Damia (31 page)

Initially there’d been trouble with the Colonial Council in accepting Damia, who’d been eighteen when her parents had judged her ready to assume FT&T responsibilities. She’d been furious with the implied criticism that she, a Gwyn-Raven, of a family that already boasted four Primes, was too immature to handle a Tower. Worse, she had caught just a trace of anxiety in her father’s mind that she was too flighty to settle down to the hard and tedious work of a Prime.

So she’d shown them all her mettle in her first three months’ trial in Aurigae Tower. She’d mentally cajoled or bullied a Tower staff into line in the first week and had never lost so much as a single shipment nor bounced a cargo, no matter how heavy or awkward. Settling her staff so quickly had been a minor personal triumph for Damia, since her own mother had juggled Tower personnel for nearly five years before she’d been satisfied.

Occasionally, even Damia’s resilient mind felt the strain and required respite from the insistent murmur of broadcasting thought that beat, beat, beat like a tinnitus in her brain. Ironically, because she had done so well, Aurigaens now tended to take her for granted, to assume the fast and faultless service she rendered in her gestalt with the mighty dynamos of the Tower.

With a flick of a finger, Damia screened out the over-brilliant starlight and opened her eyes. The softened stargleams, points of gem fire in the black of space, winked and pulsed at her. Idly she identified the familiar patterns they made, these silent friends. Somehow the
petty grievances that built up inside her were gently dispersed as the overwhelming impersonality of cold nothingness brought them into proper perspective.

She could even forget her present preoccupation for a moment: forget how lonely she was; how she envied Larak, his loving, lovely wife and their new son; envied her mother the company of her husband and children; envied the Rowan Afra . . .

Afra! What right had he to interfere, to reprimand her! His words still seared.

“You’ve been getting an almighty vicarious charge out of peeking in on Larak and Jenna. Scared Jenna out of her wits, lurking in her mind while she was in labor! You leave them both alone!”

Damia was forced to admit that such an intrusion had been the most shameless breach of good manners. But how had Afra known? Jenna hadn’t even been aware until the split second when Damia had felt, as its mother did, the despairing birth howl of Jenna’s son. Unless Larak had caught her as she withdrew from Jenna’s mind and told him. She sighed. Yes, Larak would have known she was eavesdropping. Though he was the only T-3 among her brothers and sister, he had always been extremely sensitive to her mind touch. How often she and Larak had been able to overwhelm any combination of others, even when Jeran and Cera had teamed up with Talented cousins against them. Damia had never tried to analyze the trick, but somehow, she could switch into a higher mental gear, doubling the capability of other minds within her focus.

Afra’s scorching rebuke had come as an intense humiliation: one of several she had suffered from him. The worst of that was that invariably Afra had been correct. Well, better by that yellow-eyed, green-skinned, T-3 Capellan than her father, acting in his capacity as Earth Prime. She rather hoped that her father had not learned of that appalling breach of T etiquette.

Odd, though, she hadn’t heard as much as a whisper from Afra since then. It must be over seven months. He had listened in as she’d apologized to both Jenna and
Larak, and then silence. He couldn’t be
that
angry with her. Or maybe he could. Afra’s methody upbringing made him a martinet on points of etiquette.

Damia diverted her thoughts away from Afra, and went through the ritual of muscle relaxation, of mental wipeout. She must be back in the Tower very soon. In a way, the fact that she could handle Prime duties with no higher ratings than a T-6 to assist had certain disadvantages. The Tower staff could handle only routine planetary traffic, but she had to be on hand for all interstellar telepathic and teleportation commerce.

It would be wonderful to have a T-2, or even a T-3, to share her duties: someone who could understand. Not
someone
 . . . be honest with yourself out here in space, Damia. Some
man.
Only men shy away from you as if you’d developed Lynx-sun cancers. And the only other unmarried Prime was her own brother, Jeran. Come to think about Jeran, the smug tone of his recent mind-touches as they exchanged cargoes and messages between Deneb and Aurigae undoubtedly meant that he had found a likely mate, too. When the Denebians paused to use their wits instead of their muscles, they discovered in themselves strong embryo Talents. Like her father, Jeff Raven, or, more to the point, her grandmother, Isthia, who had waited until her forties to make use of powerful, innate Talent.

It was no consolation to Damia that her mother, in a rare example of maternal solicitude, had warned her of this intense, feminine loneliness which she, too, had experienced. But Jeff Raven had appeared to breach the Rowan’s Tower and the Rowan had at least had Afra’s company . . .

Afra! Why did her mind keep returning to
him
?

Damia realized that she was grinding her teeth. She forced herself through the rituals again, sternly making specific thought dissipate until her mind drifted. And, in the course of that aimless drifting, an aura impinged on her roving consciousness. Startled—for nothing could be coming in from that quarter of space—she tightened her mind into a seeking channel.

An aura! A mere wisp of the presence of something. Something . . . alien!

Alien! Damia recomposed herself. She disciplined her mind to a pure, clear, uncluttered shaft. She touched the aura. Recognition of her touch! Retreat—return!

The aura was undeniably alien, but so faint that she would have doubted its existence except that her finely trained mind was not given to error.

An exultation as hot as lust caused her blood to pound in her ears. She was not wrong. The trace was there. And it wasn’t Beetles!

Taking a deep breath, she directed an arrow-fine mental shout across the light-years, nadirward, to the Earth Prime Tower in the squat Blundell building which housed the administrative center of Federated Teleport and Telepath.

I’ve caught something out here, Earth Prime!

Aurigae Prime, damn it, control. Control, girl!
Jeff replied, keeping his own mental roar within tolerable bounds.

Sorry, but I’m aimed directly at you
, Damia replied without real contrition. Her father was capable of deflecting her most powerful thrust.

Thank all the gods for that mercy. So what have you caught? Specify!
His tone was official.

I can’t be more specific. The alien aura is barely detectable, coming from four light-years galactic north-northeast, Sector 2. I arrowed in once I heard the trace and it responded.

It responded? And four light-years out? Damia, where are you?
Jeff’s tone was suspicious.

Slightly beyond Aurigaen heliopause
, she replied, hoping that her father had no way of judging just how far she actually was.
I’m resting.

Just how far are you from your Tower?
Jeff demanded, more irate father than Earth Prime.

Only a light-year.

Leaving the Tower with only a T-6 in control? I thought we’d instilled more common sense than that in your head!
Let’s not get too cocky, Damia. Those hey-go-mad colonists are having a bad effect on you.

Damia chortled.
And here I thought the opposite was well reported.
Damia knew perfectly well that her father would have heard about her exploits with carefully chosen energetic and chauvinistic young engineers and miners. But none of them had been the least bit Talented so her affairs had not harmed them. She’d never been able to forget Amr Tusel. If some of her partners thought she would favor their shipments over others because of her liaisons, they were soon disabused of the notion. In her Tower she scrupulously adhered to FT#x0026;T’s business.

You are at least discreet
, Jeff admitted,
but don’t change the subject. Resting is good, but you can achieve as much rest beyond Aurigae’s moons as you can a light-year out and not risk being irretrievable.

Privately, Damia admitted that his point was well taken.
I wouldn’t have impinged on that aura if I was only beyond the moons, Dad. Aren’t we supposed to discover visitors
, and she added a mental grin for her description,
before they reach the heliopause?

All right, all right
, Jeff said, but Damia knew she hadn’t convinced him.
Show me
, he added, his tone reproving.

She allowed his mind to join with hers as she led him directly to the alien trace. The aura was palpable but so far away that only the extraordinary perception of two powerful minds could sense it.

I sense anticipation, curiosity, surprise
, Jeff told his daughter thoughtfully as he withdrew from the tight focus.
And caution, too. Whatever it is, is approaching our galaxy. Damn, why couldn’t we have at least a few peripheral sentinels for you beyond Aurigae.

Mechanicals would be no good in this instance
, Damia declared, irritated by the inference that devices would be more useful than she could be.

That’s true enough, though the safest procedure is for mechanicals to inform humans.

So I’ve stolen a march on those much vaunted DEWs.
And I can find out a helluva lot more than they could.
Damia couldn’t resist reminding her father of that.

Not at any time personally endangering yourself, Prime
, Jeff replied, coloring the official concern with personal.

Of course not
, Damia replied, fully confident in her own abilities.
But if I can establish some kind of communication with these visitors, I’ll need someone to take over my Tower. Like Larak.

I can’t spare Larak immediately. He’s training a T-3 to augment old Guzman at Procyon Tower. The old fellow tends to fall asleep and great tact is required to keep from irritating or humiliating Guz, neither of which temper keeps Procyon operating smoothly.

I thought you’d a dozen good T-2’s coming along
, Damia replied, for she kept informed of all matters concerning Talents.

I do, but there isn’t a team working smoothly enough yet to take over on such short notice. I’ll send you Afra. He’d be better anyhow.

Because Afra was involved with the Deneb Penetration?
Damia asked, slightly supercilious.
And you don’t think I’d know Beetle stink after a childhood on Deneb?

Jeff chuckled.
Yes, I suppose you’d have learned that, too.

Well, I’d rather wait until Larak’s free if it’s only a question of a few weeks. We’ve time in hand, I think, before the alien vessel gets anywhere near Aurigae’s heliopause. And you know how Mother hates being deprived of Afra
, Damia added, not quite leaching all the rancor from her voice.

Damia!
and Jeff’s tone crackled with disapproval.
I thought you’d grown out of that bit of childishness. Furthermore, I will not tolerate such disrespect of your mother, least of all from you.
He paused, leaving Damia in no doubt of his anger, a palpable bridge of tension between them despite the enormous distance that physically separated them.
By rights, I ought to saddle you with some T-2’s and let you sweat out their teaming.

Thank you, no, Dad. Not under the present circumstances.
And Damia did not bother to hide her dismay at his suggestion.

Unfortunately the most useful pair are twins and as you never got on terms with the way Jeran and Cera operated, I doubt you’d establish a rapport with them either.

Sometimes, Dad, I don’t think you like me.

Of course I do, Damia
, and a swelling of love, affection, and approval laved her,
as your father. But
, and now Jeff’s voice turned droll,
as Earth Prime, I’m as aware of your strengths as your weaknesses. You operate far more effectively with T-3’s and under. I just don’t happen to have any T-3’s but your brother.
There was a note of wistfulness in her father’s voice that Damia understood all too well, to both her amusement and chagrin.

Your dynastic plans will bear better fruit with Jeran, you know. He’s been awful cocky lately. Only don’t let him settle for anything less than a T-4.

She grinned to herself at her father’s startled pause.

You haven’t been eavesdropping again, have you, Damia?

She parried that surprise with a quick
After Afra reamed me for that with Jenna? Not bloody likely.

Oh, so it was Afra. Your mother thought it might have been Isthia. Your grandmother had a rare Talent for knowing when one of her charges was up to mischief.

The trouble with telepaths is that sometimes they think too much
, she remarked acidly, infuriated afresh to realize that her mother also knew of that incident.

Damia!
Jeff’s tone was unusually severe.
Better than anyone else in this galaxy, your mother understands your Tower isolation.

Is that why she handed me over to Isthia to raise?
Damia flashed back.

To give you a safe ambience when you were too damned precocious to appreciate the dangers of living in the Callisto dome. And I know you remember Afra hauling you out of a passenger liner a split second before your mother was about to launch it to Altair.

Damia did remember but she didn’t like to, and she hated for her father to bring it up.

Furthermore
, and she had to set her teeth as her father continued on that tack,
let me try to seal it into your stubborn head that it was I who insisted that you go to your grandmother on Deneb, not your mother, and it was Afra you were clinging to like a barnacle when it came time to be put in the capsule for the trip.
Right now, Damia particularly didn’t like to be reminded of that fact, not when Afra’s silence had lasted seven months. Her father sighed, abruptly breaking off that familiar lecture.
You and your mother are so much alike.