Damia's Children

by Anne McCaffrey

  Tip, Huf, Mur, and Dip joined them on the hard dirt of the park, each carrying precious baskets of slithers. Zara had hers cradled against her narrow chest, her eyes wide both with her responsibility and her inclusion in this journey.

  Tip clucked and pointed one flipper in the direction they were to take—toward the “community” hall. The ’Dinis had opted for a main feeding service and that building also became their meeting and assembly facility. Chairs, and tables for that matter, were not a necessity for ’Dini dining customs. Stacks of bowls were neatly stored to one side and cushions dotted the open floor space. The cushions were occupied as Laria and her brother and sister entered with their ’Dini friends and their appearance occasioned much noise from the expectant ’Dinis. Laria could see that the majority here were young ’Dinis, apprentices who wouldn’t work as long hours as the adults but the very ones who would cherish the slithers. The creatures provided endless amusement to ’Dinis though Laria didn’t very much appreciate slithers crawling on her bare skin: it gave her such an odd feeling.

  The clacking, clicking, and whistling of the eager young ’Dinis made the distribution of the pets urgent, so that was done, Zara and Rojer deeply thanked, with Tip, Huf, Mur, and Dip doing the translating. The youngsters were sent off with their new acquisitions and the adult females offered the Humans suitable refreshments. Laria, Rojer, and Zara were asked to seat themselves on the cushions and became the object of much poll bowing and eyeing.

  “What’s so funny about us?” Zara wanted to know.

  “I don’t think these ’Dinis have seen many Humans,” Laria said quietly. “Yes,” and she caught Tip’s hand signals, “these are just mature attendant females who haven’t gone out of the village yet.” She signaled another question to Tip. And grinned at the answer. “They thought Humans were something the elder ’Dinis had made up. They are astonished to see that we are real. Tip says they come from a southern continent that isn’t very forward. But they needed employment so badly that they couldn’t afford to pass up the good pay. They are very pleased to find that the accommodations are every bit as good as they were promised.” Then she laughed again, blushing.

  “What’s the matter, Lar?” Thian asked, surprised, for his sister rarely colored.

  “Tip likes the buff-colored one with the leg stripes.”

  Thian pretended to subject the ’Dini to intense scrutiny and then grinned. “She is rather charmingly marked.”

  At which point, both young people laughed because the ’Dini mistook his attention and came hurrying over with her tray of bite-sized edibles.

  You’re being mean, Zara said in a scathing tone, narrowing her eyes at her brother and sister.

  We aren’t, really, Zara, Laria said, somewhat chastened. Then she turned to Tip and asked it if there was a chance to see the ’Dini living quarters, or if that would be considered an intrusion.

  Tip got to its feet, chattering a comment to the marked ’Dini and the others were instantly off their tails and gesturing the Humans toward the door.

  “I gather we’re to inspect,” Thian said, grinning from ear to ear and signaling Tip that he was very pleased to be accorded such an honor.

  Having had ’Dinis roommates in their own quarters all their lives, it was somewhat of a surprise to see what ’Dinis considered suitable accommodations. Heated pools were featured on the lowest level of the five dormitories they were shown. Hatches led from the spacious pool area back into service areas, or so Thian suggested to his sisters. In the foyer of the main entrance, the walls were full of racks fashioned to hold the flying belts which the ’Dinis used for transportation. On the two upper levels, for the ’Dinis preferred to spread out rather than up, long dark corridors bisected the building and on either side were doors into smaller apartments. These included a main room, never very large, the ’Dini equivalent of a water closet—which was, in truth, a closet—and several sleeping rooms: with what Laria called bunk beds, usually four in each tier, two and three tiers across every wallspace. A small locker was fastened to the end of each bed and in that special personal possessions were kept. There seemed to be no blankets or pillows and Laria wondered that their ’Dinis had always used such comforts.

  Adaptable, aren’t they? Thian told his sister as they did the rounds, expressing appropriate approval by signals. Their four ’Dinis returned with signals of pleasure at their responses. Zara was too awed by her surroundings to have any other reaction than a good long look around her.

  I wonder why they don’t have any windows at all, Laria said to Thian, having noticed the omission. That’d be smarter than those lighting bars.

  For us, maybe, but let’s not ask until we leave here, Thian said.

  I wasn’t going to, Laria said, a little miffed that her brother thought her so lacking in tact.

  Didn’t think you were. Hey, they do have exhaust fans in the ceilings. Or that’s what they look like. Small ones over each bed unless those round things are lights, too. So have our ’Dinis been living in the lap of luxury, or slumming it?

  Thian!

  He grinned, unabashed.

  Their spontaneous tour ended near the entrance to one of the hibernatories. Thian asked Mur if there were five facilities to accommodate the numbers of ’Dinis or to accommodate different continents. Continents, he was informed, so that there would always be a full crew of workers available in the mines. ’Dinis would honor their contracts.

  “Never doubted that for a minute,” Thian said, smiling and nodding approval at Mur.

  Although the three young people would never have intruded on such a sacred place, the ’Dinis were suddenly herding them adroitly back to the parking area. The mine whistle blew for a change of shift which speeded up their farewells.

  That evening while dinner was being prepared, Laria had a lot of questions for her parents.

  Mother, would you say that the ’Dini quarters are luxurious? Or just basic?

  Flk and Trp informed us in no uncertain terms, Damia replied, that the quarters are of a very high standard and everyone is very pleased with them.

  Afra grinned, looking over at Laria from where he was feeding Petra her supper. Their real delight is the heated pools. Those would apparently have made up for many other shortcomings.

  Of which we made sure there were none. Though some of the amenities they did request were a bit odd, Damia said, frowning slightly.

  Like what? Thian wanted to know. The exhaust fans or those tube lights?

  Damia paused for a moment, considering her answer. You know, I’m not quite sure.

  They don’t seem to use bedding or pillows or anything, Thian went on. They do here.

  Cruel and unusual torments, they are, Afra said judiciously spooning mashed vegetables into his daughter’s mouth.

  Ah, Dad! Thian said.

  They adapt to our ways, Damia said, shooting a quelling glance at her lover.

  And I’ll have to adapt to their ways? Laria sounded dubious.

  When in Rome . . . her father said.

  Afra! Damia turned to reassure her daughter. Laria’s time to exchange was nearing and such questions must be answered truthfully. We asked and asked all the ’Dinis what comforts they needed. She gave a sigh of exasperation. They said they needed no special ones. They are quite happy with everything we do for them.

  But will I be happy? Laria replied, wondering how she could ever cope with windowless rooms, exhaust fans and long tube lights. She hadn’t really thought about the conditions she’d be faced with on Clarf even if she had never been uncomfortable for a moment with Tip and Huf. At least on her own turf. Or even when they vacationed on Deneb with Great-Grandmother Isthia.

  The Tower personnel at Clarf have assured me that they have spacious and elegant quarters, Damia said so emphatically that Laria began to feel less insecure.

  But Lar won’t be living at the Tower, will she, Ma? Thian asked, looking as innocent as his youngest sister.

  “Thian!” his father said
in a firm voice and Thian immediately subsided. Of course you will be required to enter a hibernatory for two months out of every year just like every other ’Dini.

  His tone was so prosaic that Laria stared at him and then burst out laughing and consequently felt very much better about her future. Another thing: her parents would never have committed her to something that wasn’t absolutely safe for her, their eldest daughter. Laria was a little puffed about her premiere position in the Raven-Lyon family: not badly, but enough for her to be aware of her seniority.

  During the next week that was put to practical application as both she and Thian joined their parents in the Tower to shift the first big daddy drones.

  “It’s the mass that’s hard to shift, not the physical weight,” Afra told the two as they settled themselves in the extra couches that had been fitted into the main Tower control room.

  Thian was twitching with excitement but Laria was able to control her own, though she’d a dreadful fluttering in her middle. Not that she hadn’t already assisted her parents during emergencies. They all had during the cave-in at the Maltese Cross Mine. Telekinesis had saved every one of the hundred and eight miners from sure death by asphyxiation. Afra had even managed to salvage the bodies of the dead: a great comfort to their grieving families. Laria hadn’t been quite sure about that aspect of the rescue but she’d been very glad when she’d linked with her mother to extricate the live ones: she, Thian, Rojer, and even Zara had added their strength to their mother’s in a spontaneous link. They’d practiced such joinings—for just such an emergency as it had been used for—but this had been life and death.

  Today’s exercise was merely a union of the four high Talented minds to lift dead weight of refined iron ore and fling it across the galaxy to Betelgeuse and the manufacturies there. They had five to transport.

  “This is by way of being a practice session, children,” Afra said. “Easily within your present abilities and strengths.”

  “You’ll be doing it often enough and with considerably more drones so that this could become a boring exercise,” Damia added as she settled herself in her couch. “It is never,” and she waggled a finger at each of them, “to become either boring or an exercise. You are to pay strict attention to the protocol and the technique now and whenever else you are required to teleport: especially such masses as these.”

  Laria and Thian nodded solemnly. They knew how proud their mother was of her Tower status as Aurigaen Prime. She’d held it since she was barely eighteen and never lost a cargo or mishandled one, inanimate or animate. They had been trained since the first time they’d “lifted” with mind power alone.

  “Now, settle yourself comfortably,” Damia said, putting her head back on the rest, shaking her hands to relax them.

  The generators were coming up to full power. Laria knew the sound intimately. She waggled her hands and let them drape beside her, giving her head a final scrunch. She listened intently to the generators, felt the touch of mother-father in her mind, let the link happen and felt part of that accord, then felt the addition of Thian’s. Only it was no longer four separate minds, it was a Mind, much, much stronger than one raised to the fourth power. This Mind was directed to the first of five puny-looking drones, lying like swollen slugs in the paved court of the Trefoil Mining Corporation. The Mind gripped the drone and lifted it up, up, and then as a youngster would skate a flat pebble across the still waters of a lake or river, the drone was skipped out, beyond the planet, beyond its moon and further, further, further, gathering speed until speed was a blur, until the Mind felt a resistance.

  Betelgeuse has it! said the Mind that was directed by David of Betelgeuse with his grown children behind him.

  The first of five, her Mind announced formally.

  Receiving.

  Lifting.

  Pause.

  Receiving.

  Lifting.

  Pause.

  Receiving. The pattern continued until all five drones had been delivered to their destination.

  That is all today.

  That is enough today! the Betelgeuse replied with feeling.

  Tut-tut, David. We must set the example for our young.

  We ARE our young today, Damia! Salutations, Afra, Laria, Thian.

  Salutations, David, Perry, Xahra, Morgelle.

  The subsequent silence was as rigid as the exchange had been fluid: almost painful. Laria felt a subtraction, knew that Thian had been dropped from the Mind. Then sensed her own exclusion and opened her eyes, rolling her head to release taut neck muscles. Saw Thian doing the same exercises.

  “Thank you,” Damia said warmly. “That made a hard task much easier.”

  “I’ve got the hang of it now, Mother,” Laria said shyly. “No headache.”

  “Those only come when you resist the link,” Damia said, reaching across the intervening space to ruffle her daughter’s hair. “All right, Thian?”

  The boy shook his head, rolled his eyes dramatically. “I must have been resisting. My head’s drumming.”

  Immediately Damia swung off her couch and went to sit on his, her long fingers massaging the column of his neck and up into the head, down again into the shoulder muscles. Thian made faces at Laria who sympathized because she knew how strong her mother’s fingers were even as she envied Thian the special treatment.

  “Comes with practice,” Afra said, sliding beside his daughter and giving her a gentle massage.

  Thian grimaced again. “We’ll get plenty of that now, won’t we?”

  “Enough to learn the technique required,” Damia said. “There, that should do the trick. Off you go, now. You’ve studies to do as well today!”

  Thian groaned and Laria was certain that he only pretended to the headache, hoping to be excused from lessons. Mother was a lot smarter than Thian! She kept her notion to herself, however, for she wasn’t in the mood to pick a fight right now. Being part of the Mind might be just part of the work of the telekinetic Talent but the merging, being part of her parents, her brother, being tuned to the generators exalted her—yes, exalt was exactly the word—in a way no other facet of her Talent did. She’d once tried to explain the complexity of that rapport to her father and stumbled badly. But they weren’t telepaths for nothing and he had cradled her in his arms, assuring her, telepathically, that he knew exactly what she meant. That that was how it should be, a transcendence of self. She had been much reassured.

  Despite the fact that she had grown up among high Talents, had given evidence of very strong aptitudes by the time she was three, there were certain aspects of the gifts that were occasionally overwhelming.

  “And that, my little love,” her father had said, cradling her gently and tenderly, letting his love for her wrap like a warm soft shawl about her, “is exactly how it should be. It doesn’t do to become arrogant and that’s a danger we must studiously shun.”

  Now she made her way down from the Tower, into the main room of the complex, waved to Keylarion, the Tower’s T-6, and Herault the stationmaster who looked inordinately relieved that the transfer of such mass had gone so smoothly. Xexo didn’t look up from the gauges of his beloved generators and Filamena, the expeditor, was busy watching a scroll of incoming cargo assignments.

  Tip and Huf looked up from the complicated stick game they were playing with Mur and Dip when she appeared on the steps. They whistled and began to gather up the splinters in front of them. Mur and Dip protested, and Laria had to laugh. No matter how often the two sets played, Tip and Huf were always the winners and Mur and Dip never seemed to figure out how. She signed to Mur that she couldn’t beat Tip and Huf either but that didn’t much appease them. Thian’s arrival did and the sextet set out back to the terraced house and the tutorials awaiting them. For all six young creatures had lessons to attend and that was how they occupied themselves until it was time to prepare lunch.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  WHEN her parents told Laria that she would shortly be going to the Mrdin
i homeworld, she was at first ecstatic. At the same time, Tip and Huf had been informed by the Aurigaen Mrdini chief and their joy to be going home was expressed in the form of incredible joyous acrobatics of such complexity that everyone in the Raven-Lyon household stopped whatever they were doing to see their display. The other ’Dinis joined in with suitable support gyrations, not as complex as Tip and Huf were managing, for after all, it was Tip and Huf who were going home.

  It was perhaps seeing such antics on her home terrace that made Laria realize that she would be leaving it. Leaving Saki, the Coonies, the Darbuls, even the slithers: leaving her brothers and sisters, and most of all leaving her parents and all that was familiar and homey. Laria suppressed the rising doubt and nebulous anxieties about her ability to handle all she would experience now. The exchange pact had been explained to her since the day, at five, she’d asked her parents why some people didn’t have ’Dini friends. But oh, how she would miss everyone!

  We would be terribly hurt if you didn’t, her father said gently, obviously speaking only to her. She managed a smile for him as she turned to where he stood on the top of the terrace steps with her mother. You will be only a thought away, dear heart, he added. We have that advantage.

  Yes, we do, Daddy, she replied stoutly and resolutely turned her thoughts to positive ones. The first was to fix in her mind’s eye the scene around her; their house with the mountains looming behind them in unbroken stretch, the city below her with the faint rattle and clang of mine machinery (a constant background noise), the ’Dinis dancing, the admiring audience of her brothers and sisters, Coonies and Darbuls, and even a few slithers who carefully kept to the banks where they would be less apt to be trampled by flippered feet.

  The evening sky was a particularly beautiful shade of azure, darkening slowly to the vivid depths of night. There was even a breeze, flowing down from the mountains, that was cold and redolent of the pungent vegetation that was welcoming Aurigaen spring. And, as ever, the faint acrid whiff that left a metallic aftertaste at the back of the throat.