Damia (8 page)

So, when the meal was finished and the last glass of grape juice drained, Afra had no compunctions about falling in with the next item on Gollee’s hospitable and helpful agenda. When Afra’s guide led him to a large, well-maintained building in a discreetly park-like suburb, he was no longer the least bit apprehensive. The ambience of the interior was welcoming and Gollee was greeted warmly, Afra as well. He didn’t even cavil when asked to undergo the obligatory physical scan and permit a blood sample to be taken from his earlobe. He didn’t even blush when required to place his ID disk in the processing slot so that his last anti-fertility jab could be noted. But then, Gollee was chatting away with the proprietor during these preliminaries, so Afra could hardly protest a routine which was not at all intrusive, but mutually protective.

The choosing of a partner was also mutual, not that Afra noticed, but he was rather surprised when five attractive women approached him, smiling agreeably, and conversation was initiated. When the Coonie wandered into the lounge and right up to Afra, he was charmed.

“This can’t be a barque cat!” he exclaimed.

“No, indeed, it can’t,” laughed the tallest of the five girls, who wore dark curly hair in a close crop to her well-shaped skull. She had unusually pale blue eyes which fascinated Afra, for he’d never seen the like. “This is a Coonie cat: the nearest we surface dwellers have to barquies. They’re not quite as intelligent,” at which point the Coonie growled a protest, delighting Afra, “but they’ve qualities of their own. Amos, this is Afra. Afra, meet Amos.”

To the Capellan’s surprise, the Coonie immediately jumped in his lap and, standing up on his hind legs, put his paws on Afra’s jaw, and sniffed his mouth.

“You’ve made a friend!” the girl said, genuinely impressed. “Amos has standards.”

Afra wasn’t certain how to react until he saw the approval in Gollee’s expression. And when Amos jumped down again and wandered out of the room, Kama of the pale blue eyes moved just close enough to Afra so that their legs touched.

Somehow there was a transition from the pleasant lounge and verbal sparring with Kama seated so enticingly close to a private room. When it became apparent to her that Afra wasn’t at all sure how to proceed once they were alone, she became quite supportive.

“I’m your first? Well, the important thing is to do what comes naturally,” she said, gently massaging the tense muscles along his shoulders. “My first time was special for me. I could do no less for you, especially,” she added with a throaty chuckle, “when Amos approved of you.”

Afra’s nerves made the first attempt more of a disaster than a release. Kama gave him the most tender of smiles and suggested that they just relax side by side and become more accustomed to each other. She also kept running her hands about his body with feathery delicate touches so that very shortly he was ready to make a second attempt. Not only was that eminently successful for both of them, but Afra was totally aware that her ecstasy was as genuine as his. That spurred him on to further efforts with Kama who was impressed by his stamina as well as his ingenuity.

When they woke a languorous time later with the room still dark, Afra shyly asked if her cooperation was limited by time or deed.

“Not with you, my dear,” Kama replied, and energetically pulled him to her, “not ever with you!”

*   *   *

When he returned to Callisto, he was both refreshed and exhausted, and stumbled into his quarters, falling over the packages that littered the lounge, and even the bedroom. The orery warned him he had only five hours before he was on duty again. He told himself to wake up in four so he could wash and find something more appropriate than the glad rags he shucked any which way as he made for his bed. He had also shucked a great many inhibitions, though it actually took some time for him to determine which ones.

During that work period, he discovered just what a temper the Rowan had. He was so aghast at a
PRIME
in a tantrum that he was beyond surprise. Familiarity with Callisto Tower allowed him to react automatically to the minor crisis, soothing the Rowan and flicking the required placement into her lap in the Tower. Then he initiated the defense he had effectively used to blot boredom and proceeded with the transfers in his usual calm and imperturbable fashion.

Only when the Tower closed down hours later did he realize that everyone else’s nerves were frazzled.

“How do you do that, Afra?” Brian asked him when the Rowan had stormed off to her own quarters, raw emotions swirling after her.

“Do what?” Afra asked, looking up from the bird he was folding. His hands and fingers were as deft as usual.

“Ignore her when she’s broadcasting like that?”

Afra looked up with a grin. “It certainly puts us on our toes.” There was no way he would admit that he had been stunned by her temperamental display. He had also been more fascinated than disturbed by it.

Brian gulped. “Is that why she does it?”

Afra shrugged, opening the little blue bird’s wings. “She’s the Prime. She can do what she pleases.”

Brian frowned. “She always does,” he said sourly, and went back to sort out the mess of flimsies, pencil files, and wayflippies that littered his desk. “At least it was all cargo.”

*   *   *

Busy with unpacking his new possessions, Afra missed the first tentative knock on the door to his quarters. But a mental presence then impinged on his awareness so he heard the second rap.

“Come,” he called out, “lifting” two cartons away from the door so that it could swing open.

It did, slowly, and he was astonished to see the Rowan peeking around the door, as if unsure of her welcome.

“Come in, come in,” he said, “whisking” wrappings and styro packing pellets into an empty box and closing its flaps.

The Rowan slid in and closed the door behind her, regarding him with gray eyes wide and worried.

“What’s wrong?” Her color was wrong and her manner a dramatic contrast from the virago who had stormed out of the Tower a scant hour past.

“I want to apologize to you, Afra,” she said in a muted voice.

“She’s a lonely, lonely girl.”
Afra quickly hid this recall of Reidinger’s unvoiced assessment.

“Because I can take downside leave and you can’t?” He couldn’t feel her reading him nor would he breach Talent ethics by attempting to read her—in a remorseful mood or not.

“I think that was at the bottom of it,” she said, and sighed deeply as she sank into one of the huge lounge pillows that he had just unpacked. Then she shook her head savagely: “No, it wasn’t. I must be honest with you if we’re to continue as a viable team.” She locked her gray eyes on his yellow gaze. “You’ve lost a certain tension. I can’t.” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth. “Reidinger’s approved of you, you know.”

“I didn’t.”

She gave a little shrug that was more a twist of her shoulders than a lift. “You wouldn’t have been returned here if he hadn’t.”

“I thought Primes made their own choices . . .” and Afra grinned at her.

She managed a weak smile, but her body lost much of its tension. “I didn’t even have to argue with him.”

“He liked the bull!”

There was a genuine smile on the Rowan’s narrow face now. She craned her neck up to look at him, and he courteously dropped to a sitting position on the new table he had assembled.

“He liked the touch of square balls, and
that
,” she pointed her finger at him, “was your idea!”

“But it was
your
idea to distract him with an origami.”

Her grin broadened. “But you still had to take the initiative and you did.”

Afra cocked his head at her. “Were you listening?”

Eyes wide with denial, she shook her head vigorously, her loose and slightly damp hair clinging to her cheek until she pulled it away and tossed the strands back. “Not me. I suppose if I really
needed
to, I could get into Reidinger’s lair. But I would certainly have to have a very good excuse. I see you put your downtime to good use,” she added, changing the subject as she looked about her with interest in his purchases.

Afra managed to control a rush of blood to his face, thinking of how he had spent some of that time. “Yes, well,” and he “lifted” over an as yet unopened parcel, “I didn’t bring much with me, you know . . .”

“I do . . .”

“And I seem to have all kinds of allowances for the transfer, so . . .” He used his strong hands to fracture the seal and brought out the lamp, crafted like one of his origami herons in a delicate ceramic. “I couldn’t resist this . . .” He held it up and she responded with generous compliments.

“What else did you get? Besides,” and her smile was mischievous, “reams of origami papers?”

She helped him unpack the rest of his purchases and approved of the disposition of furniture and furnishings.

“Would you care for something to drink or eat?” he asked her, finally recognizing the onset of hunger and thirst in himself now that the day’s demands had eased.

“No, not tonight, I think, Afra. If you would be kind enough to join me tomorrow evening, I would be glad of your company.” She threw back her head, making eye contact. “I’m a good cook.”

*   *   *

The Rowan was subdued the next morning, but her work was steady and her manner much improved over the day before. Still, by the end of the shift, Afra steeled himself against the Rowan reneging on dinner.

He was positively startled when she asked: “Is six too early?”

Afra shook his head. “No, not at all.” His eyes lit appreciatively. “Can I bring anything?”

The Rowan gave him a deep smile. “Some origami paper, as I know I won’t be robbing you.”

With a wad of various colors and sizes of paper, Afra paused nervously outside her quarters. He took a deep breath and pressed his hand against the door plate.

Come
, the Rowan said, and the door slid open.

Afra took one step inside and went no further as he took in the Rowan’s spacious quarters. He had been more than pleased with his rooms, but this!—this was palatial. Of course, she was a Prime and less than this sort of luxury would have been insulting. Nevertheless, his eye was drawn here and there by the clever disposition of sculpture, paintings, and the style of the furnishings. She had simple but extremely elegant taste.

And, judging by the subtle aroma that drifted across the lounge area, that extended to her cooking. He took a deep breath.

“Smells great!”

“Tantalizing, huh?” the Rowan called, ducking to peer
out from the kitchen hatch. “It ought to taste even better than it smells,” she added, and beckoned him to join her.

She had three pots simmering on the hob. She pulled a spoonful from one and turned toward Afra.

“Taste?”

Afra self-consciously bent down to sip from the proffered spoon. Mischievously, the Rowan drew the spoon back, slowly enough that Afra at first didn’t catch on to her ploy. He made to grab her wrist but pulled back, shocked that he would ever accidentally touch a Talent, especially a Prime, without invitation.

The Rowan caught both look and feeling. “So serious!” she noted sadly. “Do young Capellans ever have fun?”

Afra felt his cheeks redden as memory sprung unbidden. The Rowan’s smile fell and she forced the spoon into his hand.

“I’ve never done it before, Rowan,” Afra blurted out in apology, both for his dalliance and the broadcast of it in her company. “I . . . it . . .” he struggled for composure. “I mean, I had dinner with Gollee Gren, he’s a T-4, my age. They seemed, I mean—they acted as if that’s what everyone does on Earth. Gollee—Luciano—and I really did feel stressful. I do feel much less taut today. I—I hope I worked well—”

A suddenly magical smile pulled at the Rowan’s lips. “I shall also hope you performed well the other night.” Her smile deepened as he gasped in shock at her reply. “Well, I hope so for your sake, Afra. And hers.” She turned back to the stove and stirred one pot vigorously. “First times are special.” She cocked her head at him. “I was eighteen and he was special, too.” With an abrupt flick of her hand, she turned off the heat and began ladling the food into serving bowls. She gestured to Afra to take two and led the way to the dining room with the other two.

Seated, she explained the dishes. “Sort of a smorgasbord of Chinese food—ginger beef, chicken cashew, kung pao chicken and—” she crinkled her nose at the last dish, finishing conspiratorily, “—something frozen from the BX.”

“And you did this since the generators shut down,” Afra protested, amazed that a Prime would go to such effort for a T-4.

The Rowan dismissed that consideration with a wave. “Minutes! Lusena . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“A friend?” Afra asked to end the uneasy silence that filled the room.

“The only mother I remember,” the Rowan replied. She tipped her head in a shrug. “And more than a mother. Have you ever lost someone close to you?”

Afra shook his head, wishing for something to divert her sad shift of mood. “No. But I cried for nights when my sister—” He broke off too late and regarded the Rowan sheepishly. “I was only six and she and I always enjoyed a special rapport. I forgave you taking her from me when she said that you’d save a place for me.”

The Rowan grinned. “Goswina called up the image of such a charming little boy. And she was so anxious not to sully family honor because we both knew we could not work together. I did sense that your family would have been so pleased had we come to terms.” Her grin turned mischievous again. “I’d always wanted a little brother. You seemed perfect for the role.”

“Green skin notwithstanding?”

Rowan laughed. “Skin’s only the outer layer, Afra.” She reached up to ruffle his hair. Caught off guard by such an intimate gesture, Afra nearly ducked away but then submitted meekly to the fondling: quite different from Kama’s. “Sorry to maul you about, Afra. I realize that Capellans are too methody to indulge, but I don’t think you’re as methody as you were.” She cocked a knowing eyebrow at him and he managed to suppress a blush, if only to thwart her intention. “Rebellious yet collected, controlled, studious, clever-fingered, quick-minded, slyly humorous, openly amusing. The many-faceted Afra.”