Damia (6 page)

Thank you
, the alto voice responded.

“You’re welcome,” Afra said.

Then he noticed the time he’d been wasting. He dumped
the remainder of the carisak’s contents on the bed and, taking his kit, clean clothes, and station shoes, went to the bathroom for a quick shower before his first experience of duty on Callisto.

Fortunately for his performance that day, Afra could handle all Tower procedures with routine efficiency, almost without thinking about the intricacies required, but he had never worked at even half the pace required of Callisto personnel.

We are the
main
forwarding facility
, the Rowan sent him halfway through the hectic period.
We handle more traffic than any other Tower. You’re doing fine. Don’t fret. I don’t think we’ll wear you down today.

Huh!
Afra restricted comment to that one challenging monosyllable and kept right on working. It was exhilarating, to say the least, for his duties as the Rowan’s second were to be sure of the orderly flow of destination placements, weights of cargo whether animate or inanimate, and special instructions from the tertiary rank.

Cargo-handlers (7’s and 8’s of kinetic Talent) who took travel documents from cargo pods of all sizes, single and double personal capsules, and the various larger transit vessels, “lifted” them into the Tower for sorting according to priority. 10’s scurried about the landing field making certain all relays arrived in good condition, and always checking animate cargoes. Inside the Tower, 6’s and 5’s assigned priorities and found destination coordinates. Brian Ackerman made sure there were no delays in those duties and established that everything Afra, in turn, passed up to the Rowan was in order, and kept the flow smooth to the Prime.

On a busy day, and Callisto was always busy, Afra, as the T-4, was also required to reduce the burden on the Prime by expediting any inanimate cargo to reserve her capability for heavier, delicate and animate transfers. Afra could gestalt with the generations, albeit without the same range and strength as the Rowan. He had always secretly felt that he had more range than he’d ever been permitted to use on Capella—if only because he
felt
he could. Afra
was also too well disciplined a Talent to be foolishly overconfident. But, working with the Rowan, he became aware of a sense of extended resources and deeper strengths, which he had never experienced working with any other Talent. It was as if the Rowan added a new dimension to his Talent.

And that, my dear Afra, is exactly how it should feel between Prime and her backup
, the Rowan said before shifting a heavy freighter.
If it isn’t there to begin with, it won’t come, not for all the wishing in the world.

That was enough to give Afra a second wind, for the pace was beginning to get to him. Inhaling deeply, he carried on.

When the last drone had been spun out to its destination and the generator gauges on his board dropped down to zero, Afra was too expended momentarily to move. The muscles along his back ached and he had a mild throbbing at his temples. Then he grinned to himself. He’d survived. He hadn’t made a single error—that he could think of. He felt someone standing beside him and, craning his head to the right, saw the Rowan grinning at him. Lightly she touched his shoulder, just enough for him to sense a mental flavor of deep green and mintiness from her.

“We did good work today.” Then one of her arched black eyebrows lifted sardonically. “That is, if you can keep up this sort of pace.”

“Try me,” Afra said, taking up the challenge. “Just try me.”

“You just bet I will,” but her grin got broader and eyes twinkled. “C’mon, I owe you a cup of coffee. Anyone want to go downside? We’re in occlusion.”

A chorus of “I do’s” and waving hands answered that offer.

“Grab what you need and find a capsule,” the Rowan said. “I won’t send you down yet, Afra. But plan on next full occlusion. Reidinger wants to interview you. Oh,” when she felt him tense, “don’t worry about him. I,” and she jerked her thumb at her chest, “say who works in
my
Tower.”

Lightly she climbed back up into the Tower and although the generator gauges did not so much as flicker, Afra could see the capsules arrowing away from Callisto in Earth’s direction.

You’ve seven to catch down there, Reidinger
, she said.

THEY’RE NOT SCHEDULED
, was the roar from the Earth Prime.

Let your apprentices catch. My crew need the downside time.

So, how did that Capellan manage?
Reidinger added, and his words echoed in Afra’s mind, confusing the Capellan until he realized that the Rowan was backfiring the conversation. Capella would never have done
that
, Afra thought, astonished, and held his breath for her reply.

He held up well today. I’ll give him a three-month trial.

Not before I’ve seen him, you won’t!

Sure thing
, and the Rowan’s tone was not only saucy but very confident.

Most of the Tower personnel disappeared when the Rowan made her transportation offer. Only Brian Ackerman remained, discussing a few matters quietly with Joe Toglia. Afra continued to sit where he was. He felt drained and even the few steps to the beverage dispenser seemed too far, but he could certainly use a caffeine boost.

Then he saw one cup move under the spout, the dark liquid splash in and move aside for a second cup to be filled with sugar and milk added. As the cups made their way to his station, the Rowan came down the stairs again.

“Thanks,” he said with a wry grin of appreciation as she approached. She caught the back of a chair and, hauling it behind her, sat down beside him. He lifted his cup and she touched hers to it in the traditional fashion. “Thanks a lot, Rowan.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Couple of things we got to straighten between us right away, Afra. Just let me know when you need a boost and tell me when you’ve foozled. I prefer to correct as soon as possible. Understand that and we could make a good team.”

Afra nodded his agreement, mentally too tired to project
after all the exercise he’d had the past six hours. She continued to sit and sip at her coffee, the silence between them comfortable. In fact, Afra did not remember being so comfortable with anyone else before—except with Goswina when he was a boy. And before, he added deep in his mind, Goswina went to Altair. By the time they had finished their drinks, he felt somewhat restored. The Rowan recognized it, too, her gray eyes sympathetic.

“Take a long nap, now, Afra. Let your brain idle,” she said, rising and replacing the chair. Then she left the Tower.

Afra took her advice. Nor was that the only time he did so.

*   *   *

He was in the Tower for five weeks before Reidinger contacted him directly, though not in the bull roar he invariably used in his exchanges with the Rowan. At that, the strength of Reidinger’s powerful touch direct to his mind was sufficient to dismay Afra. He had never encountered such a dense mind before. Capella had been firm and strong but nothing compared to Peter Reidinger, the third of that name, to be Earth Prime. The Rowan was very strong, with hints of a substance equal to Reidinger’s but never displayed. But Afra was now familiar enough with the Rowan to be comfortable, if still in awe. Reidinger was different. He was the most powerful man in Federal Teleportation and Telepathic. And on his approval, no matter what the Rowan had said, depended Afra’s continued appointment to Callisto Tower. However, Afra managed a creditable, he thought, response, calm, unflustered, and above all, mannerly. His parents would have been proud of him.

Atta boy, Afra
, the Rowan said when Reidinger’s presence had withdrawn.
He loves to dominate. Has most of FT&T scared witless—saves him a lot of trouble to
have
instantaneous obedience, but it
can
inhibit. You just carry on as you did and don’t let him fluster you. Remember
, and here the Rowan allowed a wicked chuckle to weave into her tone,
he doesn’t scare me and if I want you, I’ll have
you. Tell you what, Afra. Before he can bellow at you—and he will—present him with one of your origamis . . . say a bull in full bellow! A scarlet bull. Take the wind out of his sails. Distract him and you’ll have the upper hand.

Are you sure the upper hand is good for a lowly T-4 from Capella?

The Rowan projected an even more malicious grin.
Sweet-talking words is for a woman: standing your ground is a male prerogative.

In retrospect, it was not Reidinger who awed Afra in point of fact, but the sheer size of the Blundell building, surrounded by the immense cargo and passenger terminals, cradles, and auxiliary structures. Afra stood by the personal capsule in which the Rowan had sent him from Callisto and gawked. The FT&T complex was larger than the capital of Capella. Beyond it stretched the commercial and residential towers of the largest single metropolis of the Central Worlds, receding into a distance his eyes could not adequately measure.

He was, however, aware of air tinged with an unknown odor that his mind told him must be “brine,” since the FT&T complex bordered an ocean.

“Afra of Callisto Station?”

He whirled and saw a youth in the uniform of an FT&T apprentice, a stocky lad with oddly flecked green eyes, dark hair, and a fresh complexion.

“Yes,” and he echoed the acknowledgment telepathically, testing the messenger.

The boy grinned and held up his hand in the formal greeting between Talents. “Gollee Gren. I’m supposed to be a T-4.”

“On escort duty?” Afra smiled back, remembering his service in the same capacity on Capella.

“When no one else is available,” Gollee said, not the least bit disconcerted by such duties. “This way. You’ve got to clear Security and that takes time.”

Even when it’s obvious who I am?

Gollee shrugged, his grin droll. “Don’t be offended. They even go through the rigamarole for visiting Primes.”

“Don’t lay it on too thick, Gollee. Primes don’t visit,”

“Well, you know what I mean. Even T-2’s get the treatment. No one gets into the Great God Reidinger without clearance.”

Gollee had gestured toward the airy shell of concrete and plasglas that formed the entrance to the huge Blundell FT&T Agency Headquarters.

It did take time to clear Security, scanners, retina search, personal interviews—though it was clear they had Afra’s dossier on screen as he was interviewed. Afra was tempted to remark that a telepathic check from any T-3 or -2 would allay any suspicions, but the attitudes of the T-8’s processing him suggested he’d better not interrupt the process with an impertinence. The Security guards did not have his height but outweighed him by many kilos. They were especially concerned about his origami and subjected it to so many tests that Afra was alarmed that they’d ruin the little gift.

“Surely you realize that it’s only folded paper. Here!”

He tore a sheet from the pad on the desk and with practiced skill, folded a replica. “See?”

The guards “saw” but were palpably unimpressed with his dexterity, though Gollee was. Eventually they had to concede that it posed no threat.

Finally the security badge was grudgingly handed over. With a mental sigh of relief, Gollee led him toward the bank of grav lifts.

Gollee punched an intricate code, his fingers flashing so fast Afra’s eyes could not follow nor was he able, in that instant, to read Gollee’s suddenly shielded mind.

They’re even stricter about that
, Gollee said in an apologetic tone.
I’ve only just been assigned to guide duty and they really do mind-burn anyone who disobeys or bends the drills.
“They would have to, of course, Prime Reidinger being so important to Central Worlds,” he added aloud, and motioned for Afra to step with him into the programmed shaft. “How long have you been doing that paper-folding? You made it look so easy.”

The upward motion was unusually rapid for a grav shift.

“Basically origami
is
easy. Once you get the hang of it.”

“Where’d you learn? Is it a Capellan thing?”

“No, originates from a place called Japan.”

“Oh, in the Pacific Ocean somewhere.”

“So I understand.”

Then, suddenly, a narrow aperture opened into which the current pulled them. The access snapped shut behind them. Gollee grinned at Afra’s reaction.

“No way you can get into the Prime’s quarters without the right clearance. The entire building is shielded and sealed . . . especially this part.”

“I don’t think I’d like to live like that.”

“We never will. We’re not Primes.”

A second, more generous opening appeared and remained long enough for Afra and Gollee to step out into the lobby, which was elegantly decorated in soft greens and comfortable seating. Fractiles were displayed on a corner screen and soft music fell pleasantly on the ear. Gollee made for the door—the least ornate of several opening onto the lobby—to his left.

“Stand square,” Gollee murmured as they reached the door which then slid into the wall. They walked across a second lobby and to the center door in its wall. “You’re on your own from here, but I’ll be waiting to guide you back. Good luck.” His expression suggested that Afra needed all he could command.

Afra squared his shoulders and eyed the solid wood panels and remembered the Rowan’s advice. Would Security have informed Prime Reidinger about a red paper bull and spoiled his gambit? The door slid open to admit him into the spacious suite occupied by Peter Reidinger.

“Come in, come in,” and the powerful mental voice was just as powerful and intimidating in its audible mode as its owner was physically impressive.

“Thought you might like this, sir,” Afra said, advancing quickly toward the semi-circular desk behind which Reidinger sat. It was a case of moving swiftly or having his knees knock treacherously. He was glad that his hand
didn’t shake as he leaned across the wide desk and placed the delicate red bull in front of Earth Prime.

Surprised by both approach and gift, Reidinger regarded the little figure. Then he threw his head back and roared with laughter.