
  patient.' 'Mankind's been able to do a lot of things, but no Talent has
  ever been able to speed up gestation.' 'My son,' Jeff insisted, his
  eyes shining as he looked to the future, 'the new Deneb Prime!' 'Give
  the child a break!' Rowan protested.
       'How else are we going to get a Prime on Deneb unless we produce
  one between us!' The Rowan '5 mood altered abruptly and she said in a
  querulous voice, 'That's exactly what Reidinger's been counting on.
       Damn him.  I hate to find myself doing exactly what he wants.'
  'Aren't you happy for yourself, love?' And Jeff turned her face up to
  his.  'I am!' 'Yes, I am.' But in the deepest part of her, something
  was not so certain.
       'Your own mother says that she never heard of a kinetic having
  trouble during pregnancy,' the Rowan said heatedly, trying not to let
  her anger get out of hand.  Jeff didn't deserve her temper, even if his
  attitude was infuriating her.  'She says that you're behaving exactly
  the way your father did for your oldest brother, proprietary,
  protective, paternal and a pain in the neck!' 'And I shouldn't be
  worried about you?' Jeff demanded, pacing her room in Altair Tower.
       'You're rail thin, you work long, hard hours, and you don't really
  feel comfortable taking a day off to get the rest and relaxation you
  need right now.' 'You saw the food I put away at dinner?  You know I've
  always done just fine on four hours' sleep.  And I do take a whole day
  off.  . . you won't let me do anything else.' Jeff halted midstride,
  fists planted against his hips: he cocked his head and that sudden
  marvelous smile of his erased the glower.  Why on earth are we fighting
  with each other?  And he held out his arms.
  
       'I don't know,' and she gratefully entered his embrace, laying her
  cheek against his chest.  As he usually did, he tucked her head under
  his chin, one hand gently ruffling her hair.  'Except you suddenly
  won't let me go on as usual just because I'm five months' pregnant.
       And the baby tells me he's fine.' 'You're both precious to me, you
  see,' he said, his intense feelings vibrating through her mind.  'I'm
  new at this fatherhood game.' 'With your mother, aunts and sisters
  shelling babies like peas?' This time it's my heart's darling who's
  gestating and that adds a totally new perspective.  D'you know they're
  taking bets on the date Reidinger finds out?
       'Who's doing a thing like that?' The Rowan was outraged.  'How did
  they find out?' Jeff threw his head back, laughing uninhibitedly.  'My
  darling, you haven't really looked at yourself in a mirror, have you?
       You positively glow.  And besides, that baby's loud.  Maharanjani
  heard him, I'm sure, which means Bastian does, too.  Gerolaman smiles
  fondly at you when you don't notice it.  Most of the other Tower staff
  have suspicions, especially the way you're eating.  And Afra asked me
  point-blank when you're due.' The Rowan made a face.  'Trust Afra to
  know.
       'Are you certain he's only a T-4?  And were you aware that he has
  always loved you?' 'Yes,' she said with a deep sigh.  'I'm very fond of
  Afra: I trust him at the deepest level but .  ' She fell silent for a
  long moment.  'If you hadn't made yourself known .  .
       'My timing has always been superb,' Jeff replied in a tone of
  ineffable superiority which dissolved into one of his infectious
  chuckles.  'You could have done a lot worse than Afra.' His embrace
  assured her that Afra had never had a chance.
       'Do let me come to Callisto next week.  I haven't been back since
  you took over.
       'You don't trust me with your ratty old dome?' 'You're dodging,
  Raven,' she said with some heat, trying to wriggle free of his grasp.
       'It's my body that's pregnant, not my head - if I may hand your
  own words back to you - and my head is what gets me from Altair to
  Callisto.  It took me long enough to know I could travel: don't
  restrict me.' 'Our child is very precious to me, Rowan,' Jeff said
  firmly.  'How can you risk him?' 'I don't see any risk involved!  Oh,
  you can be infuriating.' 'I'll make one more point, dear heart.  On
  Altair, Reidinger rarely needs to contact you.  On Callisto, he will
  certainly exchange courtesies 'How will he know I'm there if we don't
  tell him?' Jeff cleared his throat, amused.  'I remember once
  suggesting that I could manage Reidinger.  I take that back.  To the
  ninth power.  That man knows everything about everyone connected to
  FT&T.
       He'll know you're there and once he establishes contact, he'll
  know you're pregnant.
       When he knows that, he's not going to let you go anywhere.'
  'Nonsense!' 'So be it!' And it was.  Within an hour of her arrival at
  Callisto, Reidinger was in touch with her.
       'Now, listen here, Rowan, it's one thing for that ass-eared
  Denebian to ricochet about the stars like a .  .
       Aware of the contact, Jeff had covered his face to conceal his 'I
  told you so' grin.  As Reidinger's voice broke off, Jeff raised his
  hand and began ticking off seconds with his fingers.  He had just added
  the fourth when Reidinger came back.
       YOU'RE PREGNANT?  And you RISKED yourself 'porting from Altair?
       Shock, horror, and fury reverberated so violently in her mind that
  the Rowan exclaimed.
       Reidinger!  Jeff s stern voice cut through even as he jumped from
  his chair to put protective arms about his shivering mate.  Ease up!
       BY ALL THE HOLIES, RAVEN, I thought you'd have more sense!  How
  
  COULD you permit such a risk?
       No risk was involved, Reidinger, the Rowan snapped, furious that
  Reidinger could startle her so badly.  I'm quite capable CAPABLE?
       You're no more capable -- That is quite enough of that, Reidinger,
  Jeff intervened in a tone that halted the Earth Prime mid-fume.  The
  Rowan '5
       in excellent health and the pregnancy is proceeding normally.
       Not that that is YOUR business.
       It is MY business if a Prime jeopardizes herself.  . Especially
  one who can breed for you and FT&T!  the Rowan angrily shot back at
  him.  Well, I'm NOT breeding for you and FT&T.  This is between Jeff
  Raven and me.
       There's nothing in my contract that says FT&T controls the produce
  of my womb!  Get that straight, Reidinger.  My son is not automatically
  indentured to FT&T.
       A long pause.  A son?  You know that already?  Something akin to
  awe replaced the bluster.  It wasn't just that Reidinger had abruptly
  discarded anger as a useless tool against the partners he was trying to
  dominate.  It was something more but what eluded the Rowan.
       Yes, and the Rowan, too, reduced her tone to the conversational.
       She didn't really want Reidinger angry with her.  Or with Jeff.
       You're in contact with him?  The need to know came across as a
  painful urgency.
       Jeff raised his eyebrows in surprise at the near plea.
       Five months into the pregnancy, we both are, Jeff answered when he
  felt the Rowan was spinning out the silence too long.
       Why did you tell him that?  she said in a private shaft at him.
       He doesn't deserve it.
       We've had our fun with him, Rowan.  I've been listening on another
  level.  Reidinger's a tired, worried old man and you've just given him
  something to hope for at a time when he needs it.
       What does he need hope for?
       I don't know, and Jeff was baffled.  To Reidinger he said, It's a
  nebulous contact, of course, at this stage of fetal development -- And
  what do you know of fetal development?  the Rowan asked again on the
  private level.
       Jeff grinned at her.  I didn't have six sisters without picking up
  some dribs and drabs of obstetrics!
       Suddenly both realized that Reidinger had broken off contact
  during their swift mental exchanges.
       'Well, that was sudden!' the Rowan said, piqued.
       Jeff chuckled.  'We gave the old boy something to mull over.' The
  Rowan let out a long sigh then.  'I'm glad it was a short inquisition.
       Now, whose turn is it to cook?' 'Ah-ha, I decided neither of us
  would waste time on mundane chores so scan the list of viands made
  ready for your arrival!' He tapped up a menu which used such an elegant
  archaic script that the Rowan had trouble deciphering it.
       'I could probably eat all of it!' 'And grow to Siglen' 5 size over
  the next few months?  I won't permit it,' and with the foolery that
  followed, it was nearly an hour before they returned to the menu again.
       They were sitting in front of the artificial fire which was, as
  Jeff reluctantly admitted, a very good simulation, when the comunit
  gave a discreet burp and tripped the green flash all over the house.
       Raising her eyebrows in surprise at such a discreet summons - both
  she and Jeff were accustomed to a direct mental inquiry - she opened
  the channel.
       'Prime Rowan?' asked an unfamiliar feminine voice, a warm and kind
  voice.  'I am Elizara Matheson, T- 1, Medic/Oh.  With all due respect,
  I request an interview.' 'Not on my day off!' The Rowan's finger was
  halfway to the disengage when Jeff caught her wrist.  'Damn Reidinger!
  
       How dare he presume!' 'What harm does it do?' Jeff asked at his
  most disarming.  'You're going to need a T-1 during the delivery of a
  Talent.  They can be most obstreperous about leaving their safe haven.
       At least Reidinger cares enough to send the very best.' When the
  Rowan regarded him with amazement, he grinned.  'I don't think you
  accessed the right prenatal information.  And if that lad of ours is
  half as stubborn as either of his parents, you may need all the
  persuasion you can muster.' He leaned across her.  'By all means, Medic
  Elizara.
       Please proceed to the residence.' Every now and then the Rowan
  came smartly up against the realization that she couldn't argue with or
  wheedle her way around Jeff Raven.  He was steadily becoming stronger
  and stronger in all areas of his Talent.  If sometimes a part of her
  resented that strength, at others she felt tremendously comforted and
  protected.  Or, as right now, in complete rebellion.  But she rebelled
  right now, not against his common sense, but against an intrusion of
  the short hours when they could share each other on the deepest
  possible levels, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual.
       But she acquiesced.  You give me no option, do you?  she shot at
  him as they waited for the unsolicited visitor.
       I'm far more careful of you than Reidinger gives me credit.
       There was no flexibility in his gaze, or mind.  You are not the
  obstetrician's ideal proportions for easy birthing, you know.
       Let's take every precauflon.
       Medic Elizara's personal appearance was a surprise to them both as
  she was a slender woman, no taller than the Rowan, and looked far
  younger.  Her smile as she felt their astonishment was vastly pleased
  with her effect on them.
       'I have heard so much about you, Prime Rowan,' she said with
  irrepressible mischief in her wide-spaced, lightgreen eyes, 'that I
  elbowed my way right past everyone with far more seniority than I have.
       Then, too, your reputation .  . .' and her marvelous smile
  deprecated the Rowan's reputed temper, 'made others demur.  Gollee Gren
  solemnly warned me that you're more devious than Reidinger.' At that
  remark, the last of the Rowan's resentment evaporated.  'Gollee warned
  you, did he?' Reidinger's positively Machiavellian, isn't he?  Jeff
  said to her privately.  What a choice!
       Oh, no, came from Elizara, the choice was mine, though when Earth
  Prime interviewed me, I could tell he thought that I would suit.  'I
  shan't take more than a few moments of your time right now, Prime, but
  I need to update the Altairian report.' 'Not a moment has been wasted,'
  the Rowan remarked sardonically.
       'No!' And Elizara's eyes twinkled.
       She did not indeed take more than a few moments.  The Rowan had
  never met a T-i in another field and was very much reassured by her
  competencee and deftness.
       'The pregnancy is proceeding nicely.  I have nothing further to
  add to what the Altairian medics told you,' Elizara said in conclusion.
       'The boy child is not far enough along for us to make a worthwhile
  contact.  That's when my particular Talent becomes useful and I can
  assist you both in the preparations.' 'My mother had no trouble with
  any of us, Jeff said, and the Rowan heard the first tinge of
  uncertainty before he could dampen it.
       'True enough,' Elizara admitted, 'probably because her mother was
  her constant companion during the final month.' 'How on earth did you
  know that?' Jeff asked, surprised but he found out before Elizara could
  prevent him.
       'Reidinger has been very busy, has he not?' 'I think you both must
  appreciate why and allow him his prerogatives,' Elizara said with
  gentle dignity and a hint of reproach.
  
       'This is our child, not Reidinger's.  And he's no relation to be
  prying into ---' Easy, love, Jeff said, reaching with hand and mind to
  soothe her.
       The fetus will react, you know, Elizara said mildly.  The calmer
  you remain, the easier it will be for you both!  The stronger a bond of
  trust you make right now, the easier the birth will be.  The child will
  need to trust you then.  'But the main reason I was acceptable to the
  Prime, and you may find this so, too, was that I had easy births with
  my own two Talented children.' That reassured the Rowan more than
  anything else about Elizara, though at that moment, she did not want to
  feel calm, even to reassure her unborn child, but she could not evade
  Jeff as easily as she could Elizara.  Nor could she evade, or disobey,
  any of Reidinger's subsequent safeguards which she found intrusive,
  impudent, arrogant, unnecessarily restrictive, and too authoritarian by
  far.
       Unfortunately, Jeff Raven was in total agreement with the Earth
  Prime.  She was never sure if Elizara truly disagreed with the two men
  on the subject of her return to Altair or was 'humoring the pregnant
  woman' The upshot was that the Rowan was not permitted to return to
  Altair and was reinstalled as Callisto Prime.  Jeff went off to Altair
  until two appropriate T-2s could be found and integrated with
  Maharanjani and Bastian at Altair.  When that task was completed, what
  Jeff termed his galactic peregrination began.
       Reidinger sent him to each of the other Prime Stations on various
  errands of high security importance.
       'I don't know what could be more secure than a mind to-mind
  contact or why he has to shoot you all over the place.' 'Oh, I find it
  incredibly fascinating, love.  I've met all the Primes, now, and I
  really did pick the best of the lot of you,' he said with an outrageous
  glint in his eye.  'That Capella!' He raised eyes and hands in such
  comic dismay over that confrontation that he made her laugh.
       While the Rowan could appreciate just how valuable Jeff was to
  FT&T as the only peripatetic Prime, she resented his absences even
  though Jeff always took several days rest on Callisto between jaunts.
       On the other hand, Jeff returned, stimulated, excited, and highly
  pleased by his reception at every tower.  She did like listening to him
  discuss his perceptions of the other Primes, the diversity of the
  planets linked in the Central Worlds: once she would have envied him
  his fearless ability to transverse those immense distances, but she
  formed a secret intention, when her pregnancy was over, to join him in
  these tours.  But the traveling, despite Jeff s innate strength, took a
  noticeable toil of his energy.  She worried about the alarming signs of
  deep fatigue which he dismissed lightly.
       'Sure it takes effort, love, Jeff told her as they sprawled
  together in their favorite spot in the lounge before the artificial
  fire.  For the Rowan, being close to him physically was in many ways
  far more satisfying than the more intimate mental contact.  As much,
  she thought, because she had had so few physical relationships that she
  found their intimacies especially rewarding.  'And it's tiring, but a
  few days with you and I'm rarin' to go again.  This galactic touring's
  quite an eyeopener for this poor little ole Denebian farmboy.' 'Don't
  you say that about yourself!' The Rowan bridled at his phrase, punching
  his upper arm to emphasize her annoyance.
       'Darling, I am poor,' he reminded her.  'Mind you, the bonuses
  I've been extorting from Reidinger for doing these leapfroggings is
  bringing me out of debt much faster than if I just drew stationary
  Tower pay.' 'Nor are you little.  . .' The Rowan was not letting him
  belittle himself in any way.
       Jeff let out a hoot of laughter.  'Honey, I love your sense of
  loyalty but have you seen the guys they grow on Procyon?
  
       And Betelgeuse?' He shot her a glance for comparison's sake and
  she saw that he had felt dwarfed in their presence.  'And I AM a
  Denebian farmboy.' He grinned in his roguish way.  'Keeps me from
  getting above myself.' 'Oh, was David being difficult again?' Jeff ran
  a few scenes of the Betelgeuse Talent's arrogance through her mind and
  she was both appalled and amused.
       'If I'd ever met Siglen, I'd've had a few cogent remarks to make
  to her about her notions of "training" Talent,' he said, serious for a
  moment.  'And Primes are unquestionably the vital links between Central
  Worlds, but there are T- 1 ratings in every other Talent that make some
  of us stevedores look rather limited.  Still,' and he sighed for he was
  at heart a generous and forgiving person, 'she got the basics right but
  we'll train our own kids the way they ought to go.' 'Indeed we will!'
  Jeff tightened his arms about her, kissing the side of her neck
  tenderly.  'And none of our kids will need a Purza.' 'Was the pukha on
  my mind again?' 'She keeps lurking there, where you can't see her.' 'I
  can't imagine why.  Not after I've been back to Altair, and the Rowan
  mining campsite.  Not with you doing far more for me than any construct
  could ever do.' 'I can't read why she keeps surfacing, love, except
  that Purza was the most important thing in your young life.
       I'm not exactly sure I like competing with a No way!  Then Rowan
  let out an exaggerated sigh and then a self-deprecating chuckle.  'But
  for ages there, that pukha was the only thing in the world that truly
  understood the young Rowan child.  . . or so she thought.' She paused,
  frowning.  'You know it's very odd, your mother asked me who Purza was,
  too.  That caught me off-balance.' 'I think we ought to get Mother to
  train her mind.' 'Oh, she wasn't being intrusive.  It's as you said,
  she has a long ear.  I've never met anyone quite like her before.
       She was so calm and reassuring, even when .  .
       'When everyone thought I was dying?' 'You were never dying .  . .'
  But a shiver caught the Rowan even as she repudiated the mention.
       Jeff cocked his right eyebrow, a droll expression on his face.
       'Not the way Asaph and Rakella tell it, my love.
       Well, I suppose Purza would surface at a time like that.
       When you need support the most.' The Rowan nodded, nestling as
  close to him as her altered shape permitted.
       'I think we, all of us, have someone, Jeff went on, 'or some
  place, we retreat to in times of stress: a known comforter, adviser,
  confidante, who never fails us.' 'You never needed one.' Rowan was
  beginning to wonder about the odd resurgences of Purza.  She felt the
  unexpected embarrassment in Jeff's mind.
       'I haven't got you fooled, too, have I, love?' And Jeff gave her a
  quick hug, laughing.  'Believe me, dear heart, the only advantage I
  have over others is that I learned to read minds quick enough to
  correct my follies before they got out of hand.  That's all.' 'But did
  you?' She needed to delve into that curious embarrassment, so unusual
  in her self-possessed and reliant love.
       'Yes, I did,' and he gave a funny chuckle.  'Your Purza was at
  least a visible creature, properly programmed to respond to certain
  infant and pre-adolescent needs 'What's wrong with an invisible
  friend?' The Rowan now plucked that easily from his mind.
       'Nothing.  Until your younger sister fends out about it and the
  whole family gives you an unmerciful ragging.' Does your friend have a
  name?
       Jeff stroked her head.  Bagheera.
       Oh?
       It's been so long, love, but you know, it's rather odd that he was
  also a feline, like your Purza.  Big, black, powerfuL he loved to lie
  on branches high up in trees which was not surprising as I was always
  climbing trees myself, or lurk on sunny rock ledges because I used to
  
  hide from chores on such places, and he hated water!  Which I did not,
  actually.  I loved to swim but I could never get him to join me.  He
  had yellow eyes - like Afra .  . . Jeff's tone was amused/amazed that
  he had found one point of resemblance with anyone of his acquaintance.
       We spent a lot of time discovering unexpected treasures :n caverns
  and mines and other unlikely places.  He was good protection against
  all the terrors of wild, raw Deneb.
       And we'd make fortunes for our planet and bring it in to the
  Central Worlds Autonomy faster than any world had ever been admitted.
       Jeff chuckled.  'You know, I haven't thought of Bagheera for
  years!  He was, I think, a character in a children's story.  I
  preempted him for my own special use.
       He was invincible.' Hey, are you falling asleep on me again?
       'Not really,' and yet a massive yawn caught her.  'We don't need
  to move from here, do we?' She snuggled up against him, fending the
  right hollow in his shoulder for her head.  He brought a warm blanket
  from their bed to cover them so there was no need to rearrange
  themselves.
       Despite what the Rowan saw as Reidinger's intrusiveness, she
  looked forward to Elizara's visits.  Gradually the T-1
       Medic appeared on Callisto twice a month and then weekly.  At the
  beginning of the last semester of the pregnancy, Elizara came to stay
  until the delivery.
       'But I'm fine, and the baby is developing perfectly,' the Rowan
  protested, 'or so you've told me.' Elizara grinned.  'You know it to be
  so yourself, Rowan.
       Call it an old man's foibles.  A young man's too, considering Jeff
  s state of mind.' The Rowan grunted and felt her baby react.  To save
  herself violent convulsions of her womb, she had learned to restrain
  untoward responses to each new imposition.
       'Jeff knows how much family means to you,' Elizara said.
       'Family?' The Rowan found the wording odd.  Jeff never referred to
  their unborn as 'family': usually it was 'his' or 'their' son, or Jeran
  when they finally decided on a name for him.  But the child's arrival
  would indeed make them a family!
       'There was once a time,' Elizara went on in her lilting voice,
  'when the mother and father of a newborn were totally unprepared for
  it, or the effect it would have on them and their own relationship.  Of
  course, parenting has become so much a part of early education, that
  many of the iniquities of earlier centuries can no longer be
  perpetrated on young, unformed minds.  But the highpotential Talent
  child needs special care and handling, especially at birth and in the
  first three months.' 'I know that.  I know that!  I've been made aware
  of that by just about everyone in the whole damned Central Worlds.  The
  only one who hasn't alluded to this is Capella and right now I could
  almost trade places with that dried up old virgin!' 'Rowan!  If she
  should hear you!' 'She is,' the Rowan acidly replied, 'probably the
  only Talent in the entire FT&T network who doesn't contact me half a
  hundred times a day to ensure I'm still all right and the child is
  alive and kicking!  Which he is right now!' 'Then calm down!' Elizara
  exuded an authority that the Rowan found as impossible to evade as
  Jeff' s. So she found herself initiating meditation in obedient
  response.  Elizara's inner serenity extended itself to the Rowan and
  the flare of anger and frustration was soothed away.
       'Oh, by the way,' Elizara said when the Rowan was tranquil again,
  'I took another liberty on your behalf.' She hesitated.
       'Why not?' Elizra touched her hand in gentle rebuke.  'I've
  managed to trace the Gwyn family.  Just in case there might be some
  genetic flaws that we should know about in advance.' 'You did?' the
  Rowan exclaimed.  'But I tried 'Yes, you tried from Altair,' and
  
  Elizara gave a little smile, 'but not from Earth.  And not consulting
  the original immigration files, only the Altair entries.' 'They were
  useless.  And?' 'Genetics prints were made of all outgoing settlers;
  genotypes and blood profiles.  You could only be the child of Ewain and
  Morag Gwyn.' Shyly Elizara slipped two small holograms from her pouch
  to the table.  'As you'll notice, the tendency to premature silver hair
  affected both parents.' With a reverence akin to awe, the Rowan looked
  down at the two faces: Despite the fact that her father could have been
  no more than thirty, his hair was silver while eyebrows and mustache
  were as black as coal.  He had a strong face, and his brows were drawn
  in a faint scowl.  Her mother's hair had silver streaks from a center
  parting: she looked more worried than anxious, but she had bequeathed
  her gray eyes to her daughter and the narrow face.
       Elizara, if you knew what this g'fl means - Ah, love, I do!  And
  Elizara laid her hand gently on the Rowan's bowed head.
       What's wrong?  was Jeff s sudden demand.  He was never out of
  touch with her and he was as grateful to Elizara as she was.  That
  girl's a wonder!  Give her a hug for me!  I don't dare do it myself or
  I'll have you to answer to!
       I'm much too happy at this moment we knew that, my love!
       In her mind was a fiendish chuckle.  Warn her!
       The Rowan didn't, but smiled happily to herself, her eyes resting
  on the two holograms until they were indelibly imprinted in her mind.
       She had parents now: and it was enough to know that she had had a
  brother.  She could console herself wondering whether he had resembled
  father or mother more.  Maybe Mauli, who was deft with pencil and
  paint, would draw her a likeness of what her brother might have been.
       On one count did the Rowan prevail against Reidinger's over
  protectiveness: she was allowed to continue working Callisto Station.
       Torshan and Saggoner were needed on another colonial outpost, and
  Elizara, backed by all other medical consultants, reassured Reidinger
  that the Rowan's mental abilities were in no way affected by the
  pregnancy.
       Nor was her normal occupation affecting her unborn child.  The
  Rowan proved that more conclusively by a suspension of the pyrotechnics
  which had often disturbed the Station personnel during her moody
  periods.  For this everyone on the Station was grateful.
       As soon as her pregnancy became common knowledge, Brian Ackerman
  had braced Afra, wanting to know if the Rowan would be 'OK' 'If by OK
  you mean is she likely to be as difficult as she was before Jeff
  arrived,' Afra replied in a droll tone, his yellow eyes reflecting
  considerable amusement at the question, 'I'm told that pregnant women
  are often more quiescent and docile.' 'The Rowan docile?  I'd find that
  hard to believe,' was Brian's reply.  'But that Elizara's sure a nice
  person.  Does the Rowan like her?' 'I believe they are compatible
  personalities.  Elizara is an extremely gifted practitioner.  If I were
  having a baby, I'd like her beside me.' Brian regarded the Capellan
  with a startled glance.
       'You're no mutant!' 'No, and I'm as male as you are!' Afra stared
  back at Ackerman.
       'I didn't mean -- I mean, I know you.  . Oh, hell.  I figured you
  were gone on the Rowan Elizara's pretty, young, and -'I'll make my own
  match, if you don't mind, Brian, but I appreciate the concern.' And
  Afra retired to his own quarters, leaving Brian wondering if he had
  mortally offended him and wishing he'd never started the conversation
  in the first place.
       As the delivery date approached, the Rowan spent a lot of time in
  the Dome's pool.  It was the only place she did not feel awkward and
  unwieldy.  She had even discussed a water delivery with Elizara.
       'Wherever and however you feel comfortable,' the Medic replied.
  
       'This isn't going to be a huge production, is it?  I'm not going
  to have Reidinger shooting more experts up the moment I go into labor?'
  'Whenever, however, and whoever you need to make birth easy for you and
  the young Raven,' Elizara assured her so firmly that the Rowan let
  herself be convinced.  She appreciated the irony of Reidinger's ban on
  any travel that precluded her having the child in one of the highly
  specialized clinics on Earth.
       She was aware of all the discreet monitoring devices that had been
  installed; in her couch in the Tower, her quarters, lining her bed, the
  pool, the rocking chair which Jeff had made for her with his own hands,
  the couch in front of the fire, even in the food preparation area.
       That was quite enough surveillance but having a baby should be a
  private affair, not a matter of interest to the inhabited galaxy.
       -The Rowan suddenly knew of one other presence she wanted very
  much to have with her: Isthia Raven, with her deep r and her loud
  voice.  The notion surprised her and yet it had a calming effect on
  her.  A matter of con......
       'Whoever you need,' Elizara repeated, tactfully advising the Rowan
  that her thoughts were clear.
       'But would she come?' The Rowan was inhibited by an odd reticence.
       Isthia Raven would be harvesting Deneb's first post ET crop on the
  family's holdings.
       Ask her, Jeff advised when the Rowan timidly tested the notion on
  him.  She'd be honored, and she'd be helpful.  She's been taking
  instruction on that metamorphic treatment that worked so well on me.
       Does that stuff help in childbirth?
       Would you ask her for me?
       What?  The redoubtable Rowan is afraid of her mother-inlaw?
       Well, you are!
       Not often.  Not since I met you.  There was a snide chuckle at the
  end of that thought.
       I don't know why I put up with you!
       Because you adore me, of course!  Which is reciprocal.  The
  chuckle was replaced by a vision of him as a callow mooncalf.
       Isthia Raven was flattered by the Rowan's request and exchanged
  considerable information with Elizara.  She had been rather worried
  about the Rowan who was, to her mind, not the optimum shape for easy
  childbearing.  She said that she would come as soon as she was needed.
       You're needed now, Jeff told his mother.  By me, if no one else.
       I thought it was the Rowan who wanted me, she replied teasingly.
       You know perfectly well that she and your son will be all right.
       How many clairvoyant Talents have you asked already?
       I see no reason not to avail myself of professional courtesies,
  Jeff said in a testy tone.
       Isthia chuckled and changed the subject, arranging with him to
  bring her to Callisto a few days before the Rowan's due date.  Her own
  worries ceased the moment she saw the mother to be, radiant and, as the
  Rowan put it, bulging in all forward directions at this late stage of
  pregnancy.  Isthia sincerely admired their living quarters, remarking
  drily that she had never expected dome living to be quite so spacious.
       She paid very close attention when the Rowan and Jeff explained
  all the safety features, and held a drill for her.
       'Planets at least give you lots of places to hide,' she remarked
  in her droll fashion.  'Could be awkward if there was an emergency just
  when Jeran chooses to arrive,' she added, as she peered into one of the
  safety chambers.  She made a pantomime of the Rowan attempting to fit
  inside.
       'The house has triple seals,' Jeff remarked.  'The Prime cannot be
  risked.' 'I'll stay very close to you then, daughter,' Isthia said.
       'But you certainly have an elegant residence.  Ah, well, we'll
  
  soon set matters right on Deneb.' 'Doesn't that ever bother you,
  Rowan?' she asked after dinner when Jupiter rose, filling the skyview.
       She eyed the massive planet warily.
       'What?  Him?  I'm accustomed to it now,' the Rowan replied, trying
  to settle herself on the comfortable couch in front of the fire.
       'Levitation?' Isthia suggested, glancing at Elizara for her
  opinion.
       'We've tried that, too,' Jeff answered with a rueful grin for the
  Rowan's dilemma.  'Not much longer, love.' The Rowan gave a skeptical
  grunt.
       'Elizara, if you're a T-1 Medical, can't you establish a time, or
  at least a day?' Isthia asked.
       'We have been able to improve prenatal care to insure almost
  one-hundred per cent normal healthy babies,' Elizara said with a slight
  smile, 'and we can induce labor if the term runs over a normal
  gestation, but we're still unable to dictate the ETA.' 'I wish this one
  would consider an early appearance,' the Rowan remarked wearily.
       'It's your first,' Isthia said in a dry tone.  'The way out is not
  so obvious.' 'I've told him and told him,' the Rowan replied, 'to get
  'Had any effect?' Isthia asked, amused.
       'He responds with sentiments of complete satisfaction in his
  present environment and sees no need to make any alteration.' 'In that
  many words?' The Rowan laughed, delighted to have startled Isthia.
       'Hardly.  I just get an impression of complete contentment.'
  Isthia turned to Elizara.  'What about a hands-on?  Of course, Rowan
  isn't overdue .  .
       Elizara smiled gently.  'We wait.  Time enough for hands-on if
  labor stops and we sense a complete reluctance to leave the womb.'
  Then, abruptly, Isthia sat straight up in the lounger which hastily
  rearranged itself to her change of position.
       She cocked her head, listening.
       'What's the matter?  What do you hear?' The Rowan asked.  'Ian?'
  They might tease Isthia for her 'long ear' from time to time but it was
  always respectful.
       'I thought I .  . .' Isthia faltered and looked keenly at Elizara.
       'Did you catch anything?' Elizara frowned but she was patently
  sharpening her senses, listening with that other sensitivity which all
  three women had in generous measure.
       There!  Isthia said.
       The Rowan had felt something, just at the very edge of her own
  deep range.  Too distant.  Anger!  Pain!
       Whose?  Isthia added in a very thoughtful tone.  The source
  defeats me.  I don't think it was human!
       Elizara regarded her with surprise.  How could you hear it, then?
       'I heard it, too,' the Rowan reminded the medic.  She grimaced.
       'None of our kin at least,' she added to reassure Isthia.  Or
  shall I give a shout and be sure for you?
       Slowly Isthia shook her head, frowning with puzzlement.  Then,
  shaking off the brief thrall determinedly, she smiled at the other two.
       'If it had been you, Rowan, we could put it down to prenatal
  nerves.
       The Rowan sighed with deep exasperation, and stroked her extended
  abdomen.  'C'mon, now, son, get in to position and let's end this
  waiting.  You're old enough to be born now.
       Two days later, as splendid Jupiter rose to obscure deep space
  from those in the Callisto dome, Jeran Raven decided to take his
  mother's advice.  The baby dropped his head into the birth canal,
  precipitating the breaking of the Rowan's waters, and almost before
  Elizara could help the Rowan block the pain, long and intense
  contractions began.
  
       Just off duty from the Tower, Jeff arrived as Isthia and Elizara
  were making the Rowan as comfortable as possible.
       'Now is the time for hands-on,' Elizara told him, 'to reassure
  your son.  This is the difficult part for him and he must not draw back
  or resist.' It comforted the Rowan tremendously to have Jeff's strong
  body supporting her, his hands stroking her; to join mental forces in
  urging their son to endure this brief discomfort and be made welcome in
  the world of the living.
       Isn't it a shade hypocritical of us, the Rowan said very privately
  to Jeff, to require him to leave the safety of the womb, for how can we
  promise him safety when we've never known it?
       So you want to stay pregnant for the rest of your life?  Was
  Jeff's reply as he smoothed back silver hair already damp with sweat.
       NO!
       Then push!  Elizara urged.  Take Isthia's hands!
       Isthia's strong hands anchored her through the massive
  contractions that followed: hands that also soothed and eased the
  involuntary spasms.
       'Those contractions are fierce, Isthia remarked.
       'Not unusually so,' Elizara replied, 'and at five minute
  intervals.' 'Is he resisting or is it me?' The Rowan asked, panting
  with relief as a particularly severe contraction ended.
       'A little of both,' Elizara replied, and the Rowan could find no
  qualification in the Talent's mind.  I never lie to my patients!
       Not to this one, you couldn't!
       Nor in the present company she's keeping, Elizara added, her tone
  amused.  'All right, now, here comes another one.' They all sensed the
  child's sudden reluctance as the pressures of his mother's womb caught
  him in an inexorable rhythum.  He disliked the sensation: it frightened
  him.  He was instantly reassured of warmth and love and comfort if he
  did not falter.  He did not like this experience at all.
       I'm not much enjoying it right now myself, my son, the Rowan told
  him and then could not even think as a particularly hard contraction
  seized her.  She clasped Isthia's hands in a grip that she feared would
  bruise the flesh.
       Hold hard!
       To the Rowan, caught by the inexorable process of birthing, the
  struggle with her son seemed to go on interminably.  The contractions
  came more frequently, lasted longer and but for the nerve blocks she
  would have been in some agony.  As it was, the muscular strain wearied
  her.
       Please, Jeran, please!  she cried, wondering how much more of this
  she could endure.
       Gripped by yet another massive contraction, she felt Elizara and
  Isthia place hands on her heaving abdomen, and this contraction seemed
  to be abetted by their minds, overruling Jeran's resistance.  As the
  boy's head passed out of the birth canal, he gave a terrible cry,
  mental and physical, of protest, of resentment, of fear.
       'You are born, my son,' the Rowan cried with mind and mouth as she
  opened her eyes to see Elizara receive the baby's wet and wriggling
  body in her hands.
       Jeran wailed again, a confused and angry cry at the difference of
  environment, the noise, the cold, the disorientation.
       There, there!  three adult minds consoled him.  There, there.  You
  are loved, you are wanted.  Here, now, you will be warm.  You will be
  comforted.
       Elizara deposited the baby on his mother's newly deflated belly
  while she performed the necessary post natal offices.
       'Even upside down, you're beautiful,' the Rowan told Jeran,
  intercepting one of his violently waving hands as he continued to
  
  complain on several levels about the brutal treatment he had just been
  through.  He's so strong!
       So angry!  and Jeff's tone was immediately proud and relieved.
       Now, now, my beautiful boy!  Its all over.
       Lord no, i?s just starting, Isthia replied.  'Good lungs on him,'
  she added approvingly.
       He has obviously inherited your voice, mother, Jeff said.
       That birth shout was loud enough to reach Deneb!
       And you're sori-spoken?  Isthia teased back, beaming with joy, at
  the successful birth.
       'Just over four kilos,' Elizara said, pleased.  'You wouldn't want
  any heavier a child, Rowan.  And no worse for the passage.  Now we will
  all soothe him on the most primitive levels.
       Ganging up on my poor son?  asked Jeff, fatuously smiling down at
  Jeran.
       Soothing your not at all poor son, Elizara rebuked him.
       This is the most important part for a child as obviously Talented
  as Jeran is.  Hands-on!  Isthia, begin on the metamorphic levels.
       Rowan won't want him operating on a psionic high over the next few
  months.
       As Isthia stroked the sturdy little feet, she began to croon
  softly.  Elizara and Jeff sponged him clean, all the time soothing him
  with touch, mind and voice.  Soon he was yawning and quite willing to
  drift off into sleep.
       When the afterbirth was delivered and the Rowan made comfortable
  again in her bed, the sleeping child was placed in her arms and Jeff
  stretched out beside them both, his eyes dark and brimming with love.
       I never thought I would feel quite this intensely about a baby who
  will shortly drive us both demented with infantile needs, Jeff said.
       On his forefinger, he tipped up Jeran '5
       little hand which opened to curl about it.  I'll be the most
  impossible father in the galaxy.
       Jeran IS quite the most marvelous baby, the Rowan agreed, as
  fatuous with pride as he was.  'What .  . . on earth?' At her altered
  tone, Jeff followed her startled gaze and saw containers and
  arrangements of flowers of every variation imaginable appear and settle
  themselves on whatever surface was available until the room was almost
  filled with them.
       'What is going on?' Jeff scrambled to his feet though what harm
  could masses of blossoms cause.
       That young 'un has so loud a voice I knew before Elizara told me!
       said the familiar voice of Reidinger in an unfamiliar whisper.
       Thank you!
       Jeff and the Rowan stared at each other for the uncharacteristic
  savility in Earth Prime's tone.
       Rowan?  Jeff?  Isthia's voice, too, was hesitant but there was
  such an underlying throb of excitement that they both asked what was
  wrong.  Nothing except there can't be any flowers left on Earth for the
  masses that just appeared all over the dome!
       'You should see our room,' Jeff called aloud.  'Come on in, and
  where's Elizara?' 'In the pool - if there 5 room for her to swim among
  the water lilies I saw heading in that direction,' Isthia said in quiet
  mirth as she opened the door.  She halted, staring around her in
  amazement.  'Who on earth.  .
       'Reidinger!' the Rowan and Jeff said in unison.
       They heard a distant exclamation, and a much more audible
  Grandfather, haven't you got a wit left in your head?
       So much floral perfume and pollens are not good for a baby!
       'Grandfather?' Now Isthia joined Rowan and Jeff in chorus.
       Oh, bugger, I blew it!  Elizara sounded disgusted.  Just let me
  
  dress and I'll come clean.
       Come clean first, dress is optional, Jeff replied, doubling up in
  a paroxysm of laughter.
       Don't laugh, Jeff' The Rowan said, wrapping both hands around her
  much abused abdominal muscles.  Please don't make me laugh, Jeff1
       Please!
       Isthia came to the Rowan's assistance with strong hands on her
  belly, trying hard to scowl at Jeff but grinning broadly at the same
  time.  Then Elizara appeared, her hair still wet, swathed in a big
  towel, and looking chagrined.
       'Reidinger's your grandfather?' The Rowan asked, wondering how she
  could have missed the relationship.
       'Actually my great-grandfather, but that's a mouthful and makes
  him feel ancient.  I buried that fact behind a shield before I came
  here.  Grandfather impressed on me that you might resent my help if you
  discovered the relationship.  But I'm also the best qualified person
  for such an important accouchement.  And what I told you in our first
  interview was true: I offered to come but he was so dreadfully relieved
  that I had.  He may holler and rant at you, Rowan, but, believe me,
  that indicated just how much he cares about you.  And about Jeff.  And
  now Jeran is added to his most special list.' The Rowan closed her arm
  protectively about Jeran and glared at Elizara.  'I'm NOT breeding for
  FT&T.' 'No more am I,' Elizara replied with a laugh, 'but children are
  part of being a woman.  Can you deny that you feel more feminine at
  this moment than at any other time in your whole life?' The Rowan
  considered this and had to agree.  'In fact, now I've done it, I won't
  mind being pregnant often.' She shot a sly glance at Jeff.  'Only
  Reidinger must know it's because we want more children, Talented or
  not.' 'I won't for a moment deny that my grandfather lives and breathes
  for the efficiency and continued success and expansion of FT&T.'
  Elizara's eyes twinkled.  'He was massively disappointed that I went
  medical but that's where my Talent lay.  In fact the poor dear,' and
  she grinned as she caught the surprise in their minds at her loving
  reference, 'has been continually disappointed in his seven children and
  their progeny unto the third generation.  He's the third Reidinger to
  be Earth Prime, you see.
       Not always consecutive.  The Talent sometimes skipped one
  generation.  He did so want to train up a fourth.  That's one reason
  for his bad temper.  He feels he's been let down by genetics.  Oh, most
  of us have valid Talents but none of us are Prime candidates.  It is
  the rarest combination of Talent, you know.  And you both are, and so
  is young Jeran.' 'Reidinger has an odd way of displaying concern,' the
  Rowan replied testily.  'When I think of the blastings I've received .
       .
       'Come now, Rowan,' and Elizara's tone altered, 'surely you, of all
  the Primes, appreciate loneliness!' She paused while the Rowan did
  indeed feel the pinch of that accusation.  'Grandfather cannot let
  personal feelings interfere with his professional responsibilities.
       Much as it might surprise you,' and the gentle Elizara spoke with
  an edge to her voice, 'he feels very deeply.  He just hides it better
  than anyone else.' My apologies, the Rowan said meekly.  I know I'm
  selfcentered.  'Primes tend to be,' Elizara said more mildly, 'it's a
  hazard of the profession.  And you mustn't change your responses to
  him.  He'd be annoyed with me for even suggesting that there were
  chinks in his shield.  But I'm a match for him.  As you two are.  And
  you, Isthia, are far stronger than I first thought.' Isthia had been
  watching Elizara's face intently.  Now she shrugged noncommittally.
       'Deneb is my future.  But I am interested in these insights on the
  formidable Earth Prime.' Her voice ended on an upward note.
       Elizara gave a brief warning frick of her hand.  'Enough of
  
  banter.  Let's move some of these flowers out of this room.  Too many
  is just too many for newborn lungs.' 'Not to mention the air
  conditioning units in this part of the dome,' Jeff said.
       'You know, it was really rather sweet of him,' the Rowan murmured
  sleepily.  And by the time the transfer was finished, she was fast
  asleep, one arm curled protectively about her son.
       'He's rather a good baby, as babies g,) Isthia remarked several
  days later when she was making her farewells.  'I didn't think I'd miss
  Ian, but I do.  And I've wallowed in luxury far too long.' She ignored
  her son's snicker and laid her hand on her sleeping grandson's
  forehead.  'He'll be a handful, Rowan, but you've started out right.'
  'Thanks to you, Isthia,' and the Rowan' 5 voice and mind were deep with
  gratitude.
       Isthia gave her an understanding smile.  'I stood in loco
  parentis, my dear, and we both know it.  Nonetheless I was flattered.
       She bent over and kissed the Rowan's cheek.
       'Such a bit of a thing!' And quickly left the room.
       The Rowan's farewell wishes followed her personal capsule all the
  way back to Deneb.  Elizara stayed on another few days, to be sure the
  Rowan had completely recovered physically as the delivery had been
  strenuous despite its brevity.
       'I'm telling Reidinger in no uncertain terms, Elizara said as she,
  too, prepared to leave the new family, 'that you are to be on maternity
  leave until I approve your return to work.  He'll growl and rage but I
  won't budge an inch.  He loves it when someone stands up to him.  You
  don't know how delighted he was when you popped in on him.' 'I'd never
  have known,' the Rowan replied drolly.
       'Besides, he's not about to risk his pet Prime.' 'I dislike being
  considered a "pet" anything,' the Rowan responded tartly.  She was
  nursing Jeran and her expression was singularly at odds with her voice.
       'I'll remind him,' Elizara replied mildly.  'You're a good mother,
  too,' she added.  'That will please him more,' and she grinned as that
  brought a sharp glare from the Rowan.
       'You are, you know.  It comes naturally.' Then she frowned
  slightly.  'Who is Purza?  Your mother?' The Rowan stared at her.
       'Will she never stop haunting me?' 'She wasn't haunting,' Elizara
  replied, pausing to consider her next words.  'She's far too happy.'
  'Purza,' the Rowan said with some asperity, 'was what I called the
  pukha they gave me on Altair.' Elizara raised her eyebrows slightly.
       'She's been more than that, Rowan.' She smiled gently.  'And right
  now, she's proud and happy for you, that alter ego of yours.  As you
  are proud and happy after a very long road to find such emotions.' 'My
  alter ego is a pukha?' 'Why not?' Again that slightly mischievous grin
  curved Elizara's lips.  'It was very cleverly and ingeniously
  programmed, you know.' She laid a reassuring hand on the Rowan's
  shoulder and with the tactile contact more of Elizara's professional
  approval flowed through to the Rowan's mind.  'Purza's physical form
  was destroyed by that arrogant little bouzma but you never really lost
  her.' She gathered up her things.  'Remember now, I'm only a thought
  away and I will be open to you at any time.' With parents so closely in
  contact with Jeran's needs, he made excellent progress and was rarely
  troublesome without an easily discernible reason.  The children in
  Callisto Dome were as entranced with him as the adults.
       The Rowan recovered her energy while Jeff twitted her about her
  'maternal' curves.
       When Elizara arrived back at Callisto Dome for the six weeks'
  postnatal check, she pronounced both mother and son in excellent
  health.
       However, no sooner was the Rowan back in the Tower, Jeran in a
  carrier by her couch, than Reidinger sent for Jeff.
  
       'That's mean!' the Rowan complained, pacing up and down.  'Your
  son needs your presence.  I need your presence.  I don't care what
  Elizara said, he's got no right to break up our family unit.'
  'Sweetheart, we don't know that that's his intention, Jeff replied.
       She caught his not quite suppressed thought.  'You!  You like
  whizzing about, oozing charm over everyone!  Traipsing about the galaxy
  like a .  . . a 'Trapeze artist?' Jeff suggested mildly, not the least
  bit ashamed of his inclinations.  'And you can't fool me that you like
  someone else, even me, managing your Tower.
       Callisto is your bailiwick: it works more efficiently with your
  mindset than anyone else's.' She eyed him.  'Now, wait a minute, Jeff
  Raven, don't try those tactics on me!' 'The last person in the world I
  can fool,' and he held out his arms to her.  We don't stay angry with
  each other, love.
       We know each other far too well.  He fitted his body to hers, her
  head under his chin and reassured her with every fiber of his being.
       'Besides, I'm curious as to what Reidinger has in mind for me now.
       I've been everywhere else and even I know that Central Worlds
  isn't planning to install a new Tower any time soon.' Faced with the
  inevitable, she lifted his capsule and thrust it efficiently toward
  Earth and, with a sigh, went back to work.
       Jeff was absolutely correct about Callisto being her Tower.  Being
  Altairian Prime had been a subtle victory and she had enjoyed working
  with old friends, and using her new awareness to facilitate a blending
  of the Talent required to operate such a major way point.  But Callisto
  was hers, her home, where she had met and loved Jeff, and where their
  son had been born.  The Tower personnel were an integrated team that
  had survived all her early foolishness and she now realized they had
  become the family she had lost.  Afra was more younger brother than
  colleague.  He honestly found Jeran an enchanting child which only
  reinforced her good opinion of him.
       Live stuff coming in, Afra's thought broke through her musing and
  instantly she caught the large personnel carrier as it arced up from
  Earth Prime.
       Hi, honey, and Jeff's mind, the initiating kinetic, met hers.
       Breeding animals for Deneb!  We got a bonus: maternity and
  paternity.
       FT&T policy, so don't raise your hackles.  I just blew all mine to
  restock the farm.  I'll be home tonight.
       She could hear that he had something of momentous proportions to
  tell her.  It was a long day for her, part of it waiting, part of it
  attending to Jeran's needs, but most of it wondering what sort of an
  assignment Reidinger was now laying on Jeff.  She'd be willing even to
  leave Callisto but she had to be with Jeff.
       You will be, love!  His quick thought answered her.  His mind
  resounded with elation.
       The Rowan was nursing Jeran when Jeff arrived back so
  surreptitiously that she didn't hear him until she felt his presence
  behind her.  Jeran let out a frightened squeak.
       Then Jeff opened up the blaze of his exultation and his son's eyes
  grew as round as his mother's as the import of Jeff's news clarified.
       'Earth Prime!' 'Shhh!  Everyone'll hear you,' Jeff said, sliding
  on to the bed beside her and kissing her neck.
       'You mean, everyone'll hear you!' Then she absorbed the
  implications.  'Earth Prime?  Reidinger's Earth Prime.' Sadness tinged
  Jeff's face and mind.  'Mother caught it from Elizara.  We were too
  involved with Jeran here to notice.  Did you realize that Reidinger is
  110?' 'Oh!' Jeff nodded.  'Precisely!' And he opened his mind to all
  that had occurred during that momentous interview in Reidinger's
  spacious hidden office in the FT&T Cube.
  
       How desperately Reidinger yearned to retire and enjoy a few years
  free of the stresses of such high position: a desire made more urgent
  after Siglen's demise for Reidinger was very much aware that his mind
  faltered from time to time out of sheer fatigue and the debilities of
  his advanced age.
       Yet he could not relinquish command to an unsuitable personality
  It would have been me?  The Rowan said, shrinking from the very notion
  of such onerous responsibility.  Patently Jeff regarded it as a
  magnificent challenge.
       Sorry to do you out of it, love.  . . He grinned, knowing the
  depths of her relief.  Idly he reached out to let Jeran '5
       fist curl around his fingers, his expression dotingly tender for
  an omnipotent Prime-elect.  Up until my call for help, you were being
  subtly groomed for the job.  David certainly wasn't capable, much less
  Capella.  When I think what I can now do for Deneb.
       'For Deneb?' the Rowan echoed, startled.  Then she began to laugh,
  loving him more devotedly than ever for that altruistic consideration.
       Small wonder he had become Reidinger's choice.
       Jeff nodded, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling with delight in her
  appreciation.  It simply isn't on for Earth Prime's native world to be
  second-rate, now is it?
       You demanded a Denebian Tower as a condition?
       Lover, and Jeff stretched out on the bed, punched a pillow
  comfortably behind his head, I could have demanded the moons of the
  solar system on a diamond chain and had them.  As you well understand,
  Central Worlds has to have the best Talent as its Prime.  His grin was
  particularly arch.  I don't think I was greedy or particularly
  difficult.  But Deneb will have a Tower.  You cobbled together the
  basic facilities: we'll improve them and send in teachers and
  assessors.
       Rakella's oldest boy bids fair to develop into a reasonable Prime.
       That is, until Jeran here is old enough to take over.
       The Rowan curled her arms protectively about her son.
       'My baby's not going to be marooned on Deneb!  You said you
  wouldn't let him be indentured to FT&T.' Jeff flipped over on his side,
  stroking her cheek to reduce her wrath, grinning in a fashion that she
  could never resist.
       'Love, the whole game plan just changed, in our favor.
       It'll be quite another matter if our children end up running FT&T,
  now won't it?  We'll raise 'em the way Primes should be reared, in a
  large and loving family.  None of them will have to make do with a
  pukha.  Not while we live!  We're a team, love, with strengths and
  resources not given to many.  We'll make the best possible use of our
  Talents.' His expression was both entreating and serious.
       'On that score, let us have a meeting of minds.' Loving him as she
  did, that is exactly what they had.
       Jeran was a hearty six months old when the Rowan conceived again.
       She was amazed to be roundly scolded by everyone.
       'It's my body!' was her response.  'I feel fine so stop fussing at
  me.' Despite his increasing frailty, Reidinger's voice was not off a
  decibel in full bellow as he let her know in no uncertain terms that he
  considered she was putting both herself and the new child at risk by
  becoming pregnant so soon.
       Reidinger, you will butt out of my private life.  You are the last
  person who should have objections!  she responded in icy tones.  You
  made it abundantly clear to Jeff by the tonne on the hoof how much you
  appreciated Jeran.  What's your gripe?
       I will not have my best Prime The Rowan laughed heartily and
  without a tinge of jealousy.  Do get your facts straight, old dear.
       You told Jeff that HE was your best Prime.
  
       DON'T YOU DARE INTERRUPT ME --No, I shouldn't, should I?  the
  Rowan replied meekly.  It's Sooooo bad for your blood pressure or heart
  or lungs or cranium or whatever.  So you be a good boy and take some of
  that tonic and mind your Tower.  While you still can She felt him
  gathering himself for another blast and then suddenly, he was silent.
       For a heart-stopping moment, the Rowan wondered if she had gone
  too far.
       No, I told him it was our business, Jeff reassured her, and then
  went on in another mental tone entirely, but even Mother gave herself a
  year between pregnancies.
       The Rowan, rather too sweetly: I thought you wanted to come home
  tonight to your loving wife and adoring son?
       There was another pause.  I will be home and I will discuss it
  with you.
       Another of those times, the Rowan thought to herself testily, when
  a man thinks he knows more about maternity than someone who has borne a
  child.  So she decided just how to handle him this evening before he
  could handle her.
       She hadn't meant to get pregnant again so soon, but Reidinger
  dispatched Jeff to check on this or that Terran installation, or to the
  Moon, and then the big Mars substation, and the more important Asteroid
  Wheels.  Jeff had to be introduced to all the Governors as well as the
  more important members of the Nine-Star League.
       Consequently, when he was on Callisto, they tended to make up for
  opportunities lost.
       'I've had to sit through some of the dreariest meetings,' he told
  her wearily.  'It ought to be a prerequisite to high government office
  that the incumbent be at least a T-4.
       That would halve the time spent in politicking and correctly
  aligning power balances.' 'I didn't realize that Reidinger had to deal
  with that kind of administrative nonsense,' the Rowan said.  'No wonder
  the man is aged before his time.' 'Oh, that isn't part of the FT&T
  Prime's function but as their apparent, I have to be displayed to all
  those who worry about leaving FT&T autonomous.  I've got to be shown to
  be the right sort of stuff and all that.  As it is, not all the League
  Ambassadors are convinced that an ex-colonist is the "right sort of
  person" to be entrusted with such grave responsibilities.
       Jeff's mobile face ran a gamut of the lugubrious, skeptical, or
  censorious expressions of his various detractors and had the Rowan in
  whoops.
       'Be glad you're stationed on Callisto,' he assured her and then
  turned his attention to more pressing matters: such as showing her how
  much he had missed her.
       Which was why she was pregnant now despite the fact that a Talent
  of her scope and strength was able to affect certain bodily functions.
       She had forgotten - well, neglected - to affect the possible
  outcome of the evening's pleasures.  The two children - this one, by
  the Rowan' 5
       choice, was female - would be close in age, yes, but the Rowan and
  Jeff would make certain that they were close in affection as well:
  another fringe benefit of strong Talent when properly directed.
       Rowan!  Jeff's urgent call reached her as she was feeding Jeran
  his supper.  Even her name was colored with excitement - and more.
       Mother wants me to come out to Deneb.
       Something's troubling her.  She said you and Elizara had a hint of
  it, too, just before Jeran was born.  Do you remember?
       Suddenly the Rowan did, though she had given the incident no
  further thought, being involved in maternal duties.
       Elizara felt something but couldn't define it.  Any more than I
  could beyond anger and pain.  At the time, Isthia thought it wasn't
  
  even human.
       I'd better go and see what I can hear.
       The Rowan gave a mental snort which Jeran picked up, regarding his
  mother with rounded eyes and a certain babyish pout of anxiety.  She
  soothed him on one level and responded to Jeff on another.  Your
  mother's got the 'long ear' Which, in her son, has been considerably
  refined, sharpened, strengthened, horned, and is completely
  operational.
       Maybe now is the time to pester Isthia to train early.
       Jeff returned to Callisto the following morning, arriving by his
  own gestalt with the first batch of inbound drones.
       Hi, darling.  Where've you stashed our son?  Ah, with you.
       Look, I'm going to bathe and eat, then I'll join you.  I'm twelve
  hours behind Callisto's day.  His buoyant mental tone reassured her
  that whatever Isthia had heard' could not be of an urgency Jeran was
  asleep when Jeff reached the Tower.  She continued her grab and thrust,
  keeping the generators at a high peak.  He waited to join her until she
  had handled the outward bound freight.  He brought up cups of the
  sweetened drink she liked, handing her one, kissing her forehead,
  before pausing to stare down at their sleeping son, a doting expression
  on his face.
       'He doesn't look like anyone in my family,' he remarked and not
  for the first time.
       'He looks like himself, Jeran Gwyn-Raven.  Well?' She regarded him
  over the rim of her cup.
       'Well, I don't know what upset my mother,' and he perched on the
  console, one arm across his chest, the other supporting his cup.  'I
  didn't hear a blessed thing.  But Rakella said she did, too, and
  Besseva Eagle, who's been ninety-eight per cent accurate in all her
  precogs, thinks there is trouble on its way to us.' He made an immense
  circle with his free arm.  'Immense trouble.' 'The beetles wouldn't
  come back for more.  Would they?' That would account for the anger and
  pain I felt.
       'Beetle anger?  Beetle pain?' Jeff was close to laughter at the
  suggestion.  'Though they might well have been annoyed at the loss of
  two advance assault vessels.
       However, from what the specialists have deduced to date, they had
  a hivelike societal structure - our merge saw eggs in the ship,
  remember, and we found hundreds in the space debris - at various stages
  of larval development for different types of beetles.  Hive societies
  don't tend to emotions: workers, drones, queens, whatever, do exactly
  what they were bred to do.' 'Yes, but there was sentience of some sort
  directing the three vessels that attacked Deneb.  That oversized beetle
  we saw in the protected inner chamber of the ship?  The queen.  Could
  it have been intelligent enough to direct the others?' 'Hmm.  Tactics
  did change, was Jeff's grudging admission.
       'Beetles tend to be tenacious,' the Rowan added, though 'tenacity'
  was certainly more of a trait than an emotion.
       Jeff shrugged.  'They can come back, angry, hurt, or merely
  tenacious, any time they care to have more of the same.  And when they
  get anywhere near the perimeter of League Space, alarms will ring all
  over our sphere of influence.' 'I'd've chalked it up to prenatal
  nerves,' the Rowan went on, still trying to analyze the faint emotions
  she had perceived, 'except that Isthia heard it, too.' 'Isthia's
  maternal sensitivity is exceedingly acute,' Jeff agreed but his tone
  also assured the Rowan that he was not going to make the mistake of
  dismissing the incident.
       Rowan?  It was Isthia's tone, stronger than her usual mental
  voice, have I caught you at a bad time?
       Jeran and I are having a swim, the Rowan replied, not slow to
  
  catch the anxious undertones to that deceptive query.  What's wrong?
       Whatever IT is is getting stronger and more am:nous.  Her worry
  was deep.  Rakella and Besseva concur, and eve'y woman with any modicum
  of Talent on this planet is beginning to display anxiety symptoms.
       You'd think the planet was populated by viragoes the way tempers
  are flaring for no reason at all.  Rakella and Besseva are merged with
  me to make this contact!
       And here I thought you'd yielded and taken some training!
       The Rowan deliberately spoke in a light vein.
       Now I wish I had.  I shan't be so perverse :f we get out of this!
       Even as she spoke to Isthia, the Rowan had risen from the pool and
  thrown towels around her son's wriggling body and her own.
       I take it no masculine minds have been touched by this phenomenon?
       the Rowan asked, deftly inserting Jeran into his padded pants.
       She also assembled some travel requirements for them both.
       That's it precisely.  Isthia's reply was grim.  The male minds
  don't hear a twitch.  Not that they won't listen to those of us who do!
       Callisto is occluded right now so I'll call a day of rest.  I
  think I'll bring Mauli with me.  She's a keen echo finder even Mick
  isn't present.  Jeffs on Procyon.  Be with you soon.
       The Rowan did not find afra or Ackerman as cooperative about what
  they termed a 'rash and impulsive venture' 'Mauli will do anything you
  ask,' Ackerman said testily, '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.' 'I can't disturb Jeff in that meeting on
  Procyon right now.  And if I have to, Brian, I can also launch myself
  and Mauli without a gestalt,' the Rowan replied, gesturing for Mauli to
  settle herself in the double capsule.  She handed Jeran over and faced
  her critics.  'Now, will you stop being overprotective and run up the
  generators?  You both know that Isthia wouldn't put me, or Jeran, in
  jeopardy but if she wants me on Deneb, she's earned the right to my
  assistance at any time.  Hasn't she?' 'At least clear it with Jeff,'
  Ackerman replied in a request that was nearly a plea.
       Jeff Isthia wants me on Deneb.  The situation is hotting up.
       Really?  Should I come?  She could sense that he was only
  half-listening to her.  He was at a meeting but not bored.
       I'm taking Jeran and Mauli.
       He's old enough for a long 'port.
       Afra and Ackerman had to accede to her orders then, but she knew
  both were uneasy.  But then, they always were when she wanted to 'port
  anywhere: even when she was now undisturbed by the process.
       Call this an inspection tour by the Denebian Prime-to-be, Afra,
  and don't worry, dear friend, the Rowan said, lightly touching Afra's
  forearm so she could impose assurance on him.
       He gave a shrug and a wry smile, then helped her into the double
  carrier beside Mauli.  Brian's scowl did not abate as the canopy locked
  shut.  Then he turned on his heel and returned to the Tower, Afra
  following him.
       Though this would not be Jeran's first 'port, for Jeff had taken
  him out beyond Jupiter on several occasions to accustom his son to the
  sensations, it would be his longest.
       He spent the transfer gurgling and enthusiastically waving his
  arms.  He registered Isthia's welcoming mind-touch with an extra
  chirrup.  He liked his grandmother and his mind associated her with
  soothing sounds and contacts.
       Did you catch that, Mauli?  the Rowan asked, sometimes unable to
  restrain her pride in Jeran's obvious Talent.
       Mauli's smile broadened into a laugh.
       Isthia brought them with no more than a light bump into the cradle
  at the fine new Tower, bathed in spotlights at this time of Deneb's
  
  night, its big, new generators humming idly.  The Rowan had a nostalgic
  moment for what she had contrapted out of sheer necessity but then
  Isthia, Rakella, and a third woman whom the Rowan identified by
  mind-touch as Besseva emerged from the facility.  Besseva reminded the
  Rowan so forcefully of Lusena, physically and mentally, that she
  experienced a brief jolt at the contact.
       I am then doubly honored, Besseva said, inclining her head
  slightly toward the Callisto Prime.
       'And no problems with this fellow in a long 'port, I gather,' said
  Isthia, taking her grandson from his mother and settling him on her hip
  as she had her own children.  'I am truly grateful to you, Rowan, and
  to you as well, Mauli, for humoring me.
       'Humoring you?  Spare me that, Isthia!' The Rowan let her
  exasperation color her mind as well as her voice.  'Since you've
  obviously left the generators on, let's see what we can plumb out
  there.  I brought Mauli for that echo effect she has.' 'Night is the
  best time to sense the presence,' Isthia said.
       'And we have!' Besseva stated firmly, and Rakella gave a single
  emphatic nod of her head.
       All three Denebians emanated a tenseness, a barely controlled fear
  that bordered on terror.  The Rowan was seized with an urgent need to
  either deny or confirm it.
       The Tower had been enlarged as well as modernized and, judging by
  the blank west wall, clearly the architect intended to expand in that
  direction when the time came for Deneb to have a full Prime Station.
       'That's right, Jeran, look about you!  This may one day be your
  domain,' the Rowan said, grinning archly at Isthia, trying to
  neutralize their fears so she could be objective.  They felt so
  strongly that it was, for once, difficult for the Rowan to maintain her
  integrity.
       'Poor baby!  What a fate!' Isthia stroked his cheek and then
  placed him in one of the spare couches, lightly strapping him safely
  in.  'He shouldn't be bothered there.' She gestured for the others to
  take the conformable seating grouped at the main console.  Then she
  courteously gestured for the Rowan to initiate the gestalt.
       As the Rowan felt the ready response of the bank of generators,
  she grinned again at the change from that poor wheeze of an affair.
       Isthia had been practicing, for her mind smoothly blended with
  hers: then Rakella, Besseva, and a little timidly, Mauli merged.
       Where?  the Rowan asked.
       Isthia pointed to her right, slightly west of true north, at one
  of the more brilliant constellations in the Denebian skies.  The Rowan
  didn't know its astronomical designation for she was more familiar with
  the patterns in altairian or Callistan skies.
       Though I don't think that star system is where it originates,
  Isthia added.  But it is coming from that general area of space.
       The Rowan let her augmented mind range beyond Deneb's night
  horizon, beyond its moons, far, far out, past Deneb's heliopause, into
  the blackness of space.  This merge was vastly different to the one she
  had led to Deneb's help nearly two years ago.  This time she was the
  focus.  Suddenly Yegrani's Sight came back to her, and the Rowan
  wondered if perhaps she had erred in believing that the Sight had been
  fulfilled with Deneb's trouble and Jeff's arrival.
       You have not yet been the focus of which Yegrani spoke, said the
  quiet voice of Besseva, nor was she ambiguous.
       Deneb's danger was not yours.  This is!
       What the Rowan felt then was not prompted by Besseva's voice or
  words.  There was inarguably something dangerously evil inexorably
  heading toward Deneb's system.
       No, not evil!  Determined!  And determined in a sense that gives
  
  new potency to such a mind-set.  The thian section of the mind merge
  qualified the emanation.
       Rowan: The emanation has no pain now.  No anger.
       Besseva: In time all pain heals and the anger has been sublimated
  into purpose.
       Rowan: What IS it?  Though she could discern intense and
  unrelenting mental activity, she could 'see' or 'read' nothing: she
  could detect no string of thoughts being processed, only the moil of
  determination.
       Rakella: 'It' is not single!
       Mauli, in a surprised tone: 'It' is a many.  And they frighten me!
       They are.  . . oily.
       Isthia, bleakly: This 'many' exudes a purpose of destruction.
       Enough to agitate even an insensitive mind.
       Rowan, recalling vividly that earlier merge: The survivor was sent
  off in that general direction!
       Isthia: The merge didn't follow it to its destination?
       Rowan, with a sigh for that error: At the time our actions seemed
  sufficiently punitive.
       2% Isthia: All should have been destroyed.
       Rowan: Hmm, yes, a bad judgment error.  We didn't succeed in
  scaring them off We should have plunged all into the sun and saved a
  lot of cleaning up.  Were you in that merge, Isthia?
       Isthia: No, and there was a thread of droll amusement m her tone.
       I was otherwise occupied.  This time we will see the threat
  removed completely.
       Rowan: We will not err this time.  Only what will be a sufficient
  deterrent?
       Besseva: I respectfully suggest total annihilation.
       Rowan: That notion will be totally unacceptable to the League
  Councillors.  Even the aliens are nonviolent.
       Isthia: Drastic measures must be considered.  The hive mentality
  obviously didn't respond to a fear stimulus.  Just what sort of
  intelligence guides this second assault?
       Mauli: Would it be wrong to assume that, as in other insect
  colonies, the female, or egglaying gender, is the guiding force?
       Ensuring the perpetuation of the species?
       Isthia: A logical assumption since we apparently sense what the
  masculine mind does not.
       Rowan: I resent reacting to a beetle.
       Isthia, drolly: Did you see the reconstruction the specialists
  made of one of those 'beetles'?  BIG!  Even one of the smaller types
  would be a formidable opponent!  Don't think of them as beetles.  Think
  of them as BIG, dangerous animosities.  I should not like to have to
  defend myself against them on Deneb's surface.
       Besseva, in a dry voice: Especially as Deneb has little in the way
  of defensive weaponry.  Hunting anns wouldn't even dint their body
  covering.  If we can assume that we are dealing with a hive society
  Isthia: I think we can.  Remember the eggs among the debris of the
  ships that were destroyed.
       Besseva: And with a species that will pour huge numbers of
  determined troops into a surface assault, they must be halted before
  they reach the planet!  Or we'd better think of evacuating Deneb right
  now.
       Isthia, in unalterable defiance: We are NOT abandoning Deneb.
       Mauli: I sense something so mass:ve .  . . and broke off, tucking
  her fear as far away from consideration as she could.
       Rowan: That has not escaped any of us, Mauli.
       Isthia, wryly: D'you think we'll get the Fleet this time without a
  lengthy argument, Rowan?
  
       Rowan: You better believe it!  Even :if I have to 'port every unit
  myself Besseva: Be a little more subtle, Rowan.  Just tell Earth Prime
  that you refuse to leave Deneb until naval reinforcements arrive!
       Isthia, laughing: Reidinger won't risk you!
       Mauli: Shouldn't we withdraw?  They might sense us.
       Rowan: I doubt it, Mauli.  There is no sense of awareness of
  anything other than their purpose.  Deneb.  And that's the reason we
  sense them: their purpose is aimed at us!  Single mindedness has
  certain disadvantages.  I just wish I could perceive more details,
  unravel the mechanics of their thought processes.  The Fleet will want
  details.
       Isthia: So will Reidinger and Jeff But there are none.
       They will have to trust our perceptions.  She sounded dubious.
       Rowan: Oh, they'll believe us!  Why have a dog and bark yourself?
       Isthia: Say what?
       Rowan, chuckling: One of Siglen's little sayings.
       The Rowan began to relax the focus of the merge and was astonished
  to see daylight flooding through the Tower windows.  Jeran was sound
  asleep, his right thumb pulling down his lower lip.  A quick glimpse
  reassured the Rowan that his mind held no trace of any neglect, that he
  had fallen asleep unfelled.
       'I hadn't realized we'd be gone so long,' Isthia said with
  apology, looking at the station timer.  'Five hours!  You took us
  farther than we'd been able to reach.
       The Rowan stretched, easing stiff muscles as she swung her legs
  off the conformer.  The others were doing the same.
       Rowan!  Jeff s tone bordered the peremptory.  Where have you been?
       I couldn't reach you at all!
       Well, have a good look then, my love, because Deneb's the target
  once again.  Only this time we won't stop with half measures, the Rowan
  replied and opened her mind to him.
       That's fascinating!  Jeff replied when he had absorbed the total
  report.  Nor can anyone ignore this as a case of mass hysteria if you
  and my mother are involved.  And Besseva, he added hastily, with a
  mental grin of apology.  These days I know why Reidinger couldn't just
  call up the Fleet when I wanted him to during the last invasion.  But I
  also know which panic buttons to press to initiate a Red Alert.
       Isthia, at her drollest: If what we sense about the incoming
  vessel is even marginally accurate, the Fleet wouldn't be of any use.
       Except psychologically.
       Jeff: Mother!  You'll crush their fragile egos!  Surely they're
  good for something!
       Isthia: Well, they might be able to spot the thing when it gets
  closer but, to be perfectly candid, I don't want that thing to get much
  nearer!  It's causing sufficient havoc as far out as it is and I dread
  what it'll do up close.
       Jeff: It would be wisest to nip its pretensions as soon as
  possible.
       Isthia, patiently: It's not an 'it', Jeff It's a 'many', a
  feminine 'many' Jeff: Then we are in trouble!  And he was only
  half-joking.
       Are you staying on there, Rowan4ave?  His thought was only for her
  and its wisffulness made her smile.
       Rowan, with a quick look at Isthia: No, I should return to
  Callisto.  I can nag people just as easily from there.  I'll leave
  Mauli to help keep in touch.  But I assure you, if we don't get
  immediate action, I'll come right back here so the League will be
  forced to take this seriously.  These creatures may be heading for
  Deneb, but to have such animosities anywhere in the League's sphere of
  influence endangers ALL!
  
       Isthia: It's proceeding at a frightening rate of speed.
       Jeff: I know.  I'll persuade Admiral Tomiakin to lend me a fast
  scout ship for reconnaissance.
       Rowan: With you on it?
       Jeff: Who better?  A grin tickled the edges of her mind.  I didn't
  call 'wolf the first time so they'll listen to me.
       Isthia said aloud and screening her thought: 'Men!  They have to
  have their place in the scheme, don't they?' Rowan: You'd better be
  sure there's a large female complement on that scout.  Or better still,
  take Mauli with you.
       She knows what to listen for.
       Jeff: Your wish is my command!
       'I think everyone is going to have to be in on this defensive
  action,' the Rowan said soberly, 'or that thing is going to land on
  Deneb.  And all too soon.' The Rowan knew she had only put into words
  what the others thought but saying it out loud did nothing to relieve
  the tension.
       'I will arrange a watch rota,' Isthia said.  'There are enough of
  us to do that.  And Rakella, you can see about some sort of medication
  to dampen the reaction.' 'Not every woman is experiencing it,' Rakella
  remarked.
       Isthia grinned in sudden humor.  'So we find out just how much of
  Deneb's female population have traces of Talent.  'Tis an ill wind that
  blows no-one good.' Rowan, very privately: You're amazing!
       Isthia, equally private: Take the good with the bad.
       Then Jeran awoke to be fed, so Isthia hustled mother and son back
  to the rebuilt Raven Farmhouse, where the stock purchased by Jeff s
  paternity bonus grazed on the lush hybrid grass that had thrived in
  Denebian soil.  What surprised the Rowan about the new residence was
  that most of it was built underground.
       'Once bitten, twice shy,' Isthia replied with a shrug and a grin,
  'as well as being sound home-engineering: energy efficient, cooler in
  the summer and warmer in the winter.
       And I feel a lot safer.  Doesn't mess up the landscape either.
       You'll find more of Deneb City underground.
       We'll overfly it on our way back to the Tower.  Now, let's feed
  this hungry young'un.  And us!  Those long night watches make me
  ravenous.' Once back on Callisto, the Rowan allowed Reidinger to scan
  her memories of the merge.  That he was seriously disturbed was obvious
  by the fact that he hadn't so much as roared over her abrupt departure.
       When she mentioned Yegrani's Sight as verification, he became
  testy.
       You were the merge, he said.  You saved Deneb and you've traveled.
       I was NOT the focus at Deneb.  Jeff was.
       Reidinger made a rude noise.  Damned clairvoyants are so clever
  with their ambiguities.
       REIDINGER, you are not ignoring this!  It was her turn to bellow.
       Fat chance I'd have of that when that aggressive Denebian husband
  of yours is agitating Fleet High Command as well as everyone he's ever
  met on the League Administrative Panel.
       Reidinger sounded disgusted yet there was a hint of pride in his
  voice, which made the Rowan grin.  Should never have introduced him so
  universally.  He's got Fleet in a flap but the units that were
  stationed around Deneb are insisting that they get the chance to
  reconnoiter.
       Rowan: Jeff said he'd be leading the way.
       Reidinger was silent for a moment.  He hasn't wasted an ounce of
  that ingratiating charm of his over the last six months.
       He smothered exactly the right egos with it.  Consequently he can
  manipulate the various authorities and agencies that would be involved
  
  in an operation of this magnitude.  And cut through delays.
       The Rowan grinned to herself at Reidinger's grudging admission.
       She had learned a thing or two from Jeff about dealing with
  bureaucracy.  More importantly, he could manipulate at a high level.
       With Deneb the ostensible target for this new assault, he had
  every reason to marshal his Talent.
       Jeff was very effective: he managed a squadron to reconnoiter.
       And, obeying his wife's advice, specified a high complement of
  female crews on two of the ships.
       Damnedest thing I ever heard of, Reidinger complained to the
  Rowan, Jeff s the most perceptive, and certainly the strongest Talent
  I've ever encountered - and he had to go some to exceed you, Angharad
  Reidinger had taken to calling her by her real name since Jeran's birth
  because 'Angharad' sounded more feminine than a tree name - so he's got
  xenobiologists from all parts of the League screaming for details about
  these feminine menaces oil yours.
       The female of the species has always been more deadly than the
  male, Reidinger, the Rowan replied, though she couldn't remember where
  she'd heard that maxim.  It didn't have the same ring as one of
  Siglen's.
       Defending its young.  I suppose even beetles can have maternal
  imperatives!  If it IS the same blasted beetles.  His grumbling tone
  faded from her mind.
       As the Rowan turned back to some minor domestic chores -'porting
  fresh water from a Welsh artesian well for the Callisto cisterns, the
  weekly supply of comestibles and special household orders of those who
  lived on the Station - she waited with half a mind open for Jeff's
  progress report.
       We're beyond Deneb's heliapause by two A Us, he said.  I brought
  the squadron out myself Fine Captain, excellent crew, he added with a
  mental picture of the ZAMBIA's bridge and the exceedingly handsome
  woman occupying the Captain's chair.  The officers seated at consoles
  were all reasonably young and attractive, too.  Picked less for
  pulchritude and more for vestiges of Talent.  You have no competition,
  my love!
       I won't daign: that with a reply.
       Then shall I be magnanimous and say they confirm your perceptions
  about the approaching vesseL Not all the crew's female but those who
  are have exhibited the same symptoms Isthia reports en masse on Deneb.
       I'm feeling distinctly left out of all this and I'm supposed to be
  highly perceptive!
       Be glad you don't pick up on the aura, Jeff' You can really call
  it evil, or even truly malicious, but it emanates an intensity - an
  anticipation of destruction - that is frightening.  If I were a
  barquecat, every hair on my body would be standing stark out.  And
  don't call the phenomenon 'it'.  Mauli echoed a 'many' - a many which
  will not be diverted from their purpose.
       Exactly how Captain Lodjyn summed up her impression of the intent
  of this Many.  And they're unequivocably headed toward Deneb.  I may be
  slightly paranoid about what happens to my planet, but I really can't
  quite make myself believe the vessel is going through Denebian space
  for a shortcut when Deneb VIII will just happen to be in their way.
       What I can't understand is how they will avoid impaction at the
  speed they're going.  It takes time to decelerate from the speed at
  which they're now traveling.  Or maybe beetles stand multigravities
  better than us fleshy sorts?
       Rowan, sensing suspicious peripherals from Jeff s mind: Just what
  are you doing right now?
       Taking a look.  Too much 'noise' on the ZAMBIA.
       She didn't like the thought of him in a vulnerable personal
  
  capsule, far from the nebulous safety of a multiweaponed scout vessel.
       You should have taken the Captain with you.  You won't hear a
  thing.
       I did and Mauli's along.  And we're in the Captain's gig.
       I've some sense for a mere man, my love.
       You reassure me no end!
       Jeff's tone turned wry.  I thought this would, cariad.
       Mauli's echo is going to come in real useful.
       Like never before!
       He was silent though his mind kept contact.  So, putting everyone
  on the Station on a Yellow Alert status, she left the Tower, with afra,
  Mick, and Ackerman in charge, to attend to her son.  It was soothing to
  feed Jeran his lunch before settling him down for a nap.  Most of the
  time she did not have to reinforce his natural rhythm with a mental
  suggestion, but he had been a little off normal schedule since the
  Deneb 'portation so she gave him a nudge.  She gazed down at him for a
  long moment - he was endlessly enchanting.  Then she stretched out on
  her bed, one arm flung across the side which Jeff usually occupied, and
  relaxed, clearing her mind.
       WOW!  The awe in Jeff's voice was sufficient to rouse her totally
  from the light doze she had entered.
       Mauli's reaction was less awed and considerably more fearful.
       Jeff: We seem to have a lumpy-surfaced oval planetoid rolling
  towards us at speeds which make even gestalt assisted movements seem
  crawler-paced.  It is currently twenty AUs out but closing fast enough
  I like.  That defense ring which Fleet is so proud of is going to be no
  use against a vessel this size.  More like a flea trying to swat one of
  those large men Proceyon breeds.  Easy, Mauli.  I don't care what
  instrumentation it might have, it can't see us.  We're less than a
  mote.  You may feel it, but :f it had sensed us, we'd really be motes.
       The Rowan, briefly touching Mauli's panicked mind to reassure the
  girl, heard Jells chuckle.
       This may only be a captain's gig but its scanner's the best so
  Fleet'll have the printout as confirmation.  I'm getting no readings on
  mass or composition.  Scanner says 'no accurate assessment possible at
  this distance'.  That's a lot of comfort.
       Tut-tut!  And it's running dark.  Ignoring the basic laws of
  spaceman ship!  That seems to be upsetting the Fleet more than its
  size.
       No, that's a cover for the pure funk even admirals are feeling
  over my evaluation.  They're making contradictory preliminary
  assessments, demanding that I increase the resolution.  I did: it's on
  the max right now.  What do they think I've got on this skiff?  A
  portable sun for illumination?
       The Rowan refined the contact with Jeff sufficiently to see,
  through his optics, what he and Mauli were viewing on the skiff's
  scanners: a darkness that flowed across the backdrop of stars.  Quite a
  Leviathan, isn't it?  I understand why adrenaline is pumping through
  your veins Leviathan?  An interesting choice of phrase, my love.
       Jeff Raven, if you go in any closer to that.  . . that menace,
  I'll kill you, she added, abruptly seized by a gut-generated terror.
       Jeff chuckled.  That'll teach me a lesson.  Rest easy, cariad, I'm
  as close as I care to get, and closer than Mauli or the good Captain
  Lodjyn think w:se.
       Do they hear anything useful?
       Well, Mauli does and she doesn't.  She's let me merge and I can
  sense great industry and bustle, orderly activity, and some areas with
  no sound at all.  I think the damned planetoid was once just that and
  has been hollowed out for its travels.  Mauli's picking up a lot more
  than I am: six or more different mental entities.  His tone became
  
  attenuated as he spoke to her privately.  Mauli's in a muck sweat of
  terror from the level of 'dedication' .  . . purpose is too weak a
  word.  . . that she perceives.  I'm taking us back before the poor kid
  dissolves.
       Even the Captain's sweating and throwing out fear phenomes.
       Rowan: When Deneb was attacked, the merge didn't sense any great
  dedication, purpose, or intelligence from the occupants of those
  vessels.
       Jeff: You're assuming that the ship we deported from our system
  went scimming back to this big Mama?
       Rowan: Why not?  You thought then that they were softening Deneb
  up for an invasion.  Why couldn't they have been preparing the planet
  for the arrival of what's bearing down on Deneb now?
       Jeff: And the 'mother' ship is why only females sense its intent?
       Rowan: Don't you dare snicker!
       Jeff: Believe me, dear heart, whatever reservations I might have
  privately entertained at the outset are null and void.  We are in big
  trouble and I thank all the Powers of Balance for my mother's long ear!
       As it is, we're going to have to plan our campaign against that
  Leviathan very carefully.  That's the hard place, and Deneb's the rock
  and we - Mankind - are between it.  There was a brief pause.  And so
  I've just informed Earth Prime!  This time he also has no reservations.
       In the second pause, Jeff chuckled wryly.  However the League may
  well just argue us all to our deaths.  Would you believe it?  They are
  now debating the ethical point of whether we have the right to
  interfere with the approaching vessel simply on the grounds that it
  might - get that, might - have hostile intentions?
       Rowan, aghast: You can't mean it?
       Jeff, sardonically: Now just how do we prove hostile intent?  They
  haven't launched any missiles - yet - that I can lob at Earth and scare
  the doubters.
       Afra: You said Leviathan is clearly on a course to Deneb, did you
  not?
       Jeff: Yes, Afra, I did and the squadron's computer all confirm
  that.  Unless this Leviathan decelerates when it reaches Deneb's
  system, present calculations confirm that it will smash right into
  Deneb VIII.  Captain Lodj# is extrapolating the repercussions of such a
  collision.
       Reidinger: It will NOT come to that!  Talent does not bust its
  balls for the Nine-Star League to have them disregard a considered
  warning of imminent invasion of a possibly hostile force of unknown
  potential.
       Jeff: And what have you in mind, Earth Prime?
       Reidinger: I am in conference with the Nine star League
  Councillors and you may rest assured that they will be persuaded to
  act, not argue.
       Ah, good!  My first order from the Councillors is to dispatch the
  flagship Beijing to the Denebian system.  It will deploy one-half All
  beyond Deneb's helipause, the Welcome and Identity modules which were
  so successful with the Antarians sentients not dissimilar to the
  beetle-type species of the first assault.
       Rowan, exasperated: Of all the stupid face-saving ploys!
       Haven't we TOLD you that the main sentience of this vessel is
  motivated by destruction, the annihilation of Deneb VIII?
       Reidinger: Oh, I agree with your evaluation, Angharad.  I am
  further ordered to dispatch the Moscow, the London, and the Newyork to
  redeploy defensive mines one-half inside the heliopause.
       Jeff: Bluebells all in a row?
       Reidinger: Under the premise that a warning shot across the bows
  ought to be universally understood.
  
       The Rowan snorted.
       Jeff: Remind the captains of those vessels to get the hell out of
  the way before that thing gets within fifty-thousand klicks of the
  space mines.
       Reidinger: Now we wait!
       Rowan and Jeff in simultaneously expressed disgust: Wait?
       Reidinger: Wait!  That's the trouble with you youngsters.
       You don't know when to bide your time.
       Jeff: Not when it's my planet that's the target.
       Reidinger: It was before and you were rescued.  However, in
  addition to my official instructions, and Reidinger paused
  significantly, I have sent out a discreet alert to all Primes and
  Talent above grade 4, regardless of their discipline.  Does that
  precaution reassure you?
       Jeff, diffidently: Not exactly, for I fail to see what Talent will
  be able to do against that Leviathan!
       Rowan: Alen for what action?
       Reidinger, malicious chuckle: I thought you'd grasp the essentials
  more quickly.  Mull it all over, will you, while we're waiting.  And,
  in this interval, Jeff, I want you to proceed to Deneb.  Angharad,
  please join him there but I would request that your son remains on
  Callisto.
       Jeff: Now, wait a minute Rowan, beginning to catch a glimmer of
  what Reidinger held so tightly in his most private mind: No, Jeff I
  should be on Deneb to augment Isthia.  Then as soon as we know and
  Jeran is safer away from the furor.  It could overload him.
       And Reidinger most certainly doesn't want that, do you, Peter?
       Reidinger in a growl: No!
       The Rowan did not like leaving Jeran behind: She would miss him
  keenly but, between the other women on the Station and Afra, he would
  be lovingly supervised.  So she settled in her capsule and calmly
  waited for the generators to hit the proper revolutions before she,
  with Afra and Mick assisting, 'ported to Deneb.  When she entered the
  Denebian Tower, she noticed the signs of stress in the faces of those
  who had maintained the Watch.
       'If we swallow any more sedatives, we won't be able to hear a
  damned thing,' Isthia said bleakly.  However, as she gave the Rowan a
  quick embrace of welcome, her incredible energy seemed undiminished,
  bright red and tangy.  'There's a bottom to the well and a long dry
  period if I dip in too often.  But those things will NOT have my
  planet.' The red of her deepened.
       'What does Besseva say now?' the Rowan asked, missing the
  clairvoyant from those on duty.
       Isthia gave a diffident shrug.  'She's gone into a deep trance,
  trying to penetrate the shell of that - what did Jeff say you named it?
       Leviathan-' she went on when the Rowan put the word in her mind,
  'to see what's inside.  It's damnably frustrating to have an unknown
  assailant.' 'The Councillors wish to believe that they may not be
  hostile,' the Rowan said in a saccharine tone of voice.
       Isthia was not the only one in the Tower to have a poor opinion of
  that belief.  Then the Rowan took a spare couch and joined the minds
  merged on the approaching vessel.  It had shortened the distance to
  heliopause considerably Jeff: Get set to catch me, will you, loves?
       Isthia, privately: He must be tired if he's asking us for help.
       Rowan: All right, then, my fine lad, into the cradle you go!
       Jeff's step had none of its usual spring as he entered the Tower
  and dropped into the nearest chair.  Before Isthia could motion to one
  of the girls, the Rowan had obtained a glass of stimulant and, placing
  it in his hand, laid both of hers on his temples, transferring energy
  to him.  Closing his eyes, he accepted her gift, a loving smile turning
  
  up the corners of his mouth.  You always know what I need, dear heart!
       My profound gratitude.  I'll return the gift on demand.
       'How long before we get some action?' Isthia asked in a gruff
  voice.
       Jeff shrugged.  'The Fleet wants to make its war-game moves.  They
  believe in their invincibility.  I do not.' Rowan: Could a focus
  protect them?  Leviathan may have weaponary we can't perceive.
       Jeff: Not over the area of space where they've deployed, and it'd
  be damned bad tactics to group them together where we might possibly be
  able to shield them.  He gave a mirthless laugh.  The Councillors are
  certain that Leviathan will respond reasonably to the Welcome and
  identify modules.
       The Fleet are not so no:ve as to consider that likely.
       However, the good Admirals are confident that Leviathan will react
  to the presence of the mines.  Once Leviathan has demonstrated its
  weaponary against the mines, they will know how to defend us against
  it.
       Rowan: There are women Councillors Jeff: None with much more than
  an empathetical Talent and your report has frightened them from even
  the most discreet of direct contact.  The W & I modules were only
  deployed to pacify the non-aggressive element in the Council.
       Rowan: What :f Leviathan is duplicitous?
       Jeff laughed.  What?  Do you mean they'd respond sweetly to the
  Welcome and Ident: and then launch missiles once we let them advance
  'in peace?' Isthia, considering: The Many is definitely not as devious
  as that.  Single-minded is what those things are!  The Many all
  thinking along the same line.  Destroying what is in the way of their
  objective.
       The other women in the Watch concurred immediately.
       Isthia: And where is Mauli?
       Jeff: Resting.  Which she needed, and an example that I should
  follow.  Now, while I have the time.
       Jeff was back in the Tower when the first Welcome message was
  ignored.  There were ten in the string, each comprising sounds,
  signals, and signs that were thought to have universal significance.
       He hauled Rowan and Isthia away from what he called 'their
  compulsive watching'.  He made them both sleep in the way that they had
  once forced him to rest and ignored their protests when they awoke.
       'My squadron has taken up positions behind Deneb's moons,' he told
  his mother and his wife as he watched them consume the hearty meal he
  had prepared for them.
       'It gives them a psychological sense of security!' He grinned.
       'Even the male complement on board all three destroyers are
  believers now!  And Leviathan has passed into the Denebian system
  proper, closing fast on the minefield.' He rubbed his hands together,
  his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.
       Isthia regarded the Rowan drolly.  'They're all alike!' 'I beg to
  differ, Isthia,' the Rowan replied with great dignity, 'this one has a
  few redeeming features.' 'Yes, he has learned a thing or two from us,
  hasn't he?
       And I don't mean cooking.' 'Why didn't you think to arrange a
  sleeping facility here, Mother?' Jeff asked as they 'ported back to the
  Tower.  The watch was just changing, but the outgoing crew showed no
  signs of dispersing to their homes.
       Besseva: What is really needed is enough seating for those who
  don't wish to miss the action shortly to begin.
       Isthia: Oh, is that all?  Stacked metal chairs arrived on the
  landing.  Need more?
       Rakella answered this time: About a dozen more, cups, and say a
  case of a caffeine beverage and several of fruit juices.  It's going to
  
  be exciting and we'll need to keep blood sugar levels up.
       As well, the Rowan thought, entering the building, that the west
  section was empty of equipment for it shortly became a spectators'
  gallery.  They were quiet and their presence supportive.  Jeff sat at
  the console where screens linked up the three reconnaissance ships and
  two of the closer dreadnoughts, the Moscow and the London.
       Once she was settled in her couch, the Rowan nodded to Isthia and
  the two women, their minds strengthened by the gestalt, reached out
  into space.  Unerringly now they perceived the intruder.  It had
  reached the last of the Welcome devices.
       Isthia: Well, that's that.
       Rakella, tentatively: Maybe they just didn't understand any of the
  programs.
       Isthia: That's immaterial.  A pointed attempt to make
  communications deserves the courtesy of some response.
       Rowan: So much for the pacifist Councillors' good intentions.
       Reidinger, gently insinuating an ironic voice in both minds: It
  was worth a try, wasn't it?
       Isthia, giving a mental shudder: I suppose it salves conscience
  and looks good on the record.
       Reidinger: There was rather a large segment of our populations
  that bet that the intruder would shoot the devices up.
       Jeff: Thereby establishing a clearly hostile intent!
       Isthia: I keep telling you that hostile intent has already been
  unequivocably established!  Those beings are really alien.
       Jeff: Who's taking bets about their firing on the mines?
       Whoops!  I never laid any credit on that bet!
       In the next few moments the screens were hectic with reports from
  the dreadnoughts and the smaller courier ships.  The seeded mines were
  being demolished but not by Leviathan.  Scanners now registered the
  appearance of mobile units, originating from Leviathan and speeding
  toward the mines.
       The Rowan and Jeff simultaneously: Same sort of craft we destroyed
  two years ago!
       Reidinger: Score a point for Talent!  Fleet took nine seconds
  longer to identify.  ZAMBIA and her sister ships are demanding the
  chance to retaliate!
       The Rowan and Isthia: Do NOT permit them to engage!
       The Rowan: We'll need their minds!
       Reidinger: You figured it out then, Angharad?
       The Rowan: I did indeed!  But Leviathan must get close enough to
  hit the gravity well before it can be swung away from Deneb VIH Jeff,
  grimly: And we wait?
       Reidinger, equally as grim but with such a strong vein of
  assurance that the Rowan could feel Jeff relax: We wait for the right
  moment!
       Jeff composed a graphic display, the Fleet deployment and the
  Leviathan's mobile units, added the now measurable speed, mass, and
  composition of the invader, and grunted when the projection appeared.
       'Closing too bloody damned fast.  And if this master strategy of
  yours doesn't work?' Reidinger: Fleet elements have already destroyed
  or disabled seven of the fifteen destroyers Leviathan sent out.
       We've sustained some casualties.
       When he paused for too long, Jeff asked sharply: And  they're
  beetles, aren't they?  More of those damned beetles!
       Reidinger: So the initial unconfirmed reports suggest.
       Jeff let out a wild yell, startling everyone in the Tower.
       'They'll be making statues to your long ear, Mother,' he cried,
  hauling her into his arms and whirling her about.
       Isthia swatted futilely at him but his ebullience did much to
  
  lighten the tension in the Tower.  'Silly boy!
       Hearing was the easy part!' She pulled herself out of his arms,
  but not before giving his face an affectionate caress.
       The eyes of everyone in the Tower turned to the graph and the
  inexorable progress of the Leviathan past the cold and sterile outer
  planets of the Denebian system.
       Reidinger, righteous but sad: Two of our destroyers were wiped
  out.  Got too close to the Leviathan when they chased its defenders
  back.  Then it sent seeking missiles in the direction of the
  dreadnoughts.  All sustained damage, fortunately none have been
  crippled.
       Jeff: Does the Fleet still believe in the potency of its weaponry?
       Reidinger with a snort: Moscow and London are bracketing the
  intruder and have launched their first salvos.
       Isthia: They have to be seen to try, Jeff Stop that pacing.
       My nerves are bad enough without you clamping about like that.
       The Rowan: Save your energy, love.  Talent has the big guns and
  you're the bombardier!
       Jeff's eyes sparkled and his grin was pure malice.  I figured it
  out.  A bit slow, perhaps, but this local yokel finally caught on.
       I think, and the Rowan paused dramatically, you got past
  Reidinger's shield and sneaked a peek.
       Jeff, wearing an innocent expression: I?  Invade our Master's
  privacey?  I'm good but I'm not that good!
       The Rowan laughed aloud.  'I think you're better than good, love.
       If you'd waited, you'd've figured out what Reidinger has in mind.'
  It wasn't easy for anyone in the Tower to wait, watching the invader
  making its way deeper and deeper into Denebian space, knowing that the
  intersection of the planet's orbit and Leviathan's path was steadily
  approaching.  Isthia sent people home to rest, ordered food brought in,
  revised the Watch rota, sent Jeff and the Rowan to the Farm to sleep.
       She arrived at the Farm and sent them back to assume command.
       Additional squadrons were dispatched to harry Leviathan.  Though
  many strikes were made on the surface of the planetoid, the hits had no
  discernible effect on its inexorable path.
       The Rowan, on a thin band to Isthia: Those mothers must feel
  pretty invincible by now.
       Isthia: I sense that they are aware of the attacks.
       The Rowan: And smug!  I dislike that attitude.
       Besseva: It will suit our purpose.
       The hours dragged and the Rowan began to realize subjectively how
  Jeff must have felt during that first contact.
       Jeff: Bloody useless is how I felt.
       The Rowan: That's not how you came across to me.
       Jeff, giving her his special smile as he swiveled his chair around
  to her: And how did I come across to you?
       The Rowan regarded him for a long moment, smiling tantalizingly.
       Busy.  Preoccupied.  Annoyed with bureaucratic inefficiencey.
       Jeff said aloud, fidgeting, 'I wish I was busy right now!
       Even a little bureaucratic inefficiency to maul would be a
  relief!' He sat bolt upright when he glanced at the monitor.  'Hey,
  that thing has slowed.  It's going to go into orbit around us!' 'Why?'
  Isthia wanted to know.  'I will not believe its intentions are pacific
  !' Jeff was busily adding equations to the graph.  'No, not in that
  orbit.  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 hell out of us again!' No,
  they're not!  Reidinger's mental alert was almost anticlimactic when it
  echoed through the minds of everyone in the Tower.  Angharad
  Gwin-Raven, the A focus is yours.  Gather it!  Jeff Raven, collect the
  
  B focus, Prepare!
       With a single look of exchanged love, the Rowan and Jeff lay
  supine on their conformable couches and relaxed their bodies.  They
  didn't notice Rakella motioning for medical orderlies to attend them.
       Capella came querulously into the Rowan's mind first: This is
  becoming a habit: twice in as many years.  Really!  I do trust that we
  can dispose of this intrusive type for once and all.
       The Rowan: That is the intention!  The Rowan also read how nervous
  Capella was under the guise of complaint.
       She felt vulnerable, a sensation which the Talented rarely
  entertained.  To herself, the Rowan realized how much she had learned
  of herself, and others, in the two years since the first merge.
       With Capella came the surge of all the female Talents of her
  system.  Then the T-2 Jedizaira at the Betelgeuse Station added her
  strength; Maharanjani from Altair and, among those who joined from her
  native planet, the Rowan felt the touch of her stepsister and welcomed
  her.
       Earth's Talents, Elizara leading as she was familiar with the
  Rowan's mind, swelled the force greater.  Procyon sort of stumbled into
  the focus, apologizing but Piastera was a T-3 and, with Guzman as
  Prime, had had little chance to do much merging off-planet.
       Other minds joined in large and small groupings, led by T-2s or
  T-4s, tentatively at first, then melding in more comfort as they were
  integrated into the whole of female Talent throughout the Nine-Star
  League.  Their determination to halt the invaders vibrated more
  fiercely than the force that opposed them.  The Denebians came in last,
  Isthia, Rakella, and Besseva down to young Sarjie, thrilled to be
  admitted into this experience.  Then all were swallowed up in the final
  consolidation of the Rowan merge.
       Reidinger, and his voice seemed nearly a whisper to the totality
  that the Rowan had become: Now, Angharad, now!
       The Raven merge is available!
       Blazoned in the mass mind was the graph on the Tower's screen and
  steadily the Rowan merge moved out toward the invader.  Like a laser
  stabbing through space, the Rowan-mind gathered speed and reached the
  planetoid.  Various elements of the Rowan-mind noted composition, mass,
  confirmed that Leviathan had been made from a dead world, now a
  darkness reverberating with noisy machinery and the scuttling of myriad
  creatures, whose minimal understanding responded to commands directed
  at them from the central point in the cavernous vessel.
       The Rowan-mind: The 'Many' are sixteen but some do not emanate
  much strength.  We interrupt and distract the 'Many' NOW!
       There could be no defense against such a shaft of pure mental
  energy and the 'Many' struggled briefly, withered and collapsed into
  mindlessness under the intensity of the force directed against them.
       The Jeff-focus shouted: NOW!  And every kinetic male Talent was
  joined with full gestalt from all available generators to divert
  Leviathan on to its final trajectory straight toward Deneb's primary.
       Later, in the many years of discussion provoked by an event which
  lasted six hours, it would be seen as the most perfect example of mind
  over matter: ineluctably simple when compared to weapon technology or
  the complexity of spaceship drives.  Once the Rowan-mind merge
  distracted and destroyed the minds of the huge, female reproducers,
  Leviathan lost its directive force: the diverse subordinates aimlessly
  continued in the routines for which they had been genetically designed,
  movements that had become pointless.
       Then the Jeff-mind merge exerted the kinetic energy to deflect
  Leviathan from its intended orbit above Deneb VIII.  Together both mind
  merges concentrated on speeding Leviathan on its new course.  When the
  gravitic pull of Deneb's sun caught the planetoid, the mind merges
  
  released it.
       Leviathan's plunge into the solar incandescence created a brief
  flare in the corona, recorded as the finale to this astounding
  exercise.
       The Raven-merge: That's what we should have done with the first
  attackers.
       The Rowan-merge: We did warn them!
       Slowly the individual minds retreated from their focus slowly
  because the mass elation of success had bordered on exquisite ecstasy,
  too sweet not to savor; slowly because the communion of so many minds
  was in itself a rare and unique experience.  Thanks were given and
  received.
       Farewells were tender between those who had just met; reluctant
  between old friends, united once again.  The last withdrawals were
  almost painful and the Rowan felt totally drained, her mind barren and
  echoing after such a surfeit.
       'Easy, Rowan,' said Rakella in a muted voice.  Even so the Rowan
  winced weakly.  'Just drift.  Jeff's fine.  Dean's with him.  You'll
  both recover after a good, long sleep.' I'm here, Jeff said and
  although he was still on the couch not a scant half meter from her, his
  tone was a whisper.
       This was a much longer affair than the first one.  Sleep!  I'll
  love you later.
       'I want the pair of you asleep by the time I count three,' Isthia
  said, her doughty self.
       That's not fair, the Rowan thought despite a hideous pounding in
  her reverberatingly empty head.
       Why's fair?!  One, two, three!
       When the Rowan woke much later, revived and refreshed, she found
  she was alone in the bed at the Raven farm.
       Jeff was called back to Earth, Isthia said.
       Reidinger?  The Rowan shot straight up in bed in her anxiety Back
  in form, aren't you, 'but don't you dare reach for him!' Isthia added
  in a bellow from the kitchen area.  The man's all right.  I can't lie
  to you.  And she couldn't so the Rowan knew that Reidinger had
  collapsed.  He is very much alive and kicking!  Or so Elizara says, and
  she should know.
       But his efforts to move dreadnoughts and who knows what else out
  to Deneb at the last moment were too much for a man his age.  He, and
  Isthia's tone became scathing, had to do it himself to be sure all was
  set up for you and Jeff Elizara has him in hand and she said that you
  must rest today, too.  You've the baby to consider.  But you may rise
  and dress.
       'You need food first, talk later,' Isthia said, when the Rowan
  managed a slow and slightly unsteady entrance, 'but you'll be happy to
  know that one of the beetle attack ships was captured intact.  When the
  boarding party cracked the main air lock, they found the creatures in
  some sort of stasis, frozen in position.  Xenobiologists are of the
  opinion that they couldn't even perform routine tasks without ongoing
  contact with Leviathan.  The biologists are ecstatic: they can study
  the species with impunity.  The Fleet has a complete ship to
  disassemble and all that technology to dismantle.  When I think that
  Jeff nearly died trying to collect just bits and pieces, I could spit
  acid!' As the Rowan listened to Isthia, she ate ravenously and with a
  single-mindedness that appalled her.  It was a trifle unnerving when
  she recalled a similar trait in the beetle 'Many'.  Not that there
  was even the faintest possibility of contamination or even a transfer
  of mentality, the Rowan thought as she devoured the very excellent meal
  Isthia had prepared.  Not between such disparate thing mechanisms,
  despite that brief but devastating period of contact.
  
       She was just very, very hungry after yesterday's exertions.
       Isthia: Of course you are.  Nothing more.  Don't even think about
  it!  'You were splendid, by the way.  In case none thinks to tell you!'
  Then she touched the Rowan lightly on her shoulder.  'That was two days
  ago, by the way.' 'Two days?' The Rowan dropped her utensils and stared
  at Isthia.
       'You're pregnant.  You needed more rest.  But I saw to it that
  Jeff slept a full twenty-four before I let them ship him back to Earth.
       He deserved that much!' 'He deserves a lot more than twenty-four
  hours' sleep!' The Rowan glared at Isthia and wished there was someone
  she could really tell off!
       I'm that person, then, cariad!  And JerI's chuckle sounded in her
  mind, soothing her, caressing her as only he could.
       Your part of the merge was the difficult one.  I only had to push!
       'Yegrani was g,) Isthia went on, 'you were the focus that saved us
  all.  The Leviathan "Many" had to be immobilized first.' Suddenly the
  Rowan had had quite enough of Yegrani's Sight.  'I suppose I should
  feel relieved that I've fulfilled it.' Fulfillment for you has only
  begun, was Jeff's fervent reply, suffusing her mind and body with his
  love - and his yearning.  Get yourself down w Earth as soon as you can,
  cariad.  And his bawdy chuckle gave her fair warning of his intentions.
       This is the beginning of the Gwin-Raven Dynasty: you, me, ours,
  us!
       THE END
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/Vault2.0.-.Fiction-and-audiobooks/Books/M/Mccaffrey, Anne/Anne McCaffrey - Tower Hive 1 - The Rowan.pdf