The Rowan

by Anne McCaffrey

  ‘Sedation?’ the ship’s medical officer suggested to the distraught Lusena, who vainly tried to persuade her charge that no danger existed on this ship.

  ‘We might have to keep her sedated the entire trip,’ Lusena murmured. ‘Even the most intensive therapy does not seem to have significantly reduced her trauma. It’s entering a ship that’s upset her so. Not that I blame her.’

  One moment she had her arms wrapped about the struggling body, the next moment the Rowan child had disappeared, even the pukha discarded in her haste.

  ‘Oh, my word, where can she have gone?’ Lusena cried in panic.

  I warned you, came the ominous voice of Siglen. The child shouldn’t leave Altair.

  Lusena’s attention was caught by Siglen’s phraseology, mindful of Yegrani’s clairvoyance. ‘She has a long and lonely road to go before she travels.’ ‘Oh, lords above,’ Lusena murmured, her sympathies entirely with the child.

  Nor will you force such a young and powerful mind to leave the planet of her birth, Siglen intoned. Then she added, sounding almost sympathetic, especially as she has just proved that she is telekinetic as well as telepathic.

  ‘But that child has got to receive proper training,’ Lusena cried, suddenly fearful for her.

  And I, mindful of my responsibility to my Talent and to preserve this planets resources, will undertake her education.

  ‘Not if you treat that child the way you have been, Siglen,’ Lusena cried, startling the people on the boarding way as she waved her fist in the air.

  There was an audible pause, a thickening of the air about the small group, a palpable silence.

  She has been a very naughty, badly behaved little girl, was the somewhat chastened reply. She must learn manners if she is to be my pupil. But I will not have her terrified out of her mind by traveling in space. You will be reassigned as her companion, Lusena.

  ‘Guard the guardian,’ Yegrani had said. Lusena had not had the slightest notion that events would conspire to appoint her to that gratuitous position. She sighed but, when Secretary Camella implored her to be the Rowan’s nursemaid, she agreed. She genuinely cared for the little orphan who needed a staunch friend to deal with the stresses and tensions which Lusena could foresee without a vestige of clairvoyance in her Talent.

  Go and collect her from your room in the hospital, Siglen told her, but rather more politely than she usually delivered orders. That seems to be the only place she knew to go.

  ‘I’ll collect her,’ Lusena said, scooping up the pukha. ‘But you had better be kind to her. Don’t you dare be anything but kind to her, Siglen of Altair!’

  Of course, I will be kind to her, Siglen said, chidingly. What is her name?

  ‘She calls herself,’ and Lusena paused significantly, ‘the Rowan.’ She felt the slightest resistance and opened her mouth to retort.

  She’ll find something else more suitable when she has been in my Tower awhile, was the soothing answer. Kindly bring the Rowan to me now, Lusena. She is weeping on a very broad band.

  In point of fact, the Rowan child did not take up residence at Siglen’s Tower for nearly nine years. Lusena had two children of her own – a girl nine and a boy fourteen with minor but valid Talents. Lusena urged the Secretary of the Interior to let her keep the Rowan at home, taking a temporary leave of absence from the Port Hospital. It was a pleasant enough house which was, as most Talent residences were, already shielded. Lusena distrusted Siglen for no reason she was ever able to articulate so she accepted, even encouraged the procrastination for a variety of excuses: hers and Siglen’s.

  The child isn’t really settled yet after that fright.’ ‘She’s just getting over a cold.’ ‘I’d hate to disturb her just yet, she’s integrating so well with her play group.’ ‘Her current teaching program ought not to be interrupted.’ ‘She would miss the support and companionship of Bardy and Finnan. Next year.’

  Siglen never protested too hard: adding her own delays. There would have to be a suitable apartment for her student, as she felt the child would be more comfortable away from the busy-ness of the Tower and all the bustle of her support staff coming and going. When Interior ordered plans to be drawn up for the facility, Siglen found exception with each submission, sending the plans back for minute revisions. The exchanges continued for nearly two years before the foundations were laid.

  Meanwhile the Rowan became integrated into Lusena’s family, for Bardy, the daughter, and Finnan, the son, were old enough to be kind and naturally caring of the waif. The Rowan played with non-Talented children her own age in a specially supervised group and learned NOT to manipulate her peers. Most of them were so ‘deaf’ they were unaware of her subconscious attempts to control them. Their unawareness also resulted in making the Rowan vocalize in their presence. Toward the end of that first year, the Rowan would occasionally prop Purza on the sidelines of particularly active games but otherwise the pukha was within fingertip reach. Three times the feline had to be peeled from the sleeping child to replace its furry covering, worn or damaged receptors, and to update its programming.

  Siglen did keep her promise about not suppressing the Rowan, though she sent pointed enough reminders that she was keeping her word and that Lusena and the others had best see to it that the Rowan did not distract her. As the Rowan matured, outbursts diminished. Gradually, Purza spent more and more time on a shelf in her room, but was always on the pillow beside the Rowan at night.

  On the day that the Rowan finally came to live with the Prime, she did not appear to be in awe of Siglen. She clutched Purza tighter to her side as the Prime towered above her, smiling in the fatuous way of someone unaccustomed to young persons. Secretary Camella of Interior, who had driven Lusena and the Rowan to the Tower in her own vehicle, wanted to strangle Siglen.

  ‘Aren’t we a little old to be dependent on a stuffed animal?’ Siglen asked.

  ‘Purza is a pukha and she’s been mine a long time,’ the Rowan answered, hefting the pukha behind her in a proprietary way.

  Both Lusena and Interior tried to warn Siglen, but the woman was concentrating with formidable intent on the Rowan. Lusena caught Bralla’s eye and the woman raised her eyebrows in a despairing arc. But she stepped forward.

  ‘Siglen, do show the child the quarters you have arranged for her. I’m sure she’d like to get settled.’

  Siglen flapped one beringed hand to silence Bralla.

  ‘A pukha?’

  ‘A specially programmed stabilizing surrogate device,’ the Rowan explained. ‘It’s not a stuffed toy.’

  ‘But you are twelve now. Surely too grown-up to need that sort of infantile pacifier.’

  The Rowan was polite – Lusena had drilled her in courtesies, vocal and mental – but she could be as stubborn as Siglen, though she would never be as insensitive.

  ‘When I no longer need Purza, I will know.’ Then she adroitly added, ‘I really would like to see my room.’ And the Rowan smiled hopefully. She had a particularly endearing smile and harder hearts than Siglen’s had been beguiled by it.

  ‘Room?’ Siglen was affronted. ‘Why, you have an entire wing to yourself. With every amenity that I myself enjoy. State of the art, as well, though some of my equipment will soon need replacement.’ She gave Interior a pointed glance. Then she led the way, heaving herself from side to side in a most remarkable gait. Siglen was quite tall, dwarfing the slender child beside her: Nine years had added more soft flesh although the increase was not apparent with the sort of loose garments she wore. But it showed when she moved, making an effort of even a short walk.

  Interior mused that Siglen was putting herself out in this initial contact and hoped that the child, who displayed considerable empathy, would be responsive. As she fell in step with Lusena and Bralla, she was uncomfortably aware of the ludicrous comparison between the rake-thin Rowan and the massive Siglen and hastily recited a mind-clogging nonsense verse. Hopefully, Siglen was too busy impressing the child with her generosity – all paid for by the
Treasury – to hear peripheral thoughts. Neither Siglen nor the Rowan had communicated on a telepathic level, but then it had been drilled into the Rowan that, vis-à-vis, she must use voice address.

  ‘You will report to me daily now, between 10.00 and 14.00 for instruction. I have had a special room added to my Tower where you can observe without interfering in the daily routine. It is most important … what is your name, child?’

  ‘The Rowan. That’s what everyone calls me,’ and Lusena knew that the girl had picked up Siglen’s not so carefully concealed disapproval, ‘the Rowan child. My name is therefore the Rowan.’

  ‘But surely you know what name your parents gave you? You were old enough at three to know your own name, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘I forgot it!’ And the Rowan made that a positive enough termination of such questions that Siglen was taken slightly aback.

  ‘Well, well, well!’ She repeated the word a few more times before they all reached the entrance to the Rowan’s wing.

  The Rowan’s startlement was apparent in her rigid posture as she peered through the door panel Siglen opened. Interior and Lusena hurried up and were equally stunned.

  The entrance hall was grand – that was the only word for it, with hidden lighting to emphasize its opulence, the formal, rigid chairs made of exquisite woods, the equally fragile tables set with either statuary or arrangements of static flowers, picked at the moment of bloom perfection and held eternally at their peak. Walking carefully across the intricately mosaic floor, the amazed trio entered the reception room, its walls adorned by the sort of gaudy, big floral print that Siglen preferred. The room, which would have been spacious if it had not been so cluttered, was crammed with twisted-ware stools, two- and three-seat couches, arranged in conversational groupings: tables set everywhere, squatting in corners, nestled against the couches, their surfaces and shelves filled with what looked like Interstellar Bazaar items, some undoubtedly valuable enough, Interior thought, but none of it the sort of furnishing or adornment suitable to a young girl. The walls were hung with artwork from every star system, judging by the variety of styles and mediums, but crowded frame to frame so that the eye could not fasten on anything. Down one corridor was a small kitchen, an ornately claustrophobic dining area, and two guest bedrooms en suite. Down the other was an almost barren ‘library’ with shelves and worktops, and a swimming pool, plasglassed, far too shallow for an active and accomplished swimmer like the Rowan.

  With a final flourish and in anticipation of effusive praise, Siglen waved her large hand across the admit-panel of the bedroom she had created for the Rowan: a yellow-and-peach confection box of frills, doodads, and so many embellishments the necessary pieces of furniture were disguised.

  ‘Well?’ Siglen demanded of the Rowan, having taken the silence for amazement but needing some verbal gratification.

  ‘It is the most incredible apartment, Prime Siglen,’ the Rowan said, turning slowly around and clutching Purza to her breast. Her eyes were wide, glittering with an emotion that Lusena hoped the child could contain. The Rowan swallowed noticeably but managed to say clearly, ‘I appreciate all your efforts. This is worth waiting for. Really, you have been extremely generous. It is all too much!’

  Lusena shot the Rowan an alarmed shaft of appeal, hoping the girl would stop there. Twelve-year-olds are not the most tactful creatures. The Rowan was avoiding Lusena’s eyes. Indeed she kept looking around her, as one item after another caught her attention. Lusena was counting heavily on the Rowan’s empathy.

  ‘You have been exceedingly thoughtful and kind,’ the Rowan went on and approached a low bed, smothered in bright satin pillows, some of which colors clashed with the yellow and peach of wall, carpet, and furnishings. She rearranged one pillow and planted Purza on it. ‘We shall be immensely comfortable here, won’t we, Purza?’

  Thus addressed, the pukha whirled and made a sound that was certainly not a purr, definitely a comment. Eyes dancing with mischief and suppressed laughter, the Rowan swiveled to Lusena. ‘I think the power strands need replacing. That’s no purr!’

  At once Lusena and the Secretary of the Interior distracted Siglen, who looked about to say more on the subject of dispensing with the pukha, by effusively complimenting her on the magnificence of these quarters, so much time spent on thoughtful details, and where did Siglen manage to find so many unusual things.

  Just then, a porter brought in the trolley containing the Rowan’s effects, two carryalls, and five cartons of books and educational disks.

  ‘Ah, are these all you have?’ Siglen asked in a disparaging tone, glancing accusingly first at Lusena and then at Secretary Camella.

  ‘The Rowan was awarded an adequate stipend above and beyond her living expenses but she doesn’t make use of it,’ Camella said defensively.

  ‘She isn’t an acquisitive child,’ Lusena said at the same time.

  Siglen made a noncommittal noise. ‘I shall leave you to get settled.’

  She patted the Rowan on the head and turned, so she did not see the expression on the girl’s face although both Lusena and Interior did. Lusena moved to the girl and Interior thought she’d better make certain that Siglen left before the Rowan exploded. Hastily, she closed the bedroom door behind her.

  When Interior got back, the Rowan was howling with laughter, rolling on the bed, clutching a now purring Purza in her arms. Most of the satin pillows had fallen to the floor. Lusena was collapsed on a chair, tears of laughter streaming down her face. Secretary Camella, who had expected rather a different scene, sank to another chair, grinning with relief.

  ‘I simply don’t believe that woman,’ Lusena finally managed to gasp. ‘This … this bordello ambience … is suitable for a twelve-year-old girl?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Rowan,’ Interior promised, ‘you can sleep in the library until we clear out this … this … bazaarity.’

  Waving one hand in agreement, the Rowan continued to burble.

  ‘Well, at least you can see the amusing side of it,’ Interior added and could not resist chuckling, too.

  ‘Purza says it wasn’t fair of you not to program her to laugh,’ the Rowan said and kissed her pukha fondly.

  Lusena and Interior exchanged startled looks and Lusena mouthed ‘later’ over the child’s head.

  ‘Maybe Siglen was right and it’s time to remove the pukha,’ Interior said in a low voice to Lusena while the Rowan had been set to unpacking her booktapes in the library.

  ‘This really IS the first time Rowan has claimed a spontaneous response from it,’ Lusena said, her fingers fiddling with the cuff of one sleeve. She frowned down at her hands. ‘At least in my hearing. Of all the freakings!’ Lusena was clearly upset. ‘We gave up monitoring her room a long time ago. She’s adapted well: she has no trouble interacting with either the Talented or the normal.’

  ‘Start recording again. The child cannot develop any aberrations.’

  Lusena almost exploded, gesticulating toward the main Tower. ‘With that as an example? I’d say she’ll need the pukha now more than ever before!’ Abruptly, she subsided. ‘Perhaps we’re borrowing trouble. The pukha could be invaluable now to monitor the Rowan’s adjustment to Siglen.’

  Interior gave a heartfelt moan of sympathy. ‘Why did I let Siglen talk me into this?’

  ‘Planetary pride?’ Lusena asked drolly.

  ‘Probably. Be a dear and, when the Rowan’s asleep tonight, rig the pukha for monitoring, will you?’ Then Interior looked around her at the incredible array. ‘And how are we going to get rid of all this?’

  ‘I’ll think of something!’

  The Rowan anticipated the need. A troubled security guard reported that an empty warehouse in the Port facility appeared to be used as the cache of pilferers, although he couldn’t find a single one of the items listed on the stolen property lists published by the Constabulary.

  With considerable discernment for a youngster, the Rowan stripped her apartment down to basics, unerringly retaining
the most valuable and appropriate of the artifacts. To Lusena’s immense surprise, the Rowan had also managed to alter the color of the walls to soft shades of green and cream.

  ‘How’d you repaint?’ she casually asked the girl.

  ‘Purza and me thought about it,’ the Rowan replied with one of her inimitable shrugs. ‘D’you think it’s an improvement?’

  ‘Oh, vast, vast improvement. I didn’t realize you knew how to paint.’

  ‘That was easy. Purza was in the house the day you had your place done. She remembered.’

  Lusena managed to nod understandingly. ‘Well, do you think you’re settled in enough now to begin to learn your business?’

  The Rowan shrugged. ‘She’s got a mass of pods to shift today. I don’t think she’ll want me around.’

  Lusena phoned Interior later, while the Rowan was swimming under the watchful eyes of Purza.

  ‘She has verbalized many things to the pukha over the years,’ Lusena said slowly. She found it very difficult to understand how she could have overlooked the Rowan’s subtly reinforced dependence on the pukha. ‘Most of it perfectly consonant with the doubts and fears of any normal child. But she AND the Purza personality had a long discussion about color and the mechanics of painting: together they looked up and discussed interior decoration. Purza evidently has considerable acumen on which objets d’art and paintings are likely to be valuable, and those were the ones they kept. Purza seems to have discovered the empty warehouse although it was clearly the Rowan who did the shifting. I know she has great telekinetic potential and nothing was very heavy or awkward, but she cleared most of the drek overnight. And repainted the next one – with Purza’s encouragement. I’ll send you a transcript of the conversation – no, it’s not a conversation, that takes two intelligences – the monologue with interesting pauses for the Purza contributions.’