Damia's Children

by Anne McCaffrey

  It was a good supper: a stir-fry with the greens chopped fine and cooked crisp in fat. There were enough greens to satisfy him and Gil who were particularly fond of them done that way.

  Mother was just about to serve the sweet course when she jerked erect and the “look” crossed her face. She whirled, gesturing for all of them to link with her. It was now such a reflex action that they were linked before the second word in Damia’s mind.

  Recognizing his grandfather’s voice, and the tone in which the news was couched, Rojer’s eyes widened in reaction.

  . . . best possible news has come through from the Beijing of its pursuit of the Hive escape pod: it has been found with its occupants alive.

  Soundlessly Rojer mouthed “Wow”: a sentiment which certainly his parents shared, judging by their jubilant expressions.

  Jeff Raven’s mind touch relaxed as he continued. Evidently very much alive and the Beijing captain says that he has grave doubts of how to contain the occupants if they break through the seal they managed to affix to the main hatch of the pod. He recommends immediate transfer to reinforced accommodations. That means Talented help on the spot. The mass is such that I’d not risk collecting it myself.

  You wouldn’t DO it by yourself, Jeff Raven, said the unmistakable voice of the Rowan.

  Rojer noticed Morag’s grin and signaled her to clear her expression. Grandmother wasn’t being funny.

  Where’s the pod right now? Damia asked.

  When Smelkoff realized that the hatch might be opened, he put the pod off the ship, on tow. He couldn’t risk it staying on the Beijing, even if they evacuated the air in the shuttle bay. Damned awkward that Thian’s so far away, on board the KLTL. Ah . . . Jeff began.

  Rojer saw his mother’s eyes flash.

  Father!

  Actually, my dear, I was wondering if I could borrow Afra and young Rojer . . .

  Rojer’s only fifteen . . .

  Dad and I fling big daddies about all the time, Mom, Rojer cried though he knew he oughtn’t to interrupt.

  Dad . . . Damia began again.

  They all heard Jeff’s sigh. Rojer thought his grandfather had a real good repertoire of expressive sighs, though he dared not think that very loudly.

  Afra and Rojer have already teamed up on many occasions when you were unavailable, Damia. This is a one-shot affair. We’ll get them out to the Beijing. They’ve the experience required from shifting so many drones from the mine yards so the pod being on tow won’t be a problem, once they can see it. Captain Smelkoff has estimated the mass and volume involved which is no more than both have handled easily. Afra will handle the focus, if that’s what’s bothering you. But we’ve got to get that thing in a secure installation as soon as possible.

  Then Rojer saw his mother narrow her eyes in a way he knew that would exclude him from hearing what she said on a very tight personal mental shaft to his grandfather and he knew he was going to be left out of the fun things. Why hadn’t he remembered to hunt today? It wasn’t fair, because he was a T-1, just too young for Tower responsibility as yet even if he could do everything on his own . . . especially with his father. They really linked well, better than he could with his mother, or even with both parents during very sustained heavy ’ports.

  Afra leaned forward across the table, lightly tapping his wife’s hand and she turned to make eye contact. Rojer held his breath, wanting to be bold enough to “peek” at what was being said, but knowing that would be the death of any chance he had. Surely his father was arguing that he ought to have this chance . . .

  In the hour, then, and thank you, Damia. Once again, you’re decorating the family crown with the jewels of your womb!

  DAD!

  Rojer couldn’t help grinning because his grandfather had meant him to know that he’d get this splendid chance to see some action! Then he caught how thin his mother’s lips were and saw the anger in her eyes.

  Oh, pleeeeeeassssse, he said, shutting his eyes so he wouldn’t see any other negative signs.

  Oh, open your eyes, Rojer. Wiser heads than mine have prevailed, his mother said, her tone caustic, but when he dared look in her direction, she had just the slightest hint of a smile. I think you’re too young but my father and yours believe you’re not! She cocked one eyebrow up—in challenge—and he grinned back at her.

  “In an hour, Mother?” Rojer was so excited he could barely enunciate the words.

  “You’re going to let Roj go?” Zara asked, incredulous with eyes wide as saucers.

  Damia cleared her throat. “He won’t be gone long, Zara,” she said firmly and shot Rojer a reproving glance for he was jumping up and down in his chair.

  WE GO TO THE BEIJING, TO THE SHIP, TO SEE THE QUEEN, he told his ’Dinis who began hooting and whistling. That set off all the rest of the young ’Dinis—with the exception of Gil and Kat who were so astonished at their good fortune that they had covered their poll eyes.

  It took all the adults, and some loud crackling from Fok and Tri, to reduce the noise level. Then Damia called her dinner table to order.

  “You’ll need all your dinner for a stunt like this,” she said and served Rojer first.

  It happened to be his favorite fruit pie. He’d finished up his portion when Zara dumped half of hers on his plate: her manner so mournful that she must think he was going to his death or something.

  Sweetie, don’t be sad! I want to go, he said, cuddling his sister because he could never bear for Zara to be anything but happy and carefree. She never whined but oh, could she look pathetic! Not even Mother could withstand a truly unhappy Zara.

  Morag, on the other hand, was frankly envious of his assignment and Rojer hoped that this would settle her down when she had to be in a Tower link. Kaltia, Ewain, and Petra were still much too young to do more than exercise around the house and grounds. But Morag was twelve and a good strong Talent, probably Prime stuff—if she’d ever work at it.

  Who was he to talk?

  That’s right, son, his father said unexpectedly and Rojer grimaced, hoping Dad hadn’t “heard” much. Dad just didn’t violate privacy. He had wanted to get his attention. If you’ve finished eating, we’ve some details to go over, and listen for. They’re still deciding where to plonk the pod down.

  I’ll just bet they are! Rojer still couldn’t believe his good fortune. Going on such a trip and with his dad! Then he saw his mother’s unqualified smile of approval and grinned back. You’ll see, Mom. We’ll make ’em all notice Iota Aurigae!

  Damia was still smiling but she said, I’d rather the operation went so smoothly, no one noticed!

  Damia, love, he’s fifteen and this is glory!

  You got it, Dad! And Rojer gave the all-ahead-go signal.

  “You’ll need ship suits and they’re packed away,” Damia said, leaving the table to go to the storeroom.

  Is she really angry? Rojer asked his father as softly as he could while he pretended to finish scraping his dessert plate.

  Not angry, son, not angry at you. You’re all growing up too fast for her. The proud look Afra gave his son made him feel as if he could lick a Hiver queen single-handedly.

  I don’t believe that will be necessary, his grandfather’s voice said gently in his head. Please listen, Rojer!

  Right and tight, sir!

  Then his parents added their touch to his and he knew this was a Talent business. He sat up straight in his chair and, putting a hand on each of his ’Dinis, made them stop their wriggling.

  An old installation of Earth’s moon is available as security quarters for the queen and whatever else occupies that pod. I’ve just lifted a probe with all necessary placement pictures to the Beijing and Captain Smelkoff will be fully briefed and is expecting you. Your grandmother and I will ’port your carrier to the Beijing . . .

  The very best handling, added his grandmother’s unmistakable voice at its driest.

  Rojer didn’t dare even say “hello”—this was business.

  This is where you’ll
be setting the pod down, and Rojer’s mind was flooded with details that instantly organized themselves into a coherent vision of moonscape, a dome, with blocky buildings under secondary domes. The place slightly resembled Callisto Tower compound in that it was protected from the vacuum by main and auxiliary domes. It was bleak, whereas Callisto was bright and colorful. The viewpoint altered while his grandfather continued to explain the internment site.

  Food will be provided: Hivers are vegetarians and an ample selection is being installed. The Rowan’s working on that right now with both Human and ’Dini biologists and botanists. If no indication is shown of tending the crops, it’s easy enough to resupply. They can make what they like of the buildings: they’re all empty and all exit locks are being sealed. The only way in or out will be by ’portation. Fortunately Hivers are also dependent on oxygen and it’s doubtful if there’d be the Hiver equivalent of space-suits aboard a pod.

  Aren’t there going to be guards, or scientists or something? Rojer couldn’t help but ask.

  Not in situ, Rojer, his grandfather said just when Rojer thought he’d get a scolding from his mother for blurting that out. Remote sensors are all over the facility. That’s one reason it was chosen. The ’Dinis have nothing comparable anywhere and we can provide their experts with laboratories, scanners, and whatever diagnostic or screening instrumentation they need. Our science has not been on the defensive mode as long as the ’Dinis’ has.

  The images faded.

  Sir, what if that pod has communits ‘n’ things?

  Jeff Raven chuckled. Quick lad. It took the High Council a lot longer to ask that. Truth is, Rojer, where would a comm signal go now that their homeworld’s rubble? The ’Dinis assure us that there are no nearby Hive worlds. They aren’t a species that clubs together for protection as we and the ’Dinis do. Each Hive world is apparently autonomous. The only suitable planets they won’t attack are ones already colonized by their species. Unless—which the best of the experts agree is unlikely—they have some sort of integral communication . . .

  They couldn’t be telepaths, could they?

  Don’t interrupt your grandfather, his mother said sternly.

  He’s a member of the mission, Damia, he has the right to ask questions. They’ve been good ones. No, Rojer, there is no evidence of telepathy beyond what your grandmother and other Denebian women “felt” which many say was a mass precognition or premonition of tremendous danger. More that, than a thought transference. I think it’s reasonably safe to say that no interstellar communication was ever developed. However, the monitors about the compound are extremely sensitive and will record the most minor variations. The underground units have clocked solar winds and monitored even the slightest coronal flares. I think the creatures will be safely contained.

  There’s also a very handy and hot sun in case of emergency, his grandmother said in a voice that sent shivers down Rojer’s spine.

  Any other questions? Jeff asked.

  Rojer shook his head, mentally as well as physically.

  We’ll be ready as soon as we’ve changed, Jeff, Afra said and paused. Xexo’s got the generators up.

  Rojer remembered his manners and wished his grandparents a good day.

  That’s a few hours off right now, lad, but I accept the thought.

  Rojer wondered if Grandfather had really meant that.

  Father loves to pun, his mother said, her tone amused so Rojer realized that he hadn’t embarrassed her.

  Then he, Gil, and Kat made a dash for the bathroom and did very thorough jobs of cleansing themselves. Afra came in just as Rojer had finished, with a single suit of navy blue over his arm. He was dressed in a similar outfit, and there was an unusual twinkle in his eyes. It occurred to Rojer that his father was going to enjoy this break from routine just as much as he was and he grinned at that perception.

  It is sometimes very beneficial to do something different. Afra tossed the single suit at him. Wear your Tower shoes. The Navy gets annoyed if you scar their planking or decking or whatever the term is for their floors.

  When they came back into the living room, Zara was cheerful, too, as she and Morag were clearing the dining table with their ’Dinis. Rojer rather thought Morag was trying very hard not to look envious or resentful.

  “I’ll ride Saki while you’re gone. She needs the exercise,” Morag said, watching to see his reaction.

  “I appreciate the offer, Morrie,” he said with great dignity, “but we’re not going to be gone more than a day.”

  “You didn’t ride her yesterday, you know.” Trust Morag to keep track.

  “So you’ll ride her first thing tomorrow morning,” his mother said and Morag rolled her eyes and turned to her chore, “then you’ll do Tower duty. With my top Talents off gallivanting about the galaxy, we gals have to prove we can stand in with no trouble at all.”

  Zara looked as if she’d been offered a summer on Deneb with that silly cousin she adored, but Morag tossed Rojer a “so-who-needs-you” look. He didn’t need his mother’s quick glance to know he’d better not react to that blatant challenge.

  Then in the next breath, it was time to go. Gil lost its favorite belt and when that was found, Kat started drinking bowls of water until Fok stopped that, and hauled Kat off to drain.

  They got to the Tower and into the capsule well before the end of the hour. Rojer settled himself, strapping Gil and Kat in on either side, both squirming like eels, as the generators built. His father was last in and then Keylarion herself closed the hatch.

  Ready? His mother sounded so cool and businesslike. Just remember, and suddenly her voice wasn’t so sure: to his astonishment, she seemed to catch herself back, but continued, just remember that your father links first, Rojer.

  He knew what she meant and why her voice had suddenly altered.

  You’ve drilled me well enough in that protocol, Mother. Have no fear!

  Even through the stout metal walls of the personnel carrier, he heard the exact moment when the generators reached the peak note. He didn’t feel motion—but then he never did when his mother or father ’ported. He did feel a subtle alteration in the pressure of ’portation.

  He’s clever, this one, Jeff, said his grandmother and Rojer realized that his mother had handed over the ’port to Callisto Prime.

  The pressure increased and he felt his father’s fingers squeeze his hand. He turned his head and grinned, saw his father grin back and then the pressure went away. Outside the capsule were distinct noises, metallic clangings, shouts, orders.

  Someone politely rapped on the hatch. “You all right in there, sirs?”

  “Indeed we are.”

  The hatch opened and an older man looked in, then braced himself and saluted. “Chief Petty Officer Godowlning, Mister Lyons sir! Captain Smelkoff’s compliments. He’s on his way here but you sure made it in a hurry,” he added in a less formal tone.

  Rojer tried not to gawk and turned to release the straps on his ’Dinis who began to snicker.

  GOOD DAY. GOOD DREAMS? Godowlning said in understandable but oddly accented ’Dini and that set both of them clittering and clattering.

  “Thank you!” Rojer said, not knowing the proper way to address a chief petty officer. He should have listened to Thian’s maunderings about naval protocol and stuff.

  “T’ank oo,” Gil replied in its best Basic.

  Godowlning’s broad pinkish face was graced by a jovial smile, showing yellowish but even teeth.

  THE SHIP WELCOMES MRDINI GUESTS and the Chief got that sentence out with the concentration of one who has rote learned phrases and was not really thinking in the language. But thinking in ’Dini, as Rojer well knew, was not easy to achieve.

  “You don’t know how pleased they are to hear ’Dini, Chief Godowlning,” Afra said, rising up from the carrier.

  “Your son was giving lessons, Prime, and I took as many as I could,” the chief said and then, hearing new voices, turned. Rojer could see his shoulders ease with relief. �
�Here’s the captain.” He leaned conspiratorially toward Afra, a tableau that made Rojer grin. His father was long and lean and the chief rather short—Rojer was taller—and as rotund as regulations allowed. He turned now and braced again. “Captain, sir, the Primes have arrived.”

  “For the record, chief,” Afra said in a low voice as the captain hurried to the cradle, “I’m not the Prime. My son is. I’m T-2.”

  The chief gave Rojer a worried look but Rojer smiled at him as he’d often seen his mother smile at skeptics and bent to help Gil and Kat from the carrier.

  “I say, Mr. Lyon . . . Misters Lyon,” and Smelkoff corrected himself with a genial laugh that echoed in the big shuttle bay, “you are prompt to the second. Caught me still on the bridge. But we’ve auxiliary screens here so you can see what we’ve salvaged.”

  He was then close enough and extended his hand.

  One shake is only polite. Shield, Afra told his son as he followed his own instructions.

  Rojer complied but noticed the surprised look on the Chief’s face. Their acquiescence to the courtesy did much to raise them in his estimation. Talents rarely allowed casual contacts but to have refused the forgetful captain would have been impolite.

  Remember that, Afra said.

  “So you’re the Prime, are you, boy? This your first official act?”

  “No, sir, I’ve been on Tower duty since I was twelve.” Rojer could “feel” his father listening hard and not reminding him to be properly modest about his abilities. “All of us do Tower time. But my father is the focus, not me. He’s got to guide. I’m the grunt.”

  Rojer heard someone’s politely muffled guffaw but he could also sense his father’s approval, and that the captain was totally reassured.

  “That wasn’t how Earth Prime described your separate talents, young Mr. Lyon, but whatever gets that pod where it’s safe . . .” Only the two Talents were aware of how nervous and vulnerable he felt, even with the pod towed kilometers behind the Beijing. Outwardly the captain was relaxed, assured, and exuding an air of authority and competence. “This way . . .” and he led them to the companionway leading up to the control room. “Commander Strai, my Chief Engineer, is waiting for you in case you need to know anything about our engines.”