The Rowan

by Anne McCaffrey

  The Rowan did not like being pushed to one side so arbitrarily, having to watch while necessary things were done to the body of her lover. Then the nurses, with no more than a curt nod to her, left the cubicle, twitching the curtains back in place.

  ‘Don’t jump before you can walk, girl,’ Isthia remarked dryly as she entered. ‘In case you’re thinking of single-handedly nursing him from now on. Frankly, you may know how to deal excellently with the metamorphic levels but not the medical, even as deeply as you can experience. And don’t glare at me like that, child! I willingly accept that my son has chosen you as his life mate but,’ and Isthia raised a warning hand, ‘you don’t try to own a man like Jeff.’

  The Rowan found herself resenting Isthia’s presence because it impinged on her privacy with him. She resented her cautions all the more because she recognized their validity. She did not wish to share Jeff, injured or sound. She hadn’t realized just how much their necessary separations had rankled in her mind and emotions.

  ‘Sort it out in your head now, Rowan,’ Isthia continued, ignoring thoughts which the Rowan didn’t bother to shield. ‘Don’t let petty jealousy and other unworthy notions tarnish what you and Jeff share. Nourish your bond, don’t stifle it.’

  When Isthia placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, she almost jerked away from it, unused to casual physical contact. Isthia’s hand tightened.

  Well, we Denebians use a lot of tactile contact, so that’s another thing to get used to. It helps us lamebrains to function on the mental level.

  ‘You’re no lamebrain,’ the Rowan flared, her basic sense of justice denying Isthia’s self-deprecation. But in rejecting that, she made eye contact with Isthia and the older woman caught and held hers, using the anger to project a searching shaft past the Rowan’s guards.

  You have never had it easy, have you, child? Isthia’s mind brimmed with compassion and a generosity of spirit that the Rowan had not encountered since Lusena’s death and which dissolved her immediate resentments. You love Jeff but so do most of the people left on Deneb. You can’t deny them their share of his attention. I wouldn’t try. You’re smart enough to know what I mean. Be wise enough to accept it. You hold most securely what you are willing to let go. Then Isthia frowned slightly. ‘Who is Purza?’

  ‘Jeff said you had a devastating Talent,’ the Rowan said, stunned that Isthia had ‘seen’ Purza. ‘And I cannot imagine how you managed to access that bit of ancient history.’

  ‘It’s right there at the top of your mind, my dear,’ Isthia said gently and pressed for an answer.

  ‘Purza’s not a who, it’s a what. A monitoring device in any one of a number of comfort forms for a troubled child.’

  ‘Which you certainly were – also very much on the top of your mind. You’ve too strong a mind for someone untrained like me to pry into very deeply.’

  The Rowan gave a short ironic laugh.

  ‘That’s better,’ Isthia said, smiling back. ‘You’d got locked into a very bad mind loop there, doing you no good when Jeff is still going to need you. I’ll have a meal brought in to you, and a more comfortable chair.’ With that she left.

  Both the meal, which the Rowan forced herself to eat, and the chair, which was an improvement on the stool, were welcome. The monitors above Jeff’s bed all indicated much stronger body rhythms, good Alpha and Delta responses. His light contact remained in her mind but it was still a passive one.

  It was another hour before he revived enough to recognize his surroundings. At the sight of the Rowan beside his bed, he gave a weak grin which turned into a grimace of pain.

  ‘Rowan?’ and he reached for her hand, ‘I thought it was you, but I didn’t know how you could be here.’ His voice was a dry whisper. Sensing his thirst, she brushed his lips with water as she had seen the nurse do, then dribbled a teaspoonful into his mouth. In fact, I argued with myself that I had imagined you from a deep subliminal level.

  ‘Hush, love. You needed me. I’m here.’

  You made it on your own? His mental tone was far stronger than his physical voice, and his fingers clutched hers with more force than she had expected.

  Your mother …

  Trust her to call in the cavalry. But you came? His astonishment and gratitude washed her mind.

  Isthia had assembled a team. And then the generator fell apart! Relief made her silly.

  Reidinger let you come?

  Hush, love. I hear the nurse coming.

  ‘Well, back with us again, huh, Raven,’ said the sandy-haired older nurse who flicked back the curtain. She nodded approvingly at the Rowan. ‘Medic Asaph will be very pleased.’ Then she turned squarely to the Rowan. ‘Now will you leave his bedside and get some rest before I have to clout you on the head with that hardwood bat I keep for obstreperous bedside leeches?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ the Rowan said and her voice cracked with fatigue.

  The nurse cocked one eyebrow skeptically. ‘Ha! You’ve done two and a half shifts already. Raven, you manage her.’

  Go and rest, dearling! Jeff urged. I’ll keep you in mind, you know. And he gave her the tender smile that was hers alone.

  Over the next two days, now that Jeff was on the mend and she had time to observe her surroundings, the Rowan was increasingly amazed by the resilience of the Denebians. The planet had lost over three-fifths of its population, its two population centers had been demolished by bombardment, farming communities burned out, and the mines, on which Deneb depended for outworld supplies, were all but useless.

  All known survivors of both plague and attack had long since been centralized, along with available supplies and skills. That had happened even before Jeff Raven had contacted the Rowan for assistance.

  Between their first momentous meeting and now, the City’s ruins had been leveled, and temporary living quarters erected: rudimentary, to be sure, but supplying shelter for all. The hydroelectric plant, deep in the cliffs through which the broad Kenesaw River surged down to the distant sea, had escaped damage but it was the planet’s only operating power source. An immense communal kitchen fed everyone and four facilities scheduled time for personal bathing and laundry. Except for toddlers and infants, even the children spent half their day on work teams, and schools for the older ones were devoted to on-the-job training.

  While the Fleet had generously given urgent medical supplies and freeze dried emergency rations to the battered colony, the Rowan began to notice critical shortages … such as work boots and warm clothing now that the Denebian winter was closing in. Though the City was located in the temperate zone, winds with bitter chill factors were known to buffet the plain and the hunters could not bring in sufficient pelts from the meat animals they killed to clothe everyone.

  The Rowan knew she would receive private assistance from Capella and Betelgeuse as soon as she asked, but until she had a functioning generator, she couldn’t bring any of it in to Deneb. She ’ported herself out to the dilapidated facility to see just what was needed to make it functional. The cracked housing, still on the ground, was not a priority repair. The generator itself was jerry-rigged. Two slip rings had cracked, there were only the holders of the carbon brushes left, and the drive shaft looked doubtful. She lifted the housing back into place, wondering if anyone in the City had pyrotic Talent to mend the crack and if there were any spare generator parts left on Deneb.

  When she entered the shaft (she couldn’t give it the title of Tower), she realized that sheer blind luck must have been the guiding factor: the instrumentation was minimal, contrapted together out of spare parts not all of which seemed to perform any function when she tried to trace it. She thanked Gerolaman from the bottom of her heart for teaching her so much about the mechanical and electronic workings of a Tower. She might have passed the first essential lesson in ’porting herself in her frantic dash to Jeff’s bedside, but she couldn’t – wouldn’t – attempt a return without more sophisticated safeguards than these.

  Isthia had helped her convince the pro te
m Council that the Tower facility was a priority.

  ‘We’re sort of used to doing for ourselves, you know,’ Makil Resnik, the provisional Governor and Labor Manager, had told her. ‘Anything we can’t make ourselves, we do without.’

  Hold it, Rowan, Isthia advised when she felt the surge of the Rowan’s protest. ‘We can make a great deal ourselves – mostly, Makil. We may even get through the winter without suitable clothes. But we must import seed and medical supplies. We’ve got too few survivors to risk any on the horns of false pride.’

  ‘You got a point there, Isthia. Even so, can’t spare a big team to help. Got to open the Benevolent Mine right soon. They’d just hit a big seam of platinum.’

  ‘I can do a good deal of the contrapting myself but I need someone with electronic skills,’ the Rowan said, managing a calm tone.

  Resnik consulted his compack, tapping keys with a blunt thick forefinger.

  ‘Zathran Abita’s the one she needs,’ Isthia said calmly. ‘She knows more about Towers than Jeff did. Give her a team of kids to scrounge. With any luck, she’ll find most of what she needs in the salvage sheds. Oh, and Jeff has those I-beam specifications for you.’

  You’ve all this down to a fine art, haven’t you, Isthia? the Rowan said, appreciating such deft manipulation. Was it you who taught him how to charm?

  No, I learned in self-defense against his father. Bear that in mind! Isthia turned her smile from the Rowan to Resnik, her manner acquiescent and grateful.

  ‘Little thing like you can refit a Tower herself?’ Makil asked, peering at her appraisingly. ‘Hmm. When d’you want to start?’

  She who hesitates loses her advantage, Isthia drawled. Jeff’s occupied at a suitably sedentary task that’ll keep him out of mischief. A little fresh air and exercise will do you good.

  ‘No time like the present,’ the Rowan replied, deciding to ignore the fact that Isthia was manipulating her as easily as she did everyone else around her. Why weren’t you made Governor?

  The rich sound of Isthia’s chuckle echoed in the Rowan’s skull. A nursing mother would make an awkward Governor. Otherwise …

  ‘I can detach Zathran only two days. Then he’ll be needed at the mine, when we’ve got the adit cleared. Sooner we get a mine running, sooner we’ll have something to cheer about.’

  ‘You’ve already done marvels,’ the Rowan assured him, slightly distracted by Isthia’s asides. Then she wondered if she would manage. She’d never done anything like this before.

  You’ll do fine! Jeff told her. His mental tone was considerably more vibrant today than his physical condition. The Rowan knew that he struggled to overcome his injuries. And when you’re stuck, you can always call on me to bail you out!

  Ha!

  By the end of the first day the Rowan found herself exceedingly encouraged by the result. With a half dozen mid-teens, she had gone through the open sheds where the salvaged items were stored. She had reviewed her requirements with Jeff, to see what he thought she might be able to find among the salvage. Having quick-witted kids who knew where to look among the bewildering aisles and sheds was one advantage: being kinetic and able to shift what was found immediately out to the Tower shack was another. The list of needed parts was reduced drastically by the end of that day. But before she could make the best use of Zathran Abita, she needed items like carbon brushes, two more large magnetic coils and slip rings, as well as small transducers and some circuit boards, which she could only get with Reidinger’s assistance.

  The unexpected fillip in the day was discovering three burgeoning Talents in her young team. The oldest girl, Sarjie, had a definite metal affinity and could assay metallic content, discern metallic fatigue or flaw in any piece she handled. She tossed more into the meltdown bins than on the pallet for transfer to the Tower. Fourteen-year-old Rences could snatch the shape of what the Rowan wanted from her mind and unerringly locate it among hundreds of rods, pipes, fittings, coils, and other ‘junk’. Morfanu was struggling to understand a kinetic ability and the Rowan deftly guided her efforts into more positive channels. Sarjie had no telempathy: Rences’ was limited to shape-finding (he preferred to see drawings or pictures of what was required), and Morfanu could not project. They needed years of training to refine their innate abilities.

  For someone who had always worked with mature, trained Talent, and those mainly kinetic or telepathic, the Rowan found the association with new abilities a fascinating experience.

  You’ve got a lot of patience with them, Jeff said approvingly.

  You’ve tired yourself out, the Rowan accused, furious that she hadn’t been keeping a watch on him along with her salvage operations.

  It wasn’t my head that was opened. Jeff sounded irascible and, remembering Isthia’s cautionary words, the Rowan aborted a scathing retort. Sandy’s read me the riot act. But the drafts for the mine reopening are finished. She felt his sense of satisfied achievement. He was a difficult patient, hating to be incapacitated when he was most needed, railing at medical restrictions and supervisions.

  The day after major surgery, he had insisted on taking on paperwork: freeing up uninjured personnel. Sandy slipped enough of a sedative into a ‘restorative’ drink to send him to sleep for several hours. That night, fretting because he hadn’t finished the task he’d set himself that day, he refused to stop work. So, the Rowan simply shut him down into sleep.

  In the small hours of that night the Rowan, tapping as lightly as possible into the generators that supplied the hospital’s power, contacted Afra with the order for the most urgent items. He was reassured by her touch and reassured her that all was still functioning smoothly there, but he wasn’t certain how long that would last. Relieved, the Rowan then curled up on the cot beside Jeff’s bed and told herself to go back to sleep.

  Don’t try that on me again, Rowan, Jeff told her when she finally let him wake up late the next morning. He was livid at her high-handedness.

  At least you’ve the strength today to get mad, she replied, unrepentant. There was more color in his face and more vigor visible in the monitoring graphs. And quite likely strength enough in that fist of yours to handle a spoon. Your breakfast’s ready.

  He glared at her, his eyes glinting as he imaged what he would like to do to her.

  Tsk, tsk! How bizarre! she responded very sweetly. With careful kinesis, she lifted his upper-torso, inserting several pillows behind his back before she spread a napkin over his chest. Any day now you’re strong enough to try that, my own true love, I shall give in gracefully to the inevitable. Will you return the compliment now? Here’s your breakfast!

  ‘Now,’ she went on pleasantly, ‘I have to figure out when is the best time to use the tower, so as not to brown out.’

  Reidinger caught up with her on her fourth morning on Deneb.

  ROWAN! HOW IN HELL DID RAVEN GET YOU THERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?

  It was as well, the Rowan thought with grim humor, that she was on Deneb instead of Callisto. He’d have singed her shields out with that roar.

  Perhaps I was wrong to assume that you would prefer Jeff Raven alive? she asked acidly and grinned at such a suave throttling of Reidinger’s officious outrage. She wished she could have seen his face at that moment. She followed up that shock by a clear image of Jeff as she had first seen him, adding a macabre view of the gaping chest wound. She followed this with Jeff’s current appearance, palely sleeping after his chest wound had been dressed. Even with her assisting Rakella’s kinetic manipulations, it hadn’t been an easy ten minutes for Jeff. The medical facilities here were reduced to the medieval by the bombardment. Which reminds me … I sent in a Top Priority Emergency order for replacement parts and unless you want me lodged permanently here on Deneb, they’d better be ’ported out this way NOW! At that it will take me another six days to organize a Tower I’d risk myself with. It is also, she added, suppressing a desire to smirk, too far for you to lift me.

  She knew that Reidinger was listening, and hard, for she
could feel the throb of continued contact between their minds. Since she had his attention, she continued.

  What you cannot have appreciated, as you haven’t been on this planet and none of that irrelevant armada on retrieval patrol would think to mention it, is that Jeff Raven had only a very elderly jury-rigged generator for his gestalt when he was lobbing back missiles and repelling three alien vessels. Just think what he could do with the kind of equipment most Primes consider absolutely essential before they tax their lobes.

  Deneb’s broke, Reidinger roused sufficiently to growl at her.

  I’m not, the Rowan replied in her sweetest tone. That order’s paid for and should be ready for shipment today. Any time you have a spare moment. Oh, and if you’d send Afra a couple of T-2s, he’ll see that Callisto Station operates as efficiently as if I were there.

  And how long, came the slow acid tone of Earth Prime, do you feel this new Denebian emergency is going to last?

  Well, until I have a Tower facility of an operational standard.

  If Raven was that badly wounded, who brought you in? Reidinger’s tone was suspicious.

  Pure luck, I think, she replied soberly now that she had had plenty of time to poke about in the tower. When she realized what little formal kinetic training Isthia Raven had had, and all the things that could have gone wrong, she’d been horrified. Desperation can produce amazing stimulae. I’m not about to risk a return without properly drilled personnel. She felt curiously reticent with Reidinger and unwilling to disclose just how many strong Talents existed on Deneb. If Jeff Raven had not informed Earth Prime, she wouldn’t. There are some Talents with enough range for short-range stuff. But nothing is really short-range to Deneb, is it? Not until Jeff is recovered. Desperation got me here but calm, cool reflection is unlikely to get me back to Callisto!

  That was little more than the truth. In the first place, she was not leaving Jeff until she was certain of his complete recovery. In the morning he would be transferred to a private room. He had already taken a very short walk, gritting his teeth until his endorphin level compensated for the pain of sore tissue and muscle. The Rowan had had to exercise a stern control over the almost overpowering desire to support him kinetically. But Isthia flicked her a warning glance so the Rowan had endured the mental echoes of Jeff’s discomfort without interceding.