The Rowan

by Anne McCaffrey

  Jeff Raven broke the silence, giving a low grunt as he pushed his chin down to his chest to stretch neck and shoulder muscles. He had been sitting in the swivel chair at the console, so he hadn’t had the full body support of a couch like the Rowan’s. He swiveled about to face her now.

  ‘I know you,’ the Rowan said shyly, suddenly unnerved by his presence and the end of known routines, ‘and I don’t.’

  Gently then she felt the feathery touch of his mind in hers, withdrawn as gently but leaving behind it a sweet, spicy taste. That had never happened to the Rowan before in all her mental encounters, and she took a moment to absorb the sensation.

  ‘There’s a lot about each other that we’re going to have to know,’ Jeff Raven began to smile, a smile that was also tinged with a shy uncertainty. He ran his fingers through his shock of black hair. ‘And Lord above, woman, we’ve got a lifetime to learn.’ His smile broadened, and he cocked his head slightly at her, looking at her with warmly affectionate eyes that hinted of deeper emotions kept in firm check.

  ‘Look,’ he said in a totally different tone of voice and he leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, ‘it’s been a rough few weeks for me and now we’ve met, we don’t have to rush anything. In point of fact,’ he said, with a huge yawn, ‘I’ll be candidly unromantic and admit that I’m whacked. I’ve been on the stretch since those ETs arrived.’ He gave her an ingratiating smile. ‘That rather romantic gesture of mine, to launch us to Deneb, is totally beyond me. I’m starving, I need a bath, and about twenty years’ sleep!’

  The Rowan began to laugh, more gurgle than chuckle, as practical considerations dissolved the moment of restraint and doubt. She rose and thrust out her hand to him. His was warm, calloused, and physical contact only reinforced mind and voice. ‘Then, tonight, you come home with me!’

  Gently Jeff pulled her to him. You’re such a little thing! He tucked her head under his chin and held her against his body. She put her hands about him with an experimental lightness. His body was firm. She liked it. That’s good! She also felt the weariness permeating muscle, sinew, blood, and bone.

  ‘Come!’ she said and jumped them into the main room of her quarters.

  ‘Rather special,’ Jeff said, looking about the spacious room with appreciative eyes. ‘I think you’ll find it easier to shrug off Siglen’s silly conditioning than you believe. Look, steps all over.’ He gestured at the various levels, for the dwelling had been built into Callisto’s stony landscape.

  ‘I designed it myself.’ She spoke with pride, sensing his flattering approval as she followed his gaze, from the small conversation pit around the archaic hearth with an imitation fire, to the dining level that had a three-sided view of the gardens and the little copse, to the sound and vision wall, to the corridor leading to the wing.

  ‘Well done! Very well done! And it proves conclusively to me that your agoraphobia was Siglen’s imposition. She didn’t tolerate steps anywhere. As you must know.’ Then he yawned convulsively. ‘What a lover you chose!’

  ‘You get the bath,’ and she pushed him in the direction of the bathing room. ‘I’ll fix a meal guaranteed to raise all known energy levels. Then you may sleep as long as you need to.’

  She ‘saw’ him as he shucked off his clothing: very privately she compared him to Turian’s heavier build and the Captain’s deep tan. Then she decided that she liked his spare build, lean, muscled back and narrow hips; bulky people irritated her.

  With good reason, Jeff remarked as he eased himself into the steaming pool. She had half-expected him to dive in, for it was deep enough, and heard his denying chuckle. Another time, he told her with a sigh of total relaxation as he floated. Fix me that food, love, or I’ll starve to death in my sleep.

  She sent the water pillow to hold up his head and felt her lips tingle with an impressed kiss. She smiled as she collected the necessary foodstuffs from storage. Siglen may have adored eating for its own sake, but the Rowan had learned the fundamentals of good nutrition and the value of well-prepared and presented food.

  ‘What will people think of me when they see you so thin, Rowan? Eat more! It’s really delicious. If you’d only force yourself to eat …’ Siglen’s wheedling tone resounded in the Rowan’s ears.

  It was, however, infinitely more satisfying to prepare something for Jeff Raven. So involved was she in making certain that all nutritional elements had balanced tastefully that the Rowan was astonished to feel the rhythms of profound sleep emanating from her lover. A moment’s pique was soothed by her realization that she would indeed have all the time in the world to prove her worth as a cook. Now she’d better keep him from inadvertently drowning. Unexpectedly she felt some fatigue from the day’s excitements.

  Gently she lifted the inert form of her lover from the water, swathed him in warm, soft, scented towels, and conveyed him to her wide bed. Being telekinetic had, for once, practical applications she had not heretofore considered, she thought, tenderly gazing down at his sleeping face. All the stress and fatigue lines were smoothing away and Jeff Raven looked younger.

  His wasn’t actually a handsome face: without animation, the harsh planes looked uncompromising, the nose prominent, jutting out from a wide and high brow. His eyes were far more deepset than she had realized. He had a very strong jaw – no getting around this man with specious argument. She wondered if he’d jut his chin out when annoyed. His lips, too, showed firmness for all they were well-shaped, if a trifle on the thin side, but he had smiled so often, that detail had escaped her. In all, a strong, vital face and exceedingly attractive to her.

  Sternly she suppressed unusual clamorings of body and blood. Eighteen-year-old Rowan might have planned to challenge Captain Turian but she wouldn’t ever be silly enough to dare Jeff Raven. She placed water, fruit juice, the ‘supper’ she had made him in a heating cocoon, in easy reach on the bedside table.

  What would their children be like? Despite her solitude, she suddenly blushed. Once Turian had been cajoled out of his regrets, they had enjoyed each other thoroughly. But no-one since then had aroused her. Not even the high Talents Reidinger kept sending to Gerolaman’s courses, or to Callisto Tower on specious errands.

  For a long while, the Rowan had held the firm conviction that, once her long training had been accomplished, her ‘travel’ would resolve all her problems. Instead, she had gone from one lonely tower to another. Yegrani’s ‘long and lonely road’ had been before her a long and lonely time. Even the cryptic ‘seeing’ seemed fulfilled. She had been the focus. Was her reward Jeff Raven? Would she ‘travel’ now with him?

  He stirred slightly, as if responding to her thought; her heart caught in her throat. Then, with a smile, he sank more deeply into his much needed rest. She curled beside him on the wide bed, not needing to touch, content to be in his presence. And then fatigue overcame all her new sensations and wonderings.

  The startlement of being kissed woke the Rowan abruptly, and it took a moment to recall the extraordinary events of the previous day.

  ‘Honey, I am sorry to the death to have to wake you, but duty calls!’ Jeff’s tone and expression were regretful – and so was the clinging touch of his mind in hers, all spicy.

  ‘Why?’ She resented ‘duty’ with an intensity that blazed from every pore.

  ‘Easy, girl,’ and Jeff chided her. ‘When we so blithely destroyed those ET vessels, we left a lot of debris at spatially unsafe distances for the good of my poor planet.’ She saw in his open mind the visual report from Deneb. ‘Some of it’s extrapolated to come thunking down in settled areas. My kin are good, but not that good.’

  ‘Can I help?’ She dressed quickly.

  ‘You can, indeed, and I’m counting on it. Reidinger has got Earth to release our colony a lot of much-needed supplies, and I need you to relay them out to me without splitting the packets. The High Command also wants samples of what we so indiscreetly made piecemeal.’

  ‘But Jeff, what about us? ’The sheer terror of renewed so
litude sounded in her cry.

  He pulled her into his arms, once again tucking her head under his chin. He rocked her slowly, wrapping her in such deep and tender regard that she truly realized physical separation was no barrier to their rapport. Then he tilted her chin up and kissed her lips, a contact that was made far more poignant by his mind-touch and the scenes he projected of how they would make love when ‘duty’ permitted. She was vibrating with a sensuality which he then completed with an intimate mental touch, and she clung to him in amazed relief. He grinned down at her, pleased by the effect he had on her.

  ‘The chemistry’s right between us, love, and I can’t wait to prove it time and time and time and time again. However,’ and his manner altered as, with deep mental and physical regret, he released her, ‘while I’m gone, work hard on overcoming Siglen’s impositions. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve done garbage detail. We’ll be transporting some mighty queer stuff. I’d have a good look at it when it comes through Callisto were I you, honey. If there’s one group of space traveling animosities, there may be more.’ He released his physical hold of her and guided her to the door. ‘We’ll walk across this time. Gives us a few more moments.’

  She matched strides with him and was unaware of anything on the way to the Tower but the touch of his hip and thigh against hers, his fingers laced in hers. For once she wasn’t even aware of the great generators’ start-up whine.

  ‘Who was Purza?’ he asked suddenly, looking down at her.

  The unexpectedness of that question at this moment made her lose step. She had been worried that he might have accessed her Turian memories. Maybe he had and didn’t care to comment. After all, that belonged to the past.

  ‘Purza was my pukha,’ and her throat still closed with a vividly remembered grief and outrage. One is forced to put away childish things.

  Ah, love, and tenderness, spicy-sweet and gentle, laved her. I don’t think you were allowed to be a child. We’ll assure our own of that privilege. Then, with a mischievous note in his tone, he added, ‘And I’ll prove that a Raven’s a much more innovative companion than a pukha.’

  His eyes were intensely blue and a devilish smile curved his lips, and suddenly she was aware of renewed sensations, coursing through her, setting off unusual reactions until suddenly, from her loins, an incredible warmth began to expand in a sudden burst of exquisite pain.

  And that is only a sample, my love. Only a sample! Jeff’s voice seemed to be part of that sensation, and she had to cling to him to remain on her feet.

  Then they were in the tunnel that led to the garage. With an effort she assembled her wits, aware that Jeff was very well pleased with his effect on her. She was grateful for the diversion provided by the strange personnel carrier in the launch cradle, the blazon of the Central Worlds on its nose, the paint still gleaming with Jeff Raven’s code.

  ‘New design, huh?’ She ran tentative fingers down the shell. It had not yet acquired the static of well-used carriers.

  ‘Only the very best for the newest, love,’ Jeff replied, lightly teasing though there was no sparkle in his deep-blue eyes. He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her long and deeply. She responded as intensely as she could. The twinkle was back in his eyes. He quickly settled himself in the carrier. The whine of the generators was keening up to launch power. ‘See you, love!’

  It was astonishing for everyone in the Tower to launch Jeff’s capsule. He was helping, laughing when the Rowan told him to save his strength for his day’s work, teasing Afra and Ackerman in a casual way and then – abruptly – he had separated himself from them.

  The Rowan became far too busy to examine her feelings just then. A near invasion of pods and drones, of medium-sized personnel carriers were flicked out from Earth Prime en route to Deneb: experts in all fields to parse through the debris of the invaders to ascertain what was the most important for in-depth analysis to be sent back to the main Moon labs. Every sort of information must be gleaned from that assault, analyzed, and neatly catalogued for future reference.

  Whenever Deneb-cargo went off Callisto, Jeff and the Rowan exchanged kisses, and other caresses which made her glad she was alone in the Tower. It gave an unexpected fillip to intensive mental effort.

  And, as he had asked, she did a quick look at some of the more unusual flotsam that came through: hull arcs, like the segments of fruit; packages of curious supplies (food?); shreds of metallic films – clothing?; some frozen specimens of alien parts. She did recall the look of them as she, with the focus meld of Prime minds, disassembled them and their ships. Not at all humanoid, rather a form of beetle, with carapace or chitinous wings, with multiple legs, with joined digits. Some of the creatures which had been standing erect at their control devices were approximately two-meters long. Those in the round access tubes through the long space vehicles had been smaller and scurried about on six of their ten legs. There had been a heavily guarded central feature with immature creatures, a startling number of egg cases and the largest specimen. A generation ship? Indicative of perhaps a cross-galaxy voyage of incredible duration?

  The contents certainly gave rise to incredible speculations and overwhelming relief that the Primes had been able to destroy such an alien menace. And some rather silly minor hysterics from the nervous.

  Not only was there the unusual traffic to Deneb, but over the next few days, the Rowan was called upon to dispatch naval reconnaissance vessels to the perimeter of the Central Worlds’ sphere of influence. Massive amounts of equipment and personnel were shifted around in the panic following the Denebian Incident. Reidinger decided to increase the Talented complement of the main Prime Stations for the purpose of unceasing vigilance and to upgrade distant early warning beacons set beyond the perimeter. That left him short of experienced staff, and rather short on temper as a result.

  ‘Reports of the Incident were toned down a lot,’ Ackerman told an exhausted Rowan at the end of that fourth chaotic day. ‘The public report,’ he added when the Rowan blinked uncomprehendingly up at him. He decided her mind was only half here. ‘They decreased the size and capacity of the ships, and the armaments and potential danger.’

  ‘Considering some of the stuff that we handled, I’d say that was discreet of them,’ Afra remarked caustically, his fingers busily constructing a paper shape remarkably like the aliens that had been destroyed. Then he casually crumpled the origami into a wad.

  Afra was exceedingly different from his sister, the gentle Goswina. And the day had exhausted her.

  Me, too, Jeff said softly in her head. I’ve got just about enough energy to crawl into my lonely bed and remember how great it was to lie beside you. To know all through the night that you were there.

  When the Rowan realized that she was grinning foolishly, ‘Jeff!’ she said enigmatically and both men nodded understandingly.

  Loftus brought in a sheaf of hard-copy sheets. ‘They plan to work our butts off again tomorrow, too!’ He shook out the ream-long manifests of projected shipments. ‘And a big mother of a battleship, complete with flag admiral. Where was he when he was needed?’

  ‘D’you think he will be?’ Ackerman asked, suddenly apprehensive.

  Afra snorted. ‘With all the monitors, detectors, remotes, and junk we’ve had to parcel out? Highly unlikely.’

  ‘Nothing like locking the barn door when the horse is gone!’ Loftus said.

  ‘What on earth do you mean by that?’ the Rowan asked. It sounded like something Siglen would come out with.

  ‘Old saying! Procrastination is a thief! Here, Ackerman. You’d better analyze how we’re going to shift all that!’

  I can see you now, Jeff’s loving voice came softly into her mind, talking in the Tower. Why don’t you go home so I can see you in your own place and fall asleep knowing where you are?

  In a sort of trance, the Rowan excused herself, leaving the three men staring at the spot she had just vacated.

  ‘I suppose we’ll have to get used to her looking all starry-eyed an
d flicking out like that,’ Brian said, slightly envious.

  ‘Has she gone to Deneb?’ Loftus asked, his eyes bugging out.

  ‘She’s not quite ready for that yet, I think,’ Afra replied and tossed off the half-finished mug of stimulant. ‘I hope it’s not a long time coming.’

  As the tall Capellan went back to his workspace, he was unaccountably depressed. In no way did he resent Jeff Raven’s acquisition of the Rowan. Afra had long ago buried his tentative and unrequited attraction for the quicksilver girl. He had hoped that out of sheer need she might one day have turned him, for he adored her in his own fashion. Since the day, as a very nervous eighteen-year-old, he had reported for duty at Callisto, they had shared a rapport, becoming stronger over the years, close enough so that he did not exactly envy Jeff Raven. Rather he worried for them both.

  They ought somehow to have taken themselves to Deneb that first night. He had been surprised that they hadn’t. And more concerned, though it was certainly none of his business, when he sensed that the union had not been consummated. If he’d been in Jeff Raven’s shoes … Well, how the Denebian conducted his seduction of the Rowan was NOT the business of Afra, Capellan T-4. The Rowan showed no resentment; why should he?

  While he could also understand the necessity of pumping men and material out to the other Primes, and the naval units, and whatever else was on tomorrow’s dockets, why hadn’t Reidinger sent out some T-2s or a few well integrated T-3 teams to assist Deneb. Why couldn’t FT&T have given the Rowan and Jeff a few days together? Was Reidinger still playing games with the Rowan’s space cafard? Reidinger might just find his strategy backfiring.

  Though Afra had little clairvoyant capability, he had a sickening uneasy-making hunch that Reidinger was wrong to proceed as he did. The trouble with an undeveloped prescience was that it was so fecking nebulous. He intended to push against it until something did clarify. Forewarned was forearmed. Or was it?

  He was tired enough so that, when he got to his own quarters, he drank a formula meal and went immediately to bed.