The Rowan

by Anne McCaffrey

  ‘Oh?’ Gollee was amazed. ‘I didn’t realize … well, never mind. But even with that, it’s still not going to be easy to see Prime Reidinger today. You’ll have to be content with an appointment for another day.’ Then he placed his hand on the palm plate marked ‘Restricted’ and the door closed and the lift rose.

  ‘I heard,’ and she stressed the verb, ‘that the new Deneb Prime didn’t have to wait.’

  To her surprise, Gollee Gren gave a hearty chuckle. ‘How that lad knew where Reidinger’s real office was located has given the Security Talents bad nightmares.’

  So, because that location was very much in Gren’s mind, Prime Rowan had no difficulty extracting it. Jeff Raven, with that charismatic charm of his, had probably used the same trick.

  They stepped out of the lift into a handsomely furnished lobby, with wall hangings of exquisite design and vivid colors. Elegant hardwoods in an intricate pattern covered the floor although corridors branching from the big room were carpeted. There were finely wrought seats, couches, and some odd resting pods to accommodate nonhuman forms. Two women, elegantly dressed in wildly striped, tight-fitting body-suits with their hair in intricate braids, seemed intent on the monitors of their consoles. Both had instantly identified and made mental notes of the new arrivals, slightly uncomplimentary about the Rowan. A man appeared at the side of the main desk complex, smiling at Gren and attempting to read her. A T-3 had no chance of doing that.

  ‘I’d like to freshen up before …’ the Rowan said in a meek tone after looking about her with suitable awe.

  Gren pointed to the green carpeted hall directly to their right. ‘I’ll wait for you,’ he said and walked jauntily to the front desk to speak to the man.

  The Rowan heard him greet them by name as she moved out of sight. In the toilet she did give her silver hair a brush and washed her hands. The T-3 had kept a loose touch on her as she made these ablutions. He broke that light contact with propriety as she entered one of the stalls. Then, grinning at such a splendid opportunity, the Rowan teleported herself down three stories and into the south-west corner of the great cube, right into the center of the spacious suite that was the operational ‘tower’ of Peter Reidinger IV. She blanked herself out totally as she emerged so that not even Earth’s Prime would know she was there, since he didn’t waste his energies on personal safety.

  His contour chair was similar to her own, but larger, to accommodate his heavier, taller body. In front of him was a console, far more extensive than hers on Callisto. Like a shadow she glided to a point where she could see his face in profile. His hair was black, with just a touch of white at the temple. She had thought he’d be younger for his mental tone was so forceful, reeking of authority and vitality. His beard must be a recent affectation, for he had been clean shaven in the holos she had of him. But the beard was cut close to his jaw and, oddly enough, was dark red as was the carefully trimmed moustache on his upper lip. Standing he would not be as tall as Jeff Raven, but he was more powerfully built. He wore an ordinary worksuit just as she did. He was frowning in concentration and the dials reflecting generator power were jumping toward the right-hand sides as he exercised considerable gestalt. Since he was obviously in mental contact, she would not commit the worst solecism of her kind.

  Suddenly a long, red panel flashed wildly across the top of his console and a weird hooter broke the silence.

  ‘Heat readings detect an intruder, Prime,’ said an agitated male voice.

  ‘Well, I am glad that people can’t just sneak up on you,’ the Rowan said with a laugh, opening her mind enough for him to recognize her, as he swung his chair about, glaring savagely.

  His eyes quite literally bulged as he recognized her. She continued to laugh at the conflicting expressions mirrored on his face and did not intend to establish a mental contact until he had calmed down.

  ‘Prime? Answer! Are you all right?’

  ‘Abort measures.’ Reidinger continued to stare at her.

  ‘But there are two heat sources …’

  ‘Identify the second as Prime Rowan of Callisto and leave us alone.’

  There was an audible click as the comunit went silent.

  ‘So true love really works,’ he said. ‘Which is serendipitous and saves that wretched Denebian for other duties. Since you have mastered the inhibition, you will in fact do far better than Raven.’ There was a smug look on Reidinger’s heavy-featured face. He steepled his fingers and actually smiled at her. She did not like that smile. ‘Yes, by far the better since you’re familiar with the Altairian Tower.’

  She caught his news then, and realized she had not only misinterpreted Siglen’s lack of greeting but Gollee Gren’s remark about recent developments.

  ‘Siglen?’

  ‘She’s had a massive coronary and it would be kinder if she didn’t survive.’ To do him credit, Reidinger deeply regretted her illness. ‘I didn’t fancy putting Raven in charge of a Tower …’

  ‘He’s more than capable of it,’ the Rowan interrupted, with fierce pride.

  ‘Have the courtesy to be silent!’ His vocal bark was quite as severe as his mental chastisements. ‘Capable, yes, but unfamiliar with procedures and rather rough and ready in deliveries. As I recall it!’ He cocked a heavy eyebrow at her.

  ‘I think he’s done exceedingly well considering the fact he’s only just emerged.’

  ‘How is his convalescence progressing?’

  The Rowan suppressed the biting answer that was her reaction to his acid tone and shrugged noncommittally. How could she have been naïve enough to believe she could best Reidinger. Except … and her swift mind caught a wisp. So! Prime Reidinger could be read. He wasn’t used to the shielding needed in the presence of another mind as strong as his own. To distract him she brought over the most comfortable of the few chairs in the big room and arranged herself languidly on it. A Prime need not stand about shifting from foot to foot like a lackey.

  ‘His injuries are healing well but he doesn’t have much stamina yet, no matter what he thinks! I set up a fairly decent Tower facility, and he did a rather nice job of fine tuning the components. Deneb’s effectively back in full contact.’

  Reidinger waggled a finger at her. ‘Deneb’s also broke and Central Worlds has no intention of planting a Prime Station there no matter how many Talents you discovered out there in the boonies.’

  ‘They concur completely, Peter,’ and she smiled when her use of his first name caught him off guard. Is everyone and his brother awed by Earth Prime Reidinger? Surely your wife …

  If you don’t get personal, neither will I, you white-haired scut … He scowled, his eyes glittering.

  She laughed. ‘In fact, it was all I could do to muster the Talent I needed,’ she added which was true enough, ‘to repair the Tower for my uses.’

  ‘Speaking of use, you’ve exhausted all your private funds …’

  ‘And borrowed as much as I could,’ she added, airily. ‘In an excellent cause. You may not have bothered to find out,’ and then she realized that Reidinger had been well briefed, ‘that that aborted invasion cost Deneb three-fifths of its population and every single installation.’

  Reidinger shrugged. ‘Colonists know the risks. They get what they can pay for. And you …’ he shook his finger in her face again.

  Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do, Reidinger, she darted at him before he continued. ‘Nor would I humiliate such valiant people with spurious assistance. They’ll do fine on their own …’

  ‘Great! Because you’ll be too busy at Altair Station from now on, and that man of yours is going to learn about contractual obligations.’

  ‘He’ll honor them,’ the Rowan began, incensed by the slur implied.

  Now Reidinger laughed. ‘And he’ll learn how to function as a Prime.’

  ‘He already does!’

  ‘No Station discipline. You,’ and Reidinger picked up a jade statuette and began toying with it, ‘will go to Altair and he will work Callisto, rig
ht where I can keep track of him.’

  The Rowan deflected the quick lance of Reidinger’s querying shaft so that he wouldn’t see her delight. She couldn’t have wished for a better situation. Reidinger would soon learn more about Jeff Raven than he wished.

  ‘Callisto?’ She kept her voice neutral, with just a tinge of surprise and consternation in her mind. ‘How are you going to get those naval units back from Deneb then? He’s good but even I can’t reach that far from Callisto. Nor you!’

  ‘Torshan and Saggoner managed quite well at Callisto in your unavoidable absence.’ Reidinger made no attempt to disguise how much that absence had rankled. ‘You say you made a working facility there? That’ll be sufficient for the naval displacement. Then Deneb will just have to rely on its natural resources.’ And he dismissed that battered planet from further FT&T considerations.

  Very privately the Rowan thought that Torshan and Saggoner would do very nicely to carry on the training she had started. Or was Reidinger better briefed about Denebian Talent potential than she could discern?

  ‘You’ll have to ’port out to Altair … you are able for distance now, I believe,’ Reidinger continued to poke subtly at her mind.

  ‘Home the Conquering Hero comes!’ she replied flippantly. Then abruptly altered her tone. ‘There isn’t any chance that she’ll recover?’ She owed Siglen some compassion.

  ‘None!’ Reidinger interrupted her harshly. ‘We owe her surcease now, Rowan,’ he added in a kinder but still gruff tone. Then, for the first time, he really looked at her, his eyes falling to the security badge. ‘Angharad Gwyn?’

  The Rowan chuckled for his surprise was genuine. ‘My true name.’

  For the first time, Reidinger’s expression was respectful. ‘You let him read that deeply?’

  ‘Of course.’ She did not bother to mention the circumstances. ‘Dai Gwyn, a mining supervisor, was my father, and my mother was Marie Evans Gwyn, one of the camp’s teachers. I had an older brother, Ian. You may wish to correct the records.’

  ‘Why?’ And Reidinger was his truculent self again. ‘Everyone knows you as the Rowan. You won’t ever turn into an Angharad Gwyn at this late date. Now, finish the inbound stuff at Callisto. I’ve already called that impudent manipulative Denebian in. But, if you hang about to have a snuggle on Prime time, I’ll blast the pair of you so hard where it’ll hurt, you’ll neither of you want to sleep together for a month. I’ve allowed you two far more leeway than you deserve.’

  ‘I wonder I don’t see it that way, Reidinger,’ she said with a laugh, ‘considering all that our association has achieved.’ Reidinger probed swiftly and she countered, laughing. ‘Don’t bother to see me out.’ She could afford to be gracious. ‘I know the way.’

  She put herself back into the reception area to find Gollee Gren in a heated argument with five angry men in Security garb.

  ‘I completed my errand, Talent Gren,’ she said, interrupting the dressing down he was getting. She lifted enough shielding for every one of them to realize who she was. ‘I didn’t mean to get you in trouble but I considered it necessary to speak with Earth Prime as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have done it the normal way?’ asked Gren, understandably aggrieved.

  ‘No,’ she replied without remorse. ‘But don’t fault Afra. He could only comply with my wishes. You were most helpful and courteous.’ Gren gave an audible groan of resignation. Then she smiled winningly at the Security team who were considerably less forgiving. ‘There really is no way to keep one Prime from seeing another, you know, though the heat sensors relayed my presence. I promise that the next time I call in, I’ll do so strictly by protocol. Come, Gollee, escort me back to my carrier.’

  PART FOUR

  ALTAIR AND CALLISTO

  FOR THE ROWAN to return to Altair Prime Station under her own power was cause for considerable surprise, elation, and pride. The hastily assembled reception committee included many people known to her; among them her foster brother and sister whom she was very pleased to see again. She suppressed a surge of pain that Lusena was not alive to see this day. Nor Siglen, for between her interview with Reidinger and her departure from Callisto at the end of the working day, the old Prime had, mercifully, died.

  Foremost of the welcoming committee was the Secretary of Interior, who abandoned protocol to embrace the Rowan, crying happy tears.

  ‘Oh my dear child, it is such a blessing to have you back with us!’ Holding the Rowan away from her, she gave her a quick, satisfied appraisal, and then hugged her again.

  The Rowan returned the embrace willingly, warmed by the Secretary’s spontaneity. The woman had perceptibly aged in face and form but her mind was as lucid, open, and kind as ever, her touch a cheerful bright green. In that contact, the Rowan understood even more: that Secretary of the Interior Camella had hated turning the Rowan, as a child, over to Siglen’s cheerless establishment; that she had often felt guilty that she hadn’t been able to keep a closer personal contact with the orphaned child. The Rowan was also aware of the Secretary’s enormous pride and relief that the Rowan had returned to Altair as their Prime.

  ‘And I wish I could have returned in less urgent circumstances,’ the Rowan said, replying to the spoken welcome.

  Dismay colored the Secretary’s face briefly. ‘Oh, poor Siglen. At least she was spared undue pain and never knew the ignominy of her condition. It’s such a relief to have you: so fitting that Altair’s native Prime should take over.’

  The Mayor and Governor were introduced, both new to their offices, though the Rowan recognized their faces from earlier service in less exalted roles. They observed scrupulous protocol with respectful bows. Gerolaman came forward then, beaming with pride. For such a splendid occasion, he had dressed in the formal deep-green FT&T uniform. He then introduced to her the four Talents new since her time there. The rest of the station staff she greeted by name, feeling this odd sensation that she hadn’t been ten years gone from Altair.

  Bralla? she asked Gerolaman privately when she noticed another missing face.

  She had to retire from active service last year, Gerolaman replied testily, which suggested to the Rowan that he felt Siglen might still be alive if Bralla had been on duty. And she deeply mourns Siglen’s death.

  ‘We’ve arranged a proper reception for you later, Rowan,’ the Secretary of the Interior said, and then added hesitantly, ‘that is, if you wouldn’t mind attending.’ Siglen had rarely responded to invitations. Nor allowed the Rowan to.

  The Rowan laughed. ‘I’d love to come. I’ve been mewed up in the Callisto Dome quite long enough. It’ll be a real treat to have a planet to range.’

  ‘When work’s over,’ Gerolaman said with a discreet cough.

  ‘Oh, dear, yes,’ and the Secretary was briefly dismayed. ‘It seems so uncharitable to shove you into the Tower as soon as you’ve arrived. Stationmaster and the others have done a magnificent job coping …’

  ‘I can see the loaded cradles, Secretary,’ the Rowan said, grinning. ‘It won’t take me long to shift it all.’

  The Secretary’s dismay melted into a relieved smile.

  ‘Then just send word when you’re free, Rowan … or should I call you Prime now?’

  ‘My name is Angharad Gwyn,’ the Rowan said, grinning impudently and enjoying the shock on the Secretary’s face. ‘I prefer being the Rowan. I’ll send word,’ she added and walked briskly into the Tower.

  Towers followed the same basic design throughout the Central Worlds’ sphere of influence but the Rowan quickly noticed both subtle and obvious differences in the Altair Tower since she had last occupied it. The new generating system was three times as powerful now. The console had been updated, quite likely to compensate for Siglen’s depleting energies. She noticed the overrides in every system and realized that Gerolaman and the T-2s, Bastian and Maharanjani, had discreetly monitored the old Prime.

  Briefly glancing through the stack of manifests to check for priorities, the Rowa
n settled in the chair and ordered the generators powered up.

  This is a grand new system you’ve got, Gerolaman, she said appreciatively for the warm-up was accomplished in seconds. That blasted Reidinger gave me substandard junk to use on Callisto.

  Gerolaman’s chuckle echoed in her head. You didn’t recognize them? The old Altairian system was sent to run Callisto!

  I don’t know why I work for FT&T! Cheap outfit.

  Only one in the Galaxy.

  The Rowan smiled to herself and, deep in her mind, heard Jeff Raven’s chuckle. Then, picking up the power of the generators, she sent cargo spinning out of their cradles in a steady stream.

  I taught you well, Gerolaman remarked smugly and setttled in to work.

  Later the Rowan teamed up with Bastian and Maharanjani to get accustomed to their minds and methods. Both were capable, if at first very formal with her, but they relaxed as the day progressed. It was an advantage that they’d all been taught by the same Prime.

  That first six days were occasionally upset by minor adjustments which the Rowan would have solved much differently at Callisto, and in the days before she had met Jeff Raven.

  You’ve had a soothing effect on me, love, she told him in one of their conferences. Late night Altair was often early morning on Callisto and she easily pictured him in her bed, hands clasped behind his head, blankets pulled up to his chin.

  One day, he began, his mind tone deep and sensual, I might be able to enumerate the colossal alterations you’ve effected on this poor li’l boonie boy. What mischief have you been up to today?

  Mischief? When was I ever allowed to get into mischief? But I did clear all of Siglen’s junk and got the bedroom repainted. So tonight I’ll have no more nightmares about those ghastly vines and flowers trying to eat me alive.

  The Rowan had not wanted to take the Prime’s accommodations. Not after her first horrified look at the main lounge. Siglen’s bazaar tastes had never improved and the Rowan wondered how the crippled, obese old woman had managed to move about without knocking things off tables. Shuddering at the clashing colors and hoarded junk, the Rowan had closed the door, whooshing some of the heavy musky scent Siglen had been fond of into the hall. She would have preferred to move back into her old accommodation, now occupied by Bastian, Maharanjani, and their two children. But Siglen’s quarters had to be redone for the Rowan to feel comfortable in them. At that, about all she could afford was to strip off the ghastly wallpaper and paint the rooms. She had spent well into next year’s salary on Deneb’s needs.