The Rowan

by Anne McCaffrey

  She released those who had merged with her and fell back into the couch.

  ‘How in hell did Deneb do that?’ Afra asked from the chair in which he had slumped. ‘Reidinger won’t like it!’

  She shook her head wearily. ‘No, but it proves Deneb’s problem!’

  Without the dynamos there had been no gestalt to act as the initial carrier wave for her effort. Even with the help of the others – and all of them put together didn’t add up to one-third the strength of another Prime – it had been a wearying exercise. She thought of Deneb – alone, without an FT&T station or trained personnel to assist him – doing this again, and again, and again – and her heart twisted.

  Warm up the dynamos, Brian. There will probably be more of those missiles.

  Afra looked up, startled.

  ‘To illustrate the point Deneb’s trying to make, Afra.’ Prime Rowan of Callisto Station alerting Earth Prime Reidinger and all other Primes! Prepare for possible attack by fissionable projectiles of alien origin. Alert all space stations and patrol forces. She lost her official calm and added angrily, We’ve got to help Deneb now – we’ve got to! It’s no longer an isolated aggression against an outlying colony. It’s a concerted attack on our heart world!

  Rowan! Before Reidinger got more than her name into her mind, she opened to him and showed the five new projectiles driving toward Callisto. For the love of little apples! Reidinger’s mind radiated incredulity. What has our little man been stirring up?

  Shall we find out? Rowan asked with deadly sweetness.

  Reidinger transmitted impatience, fury, misery, and then shock as he gathered her intention. Your plan won’t work. It’s impossible. We can’t merge minds to fight. All of us are too egocentric. Too unstable. We’d burn out, fighting each other.

  You, me, Altair, Betelgeuse, Procyon, and Capella. We can do it. If I can deactivate one of those hell missiles with only forty-eight minor Talents and no power for help, five Primes plus full power ought to be able to knock any sort of missile off. Then we can merge with Deneb to help him, that’ll make six of us. Show me the ET who could stand up to such an assault!

  Look, girl, Reidinger replied, almost pleading, we don’t have his measure. We can’t just MERGE – he could split us apart, or we could burn him up. We don’t know him. We can’t gauge a telepath of unknown ability.

  You’d better catch that missile coming at you, she said calmly. I can’t handle more than ten at a time and keep up a sensible conversation. She felt Reidinger’s resistance to her plan weakening. She pushed the advantage. If Deneb’s been handling a planet-wide barrage, that’s a very good indication of his strength. I’ll handle the ego-merge because I damned well want to. Besides, there isn’t any other course open to us now, is there?

  We could launch patrol squadrons.

  THAT should have been done the first time he asked. It’s too late now.

  Their conversation was taking but brief seconds, and yet more missiles were coming in. Earth itself was under attack!

  All right, Reidinger said in angry resignation, and contacted the other Primes.

  No, no, no! You’ll burn her out – burn her out, poor thing! Old Siglen from Altair was babbling. Let us stick to our last – we dare not expose ourselves, no, no, no! The ETs would attack us then.

  Shut up, Ironpants, David said.

  It’s our responsibility, Siglen, you know that! We simply must! Capella chimed in waspishly. Hit hard first, that’s safest!

  Siglen’s right, Rowan, … Reidinger said. He could burn you out.

  I’ll take the chance.

  Damn Deneb for starting all this! Reidinger didn’t quite shield his aggravation.

  We’ve got to do it. And now!

  Tentatively at the outset, and then with stunningly increased force, the leashed power of the other FT&T Primes, augmented by the mechanical surge of five great station generators, siphoned into the Rowan. She grew, grew, and only dimly saw the puny ET bombardment swept aside like so many mayflies. She grew, grew until she felt herself a colossus, larger than ominous Jupiter. Slowly, carefully, tentatively, because the massive power was braked only by her conscious control, she reached out to Deneb.

  She spun on in grandeur, astounded by the limitless force she had become. She passed the small black dwarf that was the midway point. Then she felt the mind she searched for: a tired mind, its periphery wincing with weariness but doggedly persevering in nearly automatic reactions.

  Oh, Deneb, Deneb! She was so relieved, so grateful to find him fighting his desperate battle, that they merged before her ego could offer even a token resistance. She abandoned her most guarded self to him and, with the surrender, the massed power she held flowed into him. The tired mind of the man grew, healed, strengthened, and blossomed until she was a mere fraction of the total, lost in the great pain of this immense mental whole. Suddenly she saw with his eyes, heard with his ears, and felt with his touch, was immersed in the titanic struggle.

  The greenish sky above was pitted with mushroom puffs, and the raw young hills around him were scarred with missile craters that had been deflected from targets. Easily now, he was turning aside the barrage of warheads from three immense vessels.

  Let’s go up there and find out what they are, the Reidinger segment said. Now!

  Deneb approached the three enormous marauding ships. The mass-mind took indelible note of the intruders, spidery forms that scrabbled about interiors resembling intricate webs. Then, offhandedly, Deneb broke the hulls of two, spilling the contents into space. To the occupants of the survivor, he gave a searing impression of the Primes and the indestructability of the worlds in this section of space. With one great heave, he threw the lone ship away from his exhausted planet, sent it hurtling farther than it had come, into uncharted black immensity.

  He thanked the Primes for the incomparable complement of an ego-merge and extended in a millisecond the tremendous gratitude of an entire planet which had been so nearly obliterated. This incredible battle could never be forgotten, and future generations would celebrate the incomparable victory.

  The Rowan felt the links dissolving as the other Primes, murmuring withdrawal courtesies, left him. Deneb caught her mind fast to his and held on. When they were alone, he opened all his thoughts to her, so that now she knew him as intimately as he knew her.

  Sweet Rowan. Look around you. It’ll take a while for Deneb to be beautiful again, but we’ll make it lovelier than ever. Come live with me, my love.

  The Rowan’s wracked cry of protest reverberated cruelly in both naked minds.

  I can’t. I’m not able! She cringed against her own outburst and closed off her inner heart so that he couldn’t see the pitiful why. Mind and heart were more than willing: frail flesh bound her. In the moment of his confusion, she retreated back to that treacherous body, arched in the anguish of rejection. Then she curled into a tight knot, her body quivering with the backlash of effort and denial.

  Rowan! came his cry. Rowan! I love you!

  She deadened the outer fringe of her perceptions to everything, curled forward in her chair. Afra, who had watched patiently over her while her mind was far away, touched her shoulder.

  Oh, Afra! To be so close and so far away. Our minds were one. Our bodies are forever separate. Deneb! Deneb!

  The Rowan forced on her bruised self the oblivion of sleep. Afra picked her up gently and carried her to the couch in the Tower room. He shut the door and went silently down the stairs. He positioned a chair so that he could prop his feet on the bottom step and settled down to wait, his handsome face dark with sorrow, his yellow eyes blinking away moisture.

  Afra and Ackerman reached the only possible conclusion: the Rowan had burned herself out. They’d have to tell Reidinger. Forty-eight hours had elapsed since they’d had a single contact with her mind. She had not heard, or had ignored, their tentative requests for her assistance. Afra and Ackerman could handle some of the routine freight with generator support but two liners were due
in and that required her. She was alive but that was all: her mind was blank to any touch. At first Ackerman had assumed that she was recuperating. Afra had known better and, for that forty-eight hours, he’d hoped fervently that she would accept the irreconcilable situation.

  ‘I’m gonna have to tell Reidinger,’ Ackerman said to Afra, wincing with reluctance.

  Well, where’s Rowan? Reidinger asked. A moment’s touch with Afra told him. He, too, sighed. We’ll just have to rouse her some way. She isn’t burned out; that’s one mercy.

  Is it? replied Afra bitterly. If you’d paid attention to her in the first place …

  Yes, I’m sure, Reidinger cut him off brusquely. If I’d gotten her light of love his patrol squadrons when she wanted me to, she wouldn’t have thought of a merge with him. I put as much pressure on her as I dared. But when that cocky young rooster on Deneb started lobbing deflected ET missiles at us … Well, I hadn’t counted on that development. At least we managed to spur her to act. And off-planet at that. He sighed. I was hoping that love might make at least one Prime fly.

  Whaa-at? Afra roared. You mean that battle was staged?

  Hardly. As I said, we hadn’t anticipated the ETs. Deneb presumably had only a mutating virus plague to cope with. Not ETs.

  Then you didn’t know about them?

  Of course not! Reidinger sounded disgusted. Oh, the original contact with Deneb for biological assistance was sheer chance. I took it as providential, an opportunity to see if I couldn’t break the agoraphobia psychosis we all have. Rowan’s the youngest of us. If I could get her to go to him – physically – but I failed. Reidinger’s resignation saddened Afra, too. One didn’t consider the Central Prime as fallibly human. Love isn’t as strong as it’s supposed to be. And where I’ll get new Primes if I can’t breed ’em, I don’t know. I’d hoped that Rowan and Deneb …

  As a matchmaker …

  I should resign …

  Afra broke the contact abruptly as the Tower door opened and the Rowan, a wan, pale, very quiet Rowan, came down.

  She smiled apologetically. ‘I’ve been asleep a long time.’ ‘You had a tiring day,’ Afra said gently, ‘day before yesterday.’

  She winced and then smiled to ease Afra’s instant concern. ‘I still am a little frazzled.’ Then she frowned. ‘Did I hear you two talking to Reidinger just now?’

  ‘We got worried,’ Ackerman replied. ‘There’re two liners coming in, and Afra and I just plain don’t care to handle human cargo, you know.’

  The Rowan gave a rueful smile. ‘I know. I’m all set.’ She walked slowly back up to her Tower.

  Ackerman shook his head sadly. ‘She sure has taken it hard.’

  Her chastened attitude wasn’t the relief that her staff had once considered it might be. The work that day went on with monotonous efficiency, with none of the byplay and freakish temperament that had previously kept them on their toes. The men moved around automatically, depressed by this gently tragic Rowan. That might have been one reason why no-one particularly noticed a visitor. Only when Ackerman rose from his desk for more coffee did he notice the young man in plain travel gear, sitting there quietly.

  ‘You come up in that last shuttle?’

  ‘Well, sort of.’ He spoke with a modest diffidence, rising to his feet. ‘I was told to see the Rowan. Reidinger signed me on in his office late this morning.’ Then he smiled.

  Fleetingly Ackerman was reminded of the miracle of the Rowan’s sudden smiles that could heat the very soul of you. This man’s smile was full of uninhibited magnetic vigor, while his brilliant blue eyes danced with good humor and friendliness. Ackerman found himself grinning back like a fool and stepping forward to shake the man’s hand stoutly.

  ‘Mighty glad to know you. What’s your name?’

  ‘Jeff Raven. I just got in from …’

  ‘Hey, Afra, want you to meet Jeff Raven. Here, have a coffee. A little raw on the walk up from the launch yard, isn’t it? Been on any other Prime Stations?’

  ‘As a matter of fact …’

  Toglia and Loftus had looked around from their computers to inspect the recipient of such unusual cordiality. They found themselves as eager to welcome this charismatic stranger. Raven graciously accepted the coffee from Ackerman, who then proffered his special coveted ginger cakes which his wife excelled at making. The stationmaster had the feeling that he must give this wonderful guy something else, it had been such a pleasure to provide him with coffee.

  Afra looked quietly at the stranger, his calm yellow eyes a little clouded. ‘Hello,’ he said in a rueful manner, his tone oddly accented.

  Jeff Raven’s grin altered imperceptibly. ‘Hello,’ he replied, and more was exchanged between the two men than a simple greeting.

  Before anyone in the Station quite realized what was happening, everyone had left his post and gathered around the newcomer, chattering and grinning, using the simplest excuse to touch his hand or shoulder. He was genuinely interested in everything said to him, and although there were twenty-three people anxiously vying to monopolize his attention, no-one felt slighted. His reception seemed to envelop them all.

  What the hell is happening down there? asked the Rowan, with a tinge of her familiar irritation. Why …

  Contrary to all her previously sacred rules, she appeared suddenly in the middle of the room, looking wildly about her. Raven stepped to her side and touched her hand gently.

  ‘Reidinger said you needed me,’ he said.

  ‘Deneb?’ Her body arched over to project the astounded whisper. ‘Deneb? But you’re … you’re here? You’re here!’

  He smiled tenderly and slid his hand down her shining hair to grip her shoulder. The Rowan’s jaw dropped and she burst out laughing, the laughter of a supremely happy, carefree girl. Then her laughter broke off in a gasp of pure terror.

  HOW did you get here?

  Just came. You can, too, you know.

  No! No. I can’t! No T-1 is able to. The Rowan tried to free herself from his grasp, as if he were suddenly repulsive.

  I did though. His gentle insistence was unequivocable. You just jumped from the Tower to this level. If you can do that, why should it matter how far you go?

  Oh, no! No!

  ‘Did you know,’ Raven said conversationally, grinning about him, ‘that Siglen of Altair gets sick just going up and down stairs?’ He looked straight at the Rowan. ‘You lived with her, you should know. All on the one level, not so much as a step anywhere? That long padded ramp to her tower which is so hemmed by thick-leaved trees any glimpse of the outside is obscured? I know she told you all about that hideous, grim, ghastly, nearly fatal trip she took from Earth to Altair on – of all torture mechanisms – a spaceship? Especially when she had planned to stay on Earth as its Prime? Disappointment can have a weird effect on some personalities, you know.’

  The girl shook her head, her eyes wonderingly wide.

  ‘No-one ever asked why she had really rather unusual reactions to a deep space flight, did they? I did. Seemed damned silly to me when Reidinger “explained” the problem.’ He held his audience’s attention as he paused, his grin turning malicious. ‘Siglen has a massive neural deterioration of the middle ear, a genuine enough disability which does make for travel difficulties. She was so miserably sick in her first space voyage, she went into a trauma about any sort of travel without discovering the real cause. The worst of it was that she then imposed that trauma on everyone else she trained. Of course, it never occurred to her, or anyone else, that this wasn’t part of “the price the Talented must pay!”’ He dramatically placed his hand against his throat, mimicking Siglen so aptly that Afra had to choke back a laugh. Then he shot a wicked grin at the appalled Rowan.

  ‘Siglen … Oh, Deneb, no!’

  Raven laughed. ‘Oh, Callisto, yes. She passed on the trauma to every one of you. The T-2 doesn’t have it. Siglen wouldn’t be bothered with training an inferior Talent. The proof of the matter is that she didn’t train me.’ He opened hi
s arms wide. ‘And I, bigod, got here under my own steam. The Curse of Talent!’ He mimicked Siglen’s deep contralto voice again. ‘The Great Fear! The great bushwah! You’ve no middle ear imbalance: you only “think” you’ve got agoraphobia. Bad enough a thought to hold for long, I agree, but it’s a rotten handicap for you to have, my love.’ Warmth and reassurance passed between them, and the Rowan’s eyes began to shine. Her eyes shone.

  Now, come live with me and be my love, Rowan. Reidinger says you can commute from here to Deneb every day.

  ‘Commute?’ She said it aloud in hollow astonishment. And stared at him in wonder.

  ‘Certainly,’ Jeff said encouragingly. ‘You’re still a working T-1 under contract to FT&T. And so, my love, am I.’

  ‘I guess I do know my bosses, don’t I?’ she said with a little smile.

  ‘Well, the terms were fair. Reidinger didn’t haggle a second after I walked into his private office at eleven this morning.’

  ‘But to commute from Deneb to Callisto?’ the Rowan repeated dazedly.

  ‘All finished here for the day?’ Raven asked Ackerman, who shook his head after a glance at the launching racks.

  ‘C’mon, gal. Take me to your ivory Tower and we’ll finish up in a jiffy. Then we’ll talk about it. I’m not pushing you, or anything, but I’ve got a planet to put to rights …’ And a few million things to discuss with you …

  Jeff Raven smiled wickedly at the Rowan and pressed her hand to his lips in the age-old gestures of courtliness. The Rowan’s smile answered his with blinding joy.

  The others were respectfully silent as the two Talents made their way up the stairs to the once lonely Tower.

  Afra broke the tableau by taking a cake from the box in Ackerman’s motionless hand. There was nothing in the cake to cause his eyes to water so profusely.

  ‘Not that that pair needs much of our help, people,’ he said, ‘but we can add a certain flourish and speed things up.’

  The whine of the generators sobbed away into silence, a silence which was at first pleasant as the two Primes let the tension of their labors drain from them.