Damia's Children

by Anne McCaffrey

  “It’d be very difficult to change the goals of a species you can’t even talk to,” Isthia said.

  “I don’t even want to talk to them,” the Rowan had said, giving a shudder as she vividly remembered the moment she, as focus of the merged female Talents, had briefly touched the Many Mind of the Hive queens. “There was nothing there to talk to!” she added after a moment’s thought.

  “We could just pick off each ship that’s found using the same methods, couldn’t we?” Cera Raven-Hilk asked.

  “We could,” Jeff replied. “But that would be a life’s work in itself . . .”

  “Besides tying up Primes and whole bunches of Talent, quite likely at the most inconvenient times,” the Rowan added, with a little sniff. “I certainly wouldn’t like to have to keep doing it, time after time. The ’Dinis’ estimate of how many Hive ships there could be is unnerving.”

  “How many is that?” Jeran asked diffidently.

  Classified, said both parents at once.

  Oh, well, you can’t blame me for trying, Jeran said.

  “At least we do now have a great many more Talents to call on than we did when you had to execute the first one,” Cera said, placidly. Her parents gave her such a long look that she blinked, wondering why she had incurred their disapproval. “The Two-Level mass mind merges didn’t take very long, after all.”

  “It took more than you think,” the Rowan said, remembering that Cera had been affected in utero during that brief, but exceedingly intense, assault. Maybe that was why she came out with such peculiar sentiments.

  * * *

  The Human ships following the ion trail were now far beyond any friendly systems. The traces remained strong, indicating excesses of speed which made the ion trail so easy to follow. The Human flagship, the Vadim, and her consorts, the Solidarity, the Reliant, and the Beijing, were experiencing supply shortages which must be remedied if they were expected to continue. Captain Ashiant of the Vadim made it very plain that he and the other Human captains insisted on continuing on toward the Hive homeworld no matter how long it took. To transport such long distances, the Towers involved—Deneb and Callisto—were also going to need reinforcements. There was even the hint that a Prime Talent would be required on the pursuit flagship, to facilitate future transportations and communications over the immense distances now involved.

  “All the old military commanders say it’s wrong to have too long a supply line,” Thian said when the subject of Tower augmentations came up.

  “This is the twenty-fourth century, Thian,” Roddie said, dismissing that concern. “We have skills and abilities those ancients never thought of. And,” he added pompously, “we haven’t had a land war in generations.”

  “Thian’s point is well taken,” Afra said at his most mild and Roddie flushed, hearing the subtle rebuke. “Neither species has explored the areas through which they’ve been passing. There’ve been no yellow stars, which are systems the Hivers seek, or where our folk could land and replenish supplies from natural materials. Naval hydroponics can only supply so much to augment frozen, dried, and canned comestibles. Water’s been recycled far too often for it to be potable. That’s actually the main problem though fuel supplies are also dwindling and must be replenished.”

  “Ice planet? Ice asteroids?” Roddie suggested.

  “Requires detours from the course into a system with an expense of fuel that might not be justified by results,” Afra said. Roddie’s face fell. “But it is an alternative that’s being considered.”

  “But that’s not a viable one, is it?” Thian said thoughtfully. “If yellow stars generate the kind of planets that the Hive wants and we need to find drinkable water, there’d be the possibility of a confrontation.”

  Afra nodded solemnly and Thian sighed at the complexity of it all.

  “We’ll think of something,” Roddie said proudly.

  “The ’Dinis might beat us to it,” and Laria’s grin was mischievous. “They’re very clever.”

  Roddie decided he had other things to do than argue with cousins.

  “Is it being a Denebian that makes him like that, or being just a T-3?” Laria asked her brother in a low voice.

  “Deneb does inculcate certain characteristics in its children,” Afra said, rising, “just as Aurigae instills others, not necessarily exemplary ones, in hers!”

  “Whooops!” Laria said, grinning at the subtle rebuke. “A few years in a Tower and he’ll probably turn into a quite bearable young man.”

  At that both her father and brother laughed and moved off to mingle with other guests.

  Several days later, Damia and Afra sent Thian a telepathic call to join them in the Tower room. Family matters were generally dealt with in the house, so Thian was instantly aware that this was an unusual summons. With some trepidation and a quick inventory of recent misdemeanors, Thian ’ported himself the short distance into the upper Chamber where his parents conducted all FT&T business.

  He didn’t dare probe his own parents but he could, and did, establish their mental tone: Damia was sad and worried, and his father seemed colored by regret and reluctance but was also containing pride, and more apprehensive than worried.

  “Thian,” his mother began, pausing to fingercomb over her shoulder the silver tress that even her son knew misbehaved when she was upset, “we’ve had a request . . .” She glanced for assistance to Afra.

  “Jeff Raven makes few,” Afra said, “and it is only a request which we three can examine, forget, or accept, as we decide.”

  Thian mastered the impatience with this round about talk and waited. He couldn’t even catch a hint of what this request was about.

  “What does my grandfather want?” Thian said, rather pleased with his adroit phrasing. It might generate the sort of response he wanted. It did.

  “Earth Prime,” and his mother corrected him firmly, “requires a T-1 to accompany the reinforcements to the rendezvous.”

  “Wow! I was right about supply lines, wasn’t I, dad!”

  What are you talking about, Thian? Damia asked, sharp with worries she tried to hide.

  He made a point the other day and it’s come to roost on his own shoulders, his father said, grinning. Going to honor it?

  “You mean, Granddad’s really considering me?” Thian couldn’t believe his great good luck. Wait’ll he told Roddie. His silly coz would be moldy with envy.

  That remark doesn’t become you, Afra said in a very tight voice and Thian shook himself, sharpening his attention to the matter at hand. That’s better.

  “You know how few T-1s there are . . .” Damia began, fiddling with the curl on the end of her silver tress which had found its way back over her shoulder. That automatic gesture reminded Thian that he often fiddled with the silver streak that was a genetic legacy from his mother. Even the baby Petra had a tuft of silver hairs at the temple, the cause of some amusement in the Denebian side of the family.

  “There’s nearly a hundred of us now,” Thian began in protest.

  “Not of working age,” Damia said. “You’re barely sixteen and while you’ve been trained to very high standards, you’ve only worked here in Aurigae . . .”

  “And Deneb in the summers,” Thian added, afraid she might not remember that.

  “Not the most active of Towers,” she replied. Then she gave him a little smile. “But you did well, and you’ve always done well here. It’s just that . . .”

  “Mom, you know I’ve read everything there is on naval histories, even military ones from the early centuries,” Thian said earnestly. “You know I’m the best there is at strategy games . . .”

  “Strategy is not involved here,” she said rather sharply. What is involved are very long lonely distances for my oldest son who has only just reached manhood.

  Then she let Thian feel what she was feeling and he almost burst into tears, despite his sixteen years. She was terribly afraid—afraid she might never see him again—that he’d die before his time, as her broth
er Larak had done. Larak often figured in Damia’s sadder thoughts: a pain that never really eased in its own special corner of her mind.

  She let him have that brief glimpse and shut it, giving herself a little shake of self-reprimand. His father had one hand on her shoulder, as he often did when Mother was upset about something.

  “Mother,” and Thian laid his hand on her arm, “we’re only a thought away no matter how far apart our bodies are.”

  She gave a little cry and embraced him, now letting him feel her pride in his response, her constant love and caring of him, and how immensely pleased she was to be able to supply a child of her body for this service.

  “Spoken like a true Lyon,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time, as she tightened her arms one more time before releasing him.

  “Why blame it on Lyons, Gwyn-Raven?” Afra said in a low but teasing tone.

  “It is a tremendously responsible position, Thian,” Damia said, restored to poise and dignity.

  “Don’t think I don’t know it,” Thian said. “And Granddad suggested me?”

  Afra nodded. “Oh, we’ve run through all the training squirts,” and his cocked eyebrow took the sting out of his words. “You can thank Gren for it. He made the final assessments. He considered you the best candidate—if we’d let you go.”

  “You mean you mightn’t’ve?” Thian was aghast at what he might have been deprived.

  Damia gave his father a sour look and pursed her lips a moment. “No, you should know us better than that, Thian Lyon! But we do believe that you’ve a good head on your shoulders, a fine sense of responsibility, and sufficient training to be an effective member of FT&T.”

  A sudden thought caught Thian. “But what about Mur and Dip?” He was appalled that he had forgotten his ’Dini companions even during that moment of personal success.

  “I told you,” Afra said, teasing his wife.

  Damia sighed and then smiled to relieve Thian’s growing concern. “They will accompany you. You’ve actually a double purpose: providing the search with a Prime and a working ’Dini team plus some language instruction. That should help ease relations between Human and ’Dini.”

  “Why? Are they bad?”

  Afra cleared his throat. “Not bad, exactly, but with inadequate communication, unnecessary problems have arisen that accurate interpretation could have avoided.”

  “Oh!”

  “You are young for such responsibility but your mother and I feel you have a mature enough attitude and certainly you communicate well with ’Dinis. You are well grown and you don’t look wet behind the ears—which is aided and abetted by the infamous Gwyn streak,” and Afra gave Thian’s silver lock a gentle tap. Afra cleared his throat, then added, “I believe that, and your interest in naval history and protocol, tipped the balance in your favor.”

  Thian lifted his chest, grinning as he remembered all the teasing he’d had for blurring his eyes over ancient texts and stupid manuals. You never did know when something you studied for the fun of it might become very useful indeed.

  “Now, I suggest that you give yourself,” his father said, “—say, half an hour, to appreciate this unexpected honor before you get your head back down to size. Because you’re not allowed to mention this to anyone. Not even your ’Dinis, until the formalities are observed and your official orders are cut.”

  “Not even Laria?”

  “Especially not your sister, Thian, since she’s slated to depart to Callisto soon,” his mother said. She gave his hair a brief stroke at his disappointment. “She’ll hear through the appropriate sources, dear.”

  “Consider this your first exercise in naval intelligence. You’ll soon hear many messages you may never even hint you’ve received.”

  “And I used to wonder why I had to help you with those big daddies all the time.” Thian’s active mind had also been cataloging the sort of materiel he’d be having to ’port to his squadron.

  “To every thing its use and season,” Afra said, obviously quoting.

  Just then a tray with glasses and a basket of tidbits came floating into the Tower room.

  “A celebration is obviously called for: quiet, necessarily limited to immediate family members but nonetheless a celebration, son,” Damia said, and herself placed one glass in Thian’s hand.

  Three glasses chimed melodiously as they met: their contents then ceremonially drunk.

  * * *

  Thian found it was harder to keep his mouth shut over this than he’d anticipated. It was even harder to suppress the inner excitement that threatened to bubble up whenever he considered his altered status. Fortunately, Laria was involved with renewing contacts with her siblings and their ’Dinis. She also ’ported frequently to the ’Dini village to spend time with relatives of those she knew on Clarf.

  The first time Thian had accompanied her, he had been awed at the sophistication of her ’Dini vocabulary. True, they had been paired with young ’Dinis, who were also learning their language from their adults, but vocabulary and complexity had reached a mature level even before Laria had gone to Clarf. But now . . . Thian went with her whenever he could, listening to the new combinations of sound and sign. He wouldn’t be talking baby-talk to the naval ’Dinis.

  Look, Thian, Laria said, turning on him before she went off for the fourth morning to the village, I’m real pleased you like my company but haven’t you something better to do with your time?

  Gee, Lar, I have missed you, he began, caught without a glib excuse ready. And it’s a real treat to hear you speak ’Dini. You’ve learned a great deal. I thought I was fluent . . . and he paused, hoping the flattery would cover his genuine need, but you’ve been using complex constructions I’ve never heard before.

  Laria gave him a long measuring look. Thian? You’re my brother and I know you well enough to know you’re covering. What?

  Could we just leave it that I NEED to improve technical ’Dini-speak?

  You’ll pick it up very quickly once you’re on Clarf, Thian, she began, you’re pretty fluent as it is.

  In day-to-day stuff, but not the technical jargon and I will need that, won’t I?

  She frowned slightly, cocking her head at him, and he could feel her mind push against his. He waggled a finger at her.

  “That’s not good manners,” he said.

  “You’ve never minded before. And you are hiding something.”

  “Not hiding,” he said with a grin, “but you know that we never talk Tower-business.”

  “Oh, all right, Thian, you can come today—for the last time.”

  It would be, Thian knew, but he couldn’t indicate that either. It was getting harder and harder to suppress his inner excitement. Still, if he couldn’t handle this minor incident, he oughtn’t to accept the assignment at all.

  You are the best candidate for this job, son, his father said softly. Never doubt that!

  Laria knows a lot more technical lingo than I do. Wouldn’t she be better?

  Having doubts is normal. Overcoming them is part of maturing. I would be more worried about your success if you didn’t question yourself. Your training and experience are more than adequate for this assignment. Laria would not do as well as you will!

  Thian let himself be reassured, especially as he wanted this duty more than anything. Very softly even in his own head, Thian added: Roddie would be livid with envy.

  * * *

  Dinner that last evening was not ostentatiously lavish but the meal happened to feature the favorite dishes of Thian, Mur, and Dip. No one made mention of this bias because their special foods were popular anyway. Thian got a bit misty-eyed, though, when his mother served him double-chocolate cake.

  I also baked a second one for you to take with you tomorrow, she added very privately and he nearly burst into tears.

  They dissipated with a suddenness that suggested “help,” leaving him happy and relaxed but no longer emotionally overloaded.

  You have always been an appreciative so
ul, his father said.

  Everyone appreciates double-chocolate cake, he, replied, in control of himself again.

  The transfer would take place late that evening, when the household was asleep. First they’d land at Callisto.

  “Just to keep you humble, Thian,” his mother said as they made their way through the dark still night to the Tower, “you and your ’Dinis are also-rans with urgently needed medical and food supplies.”

  “Thanks, Mom, I needed that,” Thian said facetiously.

  I know, and she grinned at him. “Your grandparents will join with David of Betelgeuse to push the shipment to rendezvous with the Starship Vadim.”

  “At least we’ll be pushed by the best,” he said. They had reached the capsule now and he placed his carisak inside, careful of the double-chocolate cake. His father went on up to the Tower to take his position. His mother hovered as he helped stow the pouches Mur and Dip handed him. They hopped in, clicking softly as they settled into their special hammocks. Then it was Thian’s turn to enter.

  Thian caught just the glint of moisture in his mother’s eyes before, unexpectedly, she threw her arms about him. When, he wondered as his arms closed about her, had she gotten so slender and so much smaller than he?

  When you got so much fatter and bigger, she said and shoved him toward the carrier. You big lunk! And on a different level which Thian was astonished to hear, she added, This is much harder than I thought it would be!

  Almost embarrassed by her remorse, Thian stumbled as he stepped in and then fell awkwardly across the couch, Mur and Dip clacking concern. He clucked a reassurance and clipped on his harness. The canopy closed.

  It’s not as if he’s gone forever, his mother’s thoughts continued.

  Easy, my love, and that was his father answering on the private level.

  Firmly Thian diverted his thoughts from this inadvertent contact and squinched his shoulders into the couch.

  NOT TO WORRY, Mur said.

  TOGETHER US, Dip added.