Damia's Children

by Anne McCaffrey

  There was speculation over what would happen if the Hive worlds knew a queen was held prisoner on Earth. Since it was unlikely that even the B Squadron’s quarry would know that the biggest ever Hive ship had been destroyed, why would they care?

  Which made this lone queen’s life even more important to Zara.

  Miner Representative Mexalgo approached Aurigae Tower for transport to Earth for an important meeting of the Federated Nine Star Miners and Metallurgists Association. That was Zara’s chance for Mexalgo was a large man, nearly two meters tall and close to a hundred and ten kilos. He wouldn’t fit in the usual single carrier. A double was allotted him. He also had some alloy samples he wanted to bring with him. Zara nearly yodeled with delight. She was so slight in build that she wouldn’t cause an imbalance, especially if she “lifted” herself. And she was small enough so that she could fit under the second padded couch, with a dark blanket covering her from Mexalgo’s notice.

  And, when the double carrier was cradled in the yard first thing in the morning, she took breakfast with the family as usual but when she went back to her room, ostensibly to access her morning’s Teach, she assumed a crouched position and ’ported right into the carrier. She hadn’t quite judged the interior and barked her shins hard against the inner couch and scraped her back along the outer one. She ought to have crouched longways to the carrier, not athwart it. Rubbing her legs fiercely and setting a minor block to reduce the ache, she positioned herself, her sac, and the blanket so that she’d be lost in the shadow when the carrier was open to settle MR Mexalgo.

  She’d put her Teach on automatic the night before so it would air and turn off at appropriate times, and left a note saying she’d gone to look for greens. No one would expect to see her before dinnertime.

  She had a moment’s shock when something very heavy swung into her back as Mexalgo settled himself.

  “You’ll want to secure those samples to the other couch, Mexalgo,” the stationmaster said, and Zara caught in her breath and shielded tightly against the chance that Keylarian might investigate.

  “Why?” grunted the miner rep.

  “Tower policy, sir. Wouldn’t want you squashed. The pack’ll fit nicely on the spare couch and belt down safely.”

  That was accomplished and the hatch closed. Despite holding her shields down as tight as she could, Zara could “feel” the initial lift of the capsule.

  “Takes longer’n I thought it would,” Mexalgo was muttering. “When are they going to ’port me? Don’t want to be late for that meeting. Awkward having different times on different worlds. Why’nt they synchronize?”

  Zara would have laughed at his ignorance and his nervousness. She’d known when they left and when they’d arrived seconds later, and then the hatch opened.

  “Miner Representative Mexalgo?” and cool air flooded the carrier. “I’m T-10 Guanil. Ground transport will take you to the Blundell Building where an air car awaits you. Here, let me undo that for you, sir.”

  Neither man had any inkling of her presence and Zara stopped the trembling in her belly. She did exert just a little pressure to keep the, hatch from locking. Just that little bit wouldn’t be noticed but using the kinetics necessary to unlock it from the outside might be. This was a secured area.

  Outside she could hear all kinds of activity but then Earth Prime was an extremely busy facility, especially since the operations against the Hiver species had stepped up. She could pick up a gestalt from any one of the engines she heard moving about outside. But where did she want to go now?

  She had to decide that no one would expect to be ’pathed here on the cargo field. And Roddie was bringing shipments in from Earth every day . . . What if she could find one? If not today, then tomorrow.

  Carefully she let her senses flow beyond the capsule, just as she’d been taught, to estimate and establish her surroundings. It had used to be a game they’d all played, the reward for the most comprehensive report being one of Dad’s origami figures. She didn’t have as many as Laria, Thian, and Rojer had gotten, but then she was younger than they were and hadn’t done that exercise as often. Morag’d only gotten two.

  She was amazed at the size of the cargo yard, or the cradles that emptied and filled almost instantaneously. Then she began to worry if hers would be flipped out again and quickly, despite her barked shins and bruised back, ’ported herself underneath the carrier. There was no one immediately nearby so she cautiously looked around the prow of the capsule.

  Gradually, as she ’probed carefully, she realized that there were distinct areas: she was in a “live” cradle which was nowhere near as busy as some of the others, where goods were loaded onto and from immense grav-lift platforms that silently went up and down the ranks of drones, large and small. Most of the first grav-lift was crated or wrapped. Nothing “fresh.” Nothing even marked fresh food.

  She was suddenly startled to hear voices coming near her.

  “Okay, use that double, Orry,” a man’s voice said. “We can put the crates in. The Talent’s always careful lifting so nothing’ll roll out or crash about. Handles his stuff like he would a baby. Don’t know why he bothers since she doesn’t eat it.”

  “Who does eat then? Them in the Module.”

  “I doubt it,” said the first voice with a snort. “It’d be contaminated er something, having been down there by that critter. I sure as hell wouldn’t touch it. All this choice number one stuff going to an insect.”

  “Big insect . . . okay, strap this down. Harness’ll just fit.”

  Zara did a scan, as she’d been taught, to assess mass and volume in a capsule. There wasn’t much space left. Yes, there was. If she folded into a tight ball, she could just fit on the end of the couch where the fresh fruit had been tied down.

  This time she knocked herself on the head and nearly gave her presence away as well by her inadvertent exclamation of pain.

  “You hear that, Orry?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Ah, nothing. Let’s get out of the way. Carrier FT-387-B ready for ‘lift.’ Now like I said . . .”

  And she heard the voices dwindle away.

  She also felt the “lift”: a little jerky as the Talent had to expend more gestalt to ’port her weight.

  What have they sent along today? And, if she wasn’t mistaken, that voice was her cousin Roddie’s. She had done her homework, however, and knew exactly where she’d been landed: in bay A, the original facility of the now greatly expanded Module. A second carrier should be in the other cradle. She ’ported herself out of the first one and then hid behind the second. She’d bumps and bruises enough getting in and out of capsules not to want to risk any more.

  She was no sooner hidden than the door slid open and she “sensed” her cousin Roddie. His mind was full of his duty and his concern for his charge. He’d ordered some specially succulent tropical fruits—she’d shown a real interest in fruit until just recently: eating and saving pips and seeds. She wasn’t even doing that lately. He had to stimulate her appetite, somehow, someway. The xenbios and xenzoos were getting vehement about her lack of interest in the larvae. Those things could die from neglect just like the young of any species. If the queen didn’t make a move to attend them soon, they’d have to be taken from her to join the program. Two had made successful transitions to the next step in their life cycle . . . Roddie only knew the fact not the reality of the transition.

  Zara congratulated herself on being on time. She wasn’t too late. She’d help the poor queen. She’d save her. The sounds of scuffling continued.

  “Right. The fruit first,” and Zara followed Roddie’s mind as he delivered sweet-perfumed melons to the occupant of Heinlein Base. “Bingo!” he said.

  His irreverent attitude towards important things had always raised dislike in his cousins and, despite having heard his mental ruminations, it roused Zara’s enmity. She followed his second ’port.

  Felt his confusion. “Hey, now, what’s that?”

  “What�
�s what, lieutenant?”

  “I don’t quite know, sergeant, but I think I should find out.”

  Horrified, Zara took a deep breath and followed the direction of his last ’port and slipped on the congealed juices of many ripe fruits, falling backwards and cracking her head against a larvae sac.

  For a long moment, Zara was stunned. And then she felt terribly cold: as if every fiber of her body was frozen. Zara paused, knowing perfectly well that the temperature of the Base was kept at 32° Celsius. Then she looked down at the motionless body of the queen. It was a lot larger than Zara realized: taller than she was, though she wasn’t tall: short for a Lyon, in fact. Not for a Gwyn. Fleetingly she remembered Rojer telling her how much she resembled her grandmother.

  Well, she did, and she was here for a purpose. And she had part of the answer. 32° Celsius was not warm enough for an egg-laying queen nor the eggs around here. Zara sensed terrible hunger, terrible weakness, fear of leaving a task undone. Solitude! Hunger! Cold! Strangeness everywhere. Cold! Hunger!

  Zara Raven-Lyon? What are you doing down there? She stared up at the Observation Module, aware she was dripping rancid fruit juice.

  She’s cold! She’s bloody freezing to death! She’s frozen, that’s why she can’t eat. Turn up the temperature. Get more shavings down here to cover her and her eggs or you’re going to lose them all.

  How under the seventy suns of the Alliance do you know that, Zara Lyon!

  Hive minds are female. The Rowan and everyone else who heard the Hive Many Mind were female. I’m female! She’s cold! Turn up the heat!

  I’ve already turned it. And I’m turning you up here to face heat of another kind, young lady!

  Zara felt him touch her, to ’port her to the Module. She resisted, grinning.

  Did you forget, Cousin Rhodri, that I’m T-1. You can’t lift me unless I want to come.

  I suggest, said another voice with great authority and no humor, that you lift yourself into the Module immediately, Zara Gwyn-Lyon!

  Grandmother Rowan, don’t make me until she’s warm enough to eat because she needs help and I’ll give it to her if no one else will!

  Why you cheeky little snip!

  A male chuckle spared Zara from matching strengths with her grandmother. She’s come a long way to do this, Rowan, and it was her grandfather. Since she’s brave enough to be there, and may be correct in her diagnosis, let’s give her the chance to prove it. Otherwise, the experts are fearful we will lose the queen.

  Over the next two hours, Zara removed what she could to reach some comfort for herself in what became midsummer midday tropical heat. But the queen began to move, began to eat, and Zara pushed more and more food close enough for her to grasp it with her palps.

  When the bales of shavings appeared, Zara piled them around the eggs and the larvae. Her cousin sent her down something to drink to ease her own parched throat, a sweat-band and replaced towels as soon as they became sopping.

  Then slowly, the queen worked herself free of her egg pile, crawling forward on her upper limbs. Zara, keeping a respectful distance of those long arms and powerful-looking palps, remounded the shavings. The queen continued to eat. When she stopped, Zara moved as far from her as she could, with the larvae in between. The queen busied herself with adding more shavings, as if criticizing Zara’s efforts. Then she went into stationary mode.

  Zara could sense nothing.

  You’ve done what you set out to do, Zara, now report to the Module, her grandmother said but she didn’t sound angry even if her statement of what Zara was to do now was not something Zara would, or could, disobey. I suggest that you shower before you join us on Callisto. There was a thread of amusement in that addition.

  I’m in for it though, Zara thought, but I did do what I set out to do. And the queen will live now!

  * * *

  To her surprise those on the Module did not attack her, or put a guard over her. The first thing Captain Waygella did was hold her nose and suggest that a cleanup was the first priority.

  “We’ve got a good recycling plant in the Module but, child, you’ll use up all the deodorants for the month.” So Zara was led, at a jog trot, to the sanitary facility, someone thrust a big towel in her hand and someone else a knee-length tunic and some soft soled station shoes. Only when she picked up her suit, after a long shower, did Zara realize the pong she’d given off. At arm’s length she pinched two fingers on the suit leg and thrust it into the disposal. Then she scrubbed the fingers again.

  She was just opening the door, noting a female soldier outside when she was arbitrarily ’ported to the shuttle and beside the carrier she’d hidden behind.

  In you get, child, her grandfather said. We’ll spare you what publicity we can.

  Zara “sensed” that Jeff Raven wasn’t exactly angry with her, more surprised than angry, but it was only him she could be sure of on that score.

  She was right about that for when she arrived at Callisto, she was met in the yard by Gollee Gren, her grandfather’s first assistant, and the man who decided where Talents should be placed when they were old enough to have official assignments.

  “You have surprised all of us, young Zara!”

  “But, don’t you see, Uncle Goll, I had to do what I did. No one else knew.”

  “Zara, honey,” and he put an arm about her shoulders, sort of guiding her toward the path that led to her grandmother’s house, “the only thing that saves you from being sent forever to a boondock Capellan transfer station is that you did know. And you did save the queen.”

  Zara began to feel a little better and lengthened her step to match his longer stride. His arm was comforting across her shoulders and she knew that she’d need comforting if her mother was in Grandmother’s house.

  She didn’t even dare “sense” if her parents were there.

  I’m here, and she felt the cool serenity of her great-grandmother lap over her. Your mother and father are far too busy pushing big daddies about the Alliance.

  Then they were on the steps and the door was open. Great-grandmother Isthia and, Zara’s eyes widened, the woman she was named after was there as well, Elizara. That sunk Zara’s spirits. She’d’ve known where she was with Mother and Dad, even with Grandmother and Grandfather, but Isthia and Elizara . . . ! Uncle Gollee’s arm was still strong on her shoulders and she felt the touch of both her great-grandmother and the medic implacably—if kindly—gathering her to them.

  * * *

  Rojer woke when he heard the klaxon of red alert. He scrambled into clothes, wondering for a brief frantic second if he was supposed to go to his escape pod. But this was red alert, not abandon ship. He was supposed to report to the bridge for either yellow or red alert. He pushed his feet through the legs of the fatigue suit, found the ship shoes with his toes at the same time as he poked his arms through the sleeves.

  STAY HERE. WILL RETURN FOR YOU, he told his sleepy ’Dinis as he closed the front fastening. Then he ’ported himself to his station on the bridge and just missed colliding with Commander Metrios who was lunging for his station.

  Rojer opened his mind and found the captain’s. The alert was not for danger to them but to the incoming Hive ship which seemed to be under attack.

  The previous day, Rojer had put several probes into geosynchronous orbits about the inhabited planet, high enough to avoid many Hive units, and about the moons which previous probing had shown to have weapon emplacements of some kind.

  These planetary probes were showing unusual activity and the lunar ones indicated long range torpedoes were being aimed at the incoming vessel.

  “Doesn’t have an updated security code, huh?” Metrios remarked to their gunnery officer, a Lieutenant Commander Yngocelen.

  “Either that or they know that vessel’s coming in loaded with queens and they don’t need more. Bearing in mind,” Yngocelen added, “what we know of their colonizing rationale and what seems to be happening on the planet.”

  “Yes, but it’s their own spe
cies, isn’t it?” the astrogator said, her voice puzzled.

  “Like I said, maybe they don’t have today’s password. Wouldja look at that barrage! Damned glad we don’t have to run it!”

  “They’re not hitting a thing. Look at the blasts!”

  “Maybe a shot across the bows?” suggested the exec.

  “Their marksmanship’s not great, Ynggie,” Metrios said contemptuously. “And the incoming’s not in range, not by spatials! Why’nt they wait?”

  “Call for you, Captain,” Doplas said, “signal from Captain Prtglm.”

  “On screen.”

  “This is how they fight, Captain Osulvan,” said Prtglm. “Barrage will continue until ship is either destroyed or retires. Then it will be followed until it is dead.”

  “But it’s their own ship, Captain.”

  “The queens do not like to share, Osulvan,” Prtglm replied.

  “Perhaps the incoming ship has not been able to identify itself as being a Hiver, or that it comes from the destruction of the home world.”

  “That does not matter, Osulvan. Too many queens! The extra die!”

  “At least we’re learning where their surface to space missiles are launched,” Yngocelen said, his hands busy above his terminal. “I’m logging them in.”

  “Any chance they’d exhaust their supply so we’d have a clear run in?” Metrios asked.

  “Not a valid theory, Commander,” Prtglm said.

  “Whoops!” Doplas said and one of the probe screens suddenly went blank.

  The loss of one probe did not mitigate the volume of destruction that could be followed.

  “This is different,” Prtglm said suddenly as the missiles which had begun to land on the surface of the incoming ship altered to miss.

  “They can’t miss. They’re in range,” cried Ynggie. “How can they possibly miss? They’re bouncing missiles off the hull!”