It had been a matter of necessity that four of the five children born to the Rowan and Jeff had been encouraged to produce large families. Jeran, Cera and Damia were T-1’s, Ezro was a T-3 physician, while the deceased Larak had been a T-2. Even his one child, Grayhan, was a T-2. All of the offspring in the Raven-Lyon marriage were T-1’s, though for some time it was thought that Zara, the second daughter, might be a dysfunctional T-1. She was now fully trained in a medically oriented Talent, so it was unlikely that she’d be asked to assume the responsibilities of a Tower.
David of Betelgeuse had three T-1 children: Perry, Morgelle and Xahra. Jeran, now Denebian Prime, had four, Barry being of an age with Rojer, while Cera had three, also potential high Talents. The Bastianmajani couple from Altair had produced a T-1 in Flavia, though her brothers and sisters were lesser Talents. They were completely unrelated to the Gwyn-Raven-Lyon group. Rather more Denebians had latent Talents than other first-generation colonial worlds. They were lazy about using them, though the Eagleses, Ravens, Sparrows and other clans supplied many of the high 4, 3 and 2 Talents—when they chose to move off-planet. No one could be forced, against personal inclination, to make use of Talent. The Denebians, as a group, were far more interested in developing their world. Unfortunately, Talents were still an elite and limited group and their abilities were more and more in demand now that Humans and Mrdinis were spreading ever outward from their homeworlds. The plain facts, of course, rarely figured in the complaints of nepotism that were lodged.
Any good news? the Rowan asked, so pointedly her daughter winced.
If you mean great-grandchildren, no, Damia said with a sigh. She had so hoped that Laria would be able to win Vanteer’s constant affection. The T-6 engineer at Clarf Tower had one failing: he couldn’t settle to just one woman and already had several offspring from different women, Humans living on Clarf. That two of the infants seemed to have Talented minds augured well for any children he might give Laria.
What’s the problem? the Rowan asked.
I think—the reply came from Afra—that Laria intimidates him. A T-6 would have no defense against a mental invasion by a determined Prime. Damia was pleased that Laria had not resorted to that in her wish to become pleasing to Vanteer.
What? The Rowan found that hard to believe. She’s not aggressive.
Like some you could name, Damia put in, referring to her own teenage experiments in finding a partner.
But you sorted yourself out, her mother said.
Laria is a different personality entirely ...
For which we are grateful, said Jeff, teasing again, but his touch was fond.
So don’t you two meddle, Damia said sharply.
We have our ethics, Jeff said, though there are some who do not believe it.
Father, of course you do. I’m sorry I said that. Damia was once again contrite.
We might shift some more willing prospects to Clarf now that we have some breathing space, Jeff suggested.
I can’t think who would be suitable, Damia said with another sigh.
Well, this latent T-2 kinetic, the one Gollee Gren’s been training, is an attractive person, the Rowan said. I think he’s also related to Yoshuk at Sef Tower, a younger brother.
Yoshuk’s a good man, Damia said with a lift of hope in her voice. There was a hint in her mind that she found Vanteer’s reluctance to ally her daughter an insult to the entire family.
She’s twenty-six and a bit, Afra reminded them. Give her time to settle on someone who is compatible. And no need to remind us, Damia m’love, that you’d had four children at Laria’s age.
I was lucky. The deep love and affection she had for Afra was a vibrant note in her voice.
You were! the Rowan said softly.
I was the lucky one, Afra said firmly. Worth waiting for, and let us give Laria that option too.
Agreed, said Jeff, and on that comment he and the Rowan left the merge.
“How can Vanteer say that Laria intimidates him?” Damia asked, sliding upright and swinging her legs to the side of her couch. “Zara might, but not Laria. She’s very careful with relationships. Look how well she and Kincaid get along...” She made a face. “I so wish he was interested in women.” She gave a gusty sigh. “As a T-2, he’d be an ideal match.”
Afra sat up too, his expression thoughtful. “Kincaid is so good with our younger ones when he visits.” Damia gave him a sharp look. But he shrugged. “Just an observation. She and Kincaid have a very good rapport.”
“Not that good...”
“At least as far as it goes.”
Then she said briskly. “If Gollee has someone to send to Clarf for training, it might even make Vanteer jealous. After all, there’ll be a lot of activity from that planet once colonization starts. Another Talent might be needed.”
“Kincaid’s certain that Clarf has already started provisioning colony ships, choosing specialists and color groups, ready to go the moment First Fleet—I rather like that new designation—”
“So do I,” Damia agreed, standing up and arching her back in a stretch.
“That Clarf will be overworked, sending off personnel carriers, message tubes and cargo drones. Up, up and away.” He grinned at her over such eagerness.
“Well, the ’Dinis need the room to spread out in, that’s certainly true. I just hope the Hivers haven’t ruined other, perfectly good worlds as they did Talavera.” She frowned, having heard from Zara in detail about the ecological damage wreaked on that planet. She put on her coat and prepared to leave.
Putting an affectionate arm about his wife’s shoulders, Afra guided her to the Tower steps. They met Keylarion on her way up.
“Oh, you haven’t gone,” their T-6 station manager said, surprised.
“Oh yes, we have and you haven’t seen us,” Damia said.
“Unless it’s urgent,” Afra appended, giving his wife a reproving look. She made a face at him.
“Xexo and me are set to do some recalibrations, that’s all,” Keylarion said, and as if on cue, the T-8 engineer arrived from his section of the Tower, diagnostic equipment hanging from both arms and down his back.
“Ah, you’re finished. Good,” Xexo said as he went past them on the stairs, grunting at the weight he was carrying.
“Anything serious?” Damia asked, since Afra’s reproof had recalled her sense of duty.
“No, just to be sure,” Xexo said, and Keylarion winked as she followed him.
Damia grinned back at her, knowing how particular the engineer was about his beloved generators.
Outside in the brisk late-winter air of Iota Aurigae, Damia folded her coat about her and huddled against Afra’s long frame, to shield herself from the worst of the wind.
Their ’Dinis came rushing out of the house, chattering as if their friends had been gone for weeks instead of a few hours. Tri caught Afra’s free hand while Fok took Damia’s and escorted them the rest of the way.
two
Rojer joined the Columbia in the middle of ship night, just before the dogwatch came on.
Sorry, Flavia. Should have checked to be sure it was convenient, he said. We’d just finished hauling the drones and Grandfather was ready to ship me out, so it seemed silly to waste the ride.
“I’m here, I’m here,” said Flavia, appearing in the boat bay and nearly colliding with the duty officer, Lieutenant Sad-ler Ismail, who was on his way to the personnel carrier. “Zara went back to bed.”
“Oops, sorry about that, Prime.” He took Flavia’s arm to steady her precipitous arrival. “Good to see you, sir,” Ismail said, belatedly saluting as he remembered that Prime Talents had the honorary rank of captain while on Fleet maneuvers. “Need some help there, Gil, Kat?” he added as the ’Dinis emerged.
I’d’ve had Asia greet you, but she stayed below on some minor emergency. If I’d known ...
That’s all right. So we’re orbiting Talavera.
Sure. Flavia looked surprised. Didn’t you know?
No, I
didn’t know. Grandfather just whisked me away from the Washington.
Just then various items dropped into the personnel carrier just vacated: one soft-soled boot, a cascade of disks and two worn, obviously dirty shipsuits.
“I left the suits behind for a reason,” Rojer said, making a face in the general direction of his previous ship. He pointed to a shoulder patch that displayed a clearly printed “A.S.S. Washington.”
Flavia grabbed the offending suits and they disappeared: a disposal hatch hissed receipt. She gave him an affectionate hug, touching his mind with warm greetings.
“You needn’t have come down yourself, Flavia.” He returned her embrace. “But I’m glad you did.” Despite the hour, she felt as vibrant and self-assured as ever. He could wish, feeling her very womanly body against his, that she wasn’t already attached to Jesper Ornigo, T-6 from Betelgeuse.
I know. It’s sad we can’t replicate ourselves and share the wealth, she said, half teasing. “C’mon, I’ll take you to your quarters. Thanks, Sadler. He’s my problem now.”
“Yes ma’am.” Ismail signaled for one of the yeomen on duty to take Rojer’s luggage.
“No need to disturb your watch,” Flavia said airily, and with a gesture the duffels disappeared, including the ship shoe and the disks.
“We’ll go the easy way,” she said. Turning to say good night to officer and watch, she took his hand and ’ported him to the passageway outside his assigned quarters.
“You go on back to bed now, Flavia. I’ll settle myself in.” He gave her a mental push.
“I’m just two doors down,” she said, and walked away. “G’night!”
“Night,” he responded with an airy kiss for her cheek. He put his hand on the doorplate and it slid open, showing him a room that contained both bed alcove and a lounge. Not as luxurious as the specially designed quarters for the Talents on the Washington, but larger than his original accommodations on the Genesee and Phobos Moon Base. You wanted the change of assignment, he muttered to himself.
He had indeed half hoped that Asia would be there to welcome him. That was the trouble with Primes. Always launching people when it was convenient for them. He glanced at his duffels, wincing because of the speed with which he had stuffed them. Ah well, he could sort them out tomorrow. Right now he’d follow Flavia’s example and get some sleep. He took off his ship shoes, loosened the top cover of his bunk and slid under it. With a mild suggestion to his diurnal self, he was asleep in moments.
Is that all, Van? Laria asked as Clarf Tower’s generators hit an even pitch after the latest drone launch.
Yup! was the relieved response. I told you we were going to get busier.
It’s toing-and-froing freight, Laria said, somewhat disgusted.
Throwing freight, you mean, Lionasha, Tower’s T-7 expediter, corrected. It’s much more fun froing ’Dinis about.
Ah ah ah! Kincaid Dano said, with a mental image of a wagging finger. He grinned across the way at Laria as they both sat up on their Tower couches and stretched against the long session.
“I don’t feel like a mule,” Laria said, rotating her shoulder blades and rubbing her neck. “I feel like I’ve been kicked by one.”
Kincaid swung his long legs over the edge of his couch and, with equally long arms, reached across the narrow space and began to massage her neck, his strong fingers sensitively touching just the right spot. Laria let her head hang and murmured appreciatively.
Van’s a damned fool, Kincaid said on a tight link with her.
Leave it, Dano, Laria said.
Why should I? the T-2 asked. For all he’s one of the best Tower engineers, he’s an aggravation.
Do I sound aggravated? Laria asked.
Patient is what you sound and you’re too good for him. He gave her a final hard rub, nearly sliding her off the smooth surface of her couch. He caught her body with a mental block and she couldn’t help but giggle. That’s better.
He’s handy, she said with a shrug.
You should tell him that and depress his ego.
It’s the thought of a T-1 in his bed that depresses him, Laria said, and sighed.
I don’t think you’re in love with him anyway, Laria. Not the way you should be. He has been, as you say, handy. And in an attractive enough package.
Very, very deeply, Laria thought that Kincaid was in an even more attractive package, but his preference lay with his own sex. Meanwhile that didn’t interfere with their understanding each other as perfectly as she could have wished Van and she did.
“Which idiot was it that said once we’ve got the last sphere, work’ll slack off?” Lionasha asked, as Laria and Kincaid descended the short flight of steps from the cupola above the station building that acted as a Tower.
“Wasn’t me,” Kincaid said, making for the cold drinks cabinet. “What’ll you have, Laria, with your electrolytes?” he asked.
“Do we still have any of that real old-fashioned lemonade flavor?”
“We do.” Kincaid ’ported her a nice cold flask, grinning as she deftly caught it in her open hand. “Not a drop spilled either.”
Vanteer joined them from the lower level that housed the great generators needed for Talent gestalt. He was wiping his hands on a greasy cloth.
“I need a beer,” he said, and ’ported one without quite the same deftness as the others used. He shot them a look as he peeled off the cap. “Number three needs servicing. I had to rev it manually during the last three ’ports.”
“Will it be down long?” Laria asked.
Lionasha also looked apprehensive. “We’ve the same schedule for tomorrow, you know.”
“So you told me. I’ll have it up and running sweetly by tomorrow when it’s needed,” he said, turning to retrace his steps, “even if I have to work all night.”
Lionasha looked from Laria to Kincaid and rolled her tawny eyes.
Keep a lid on it, Lio, Laria said, aiming the thought at the Tower expediter, whose eyes matched her hair, set off by a skin that took Clarf’s sun well.
Kincaid gave a low snort. Likes to rub it in, doesn’t he!
You too, Dano. Laria glared at the T-2.
Lionasha returned to her desk, shaking her head, and began checking the next day’s schedule on her screen.
We’re a good team. Let’s never forget that, Laria said. “I’m going swimming.”
“You’ll fry,” both Lionasha and Kincaid told her.
She held up sun-browned arms, as dark as acorn hulls, and laughed. “I’ve sunblock. I need the exercise.”
WE COME TOO, cried her ’Dinis, just entering the Tower from the landing field.
Kincaid stretched, yawned. “I’m for a nap, frankly.” His ’Dinis, who arrived on Laria’s heels, vehemently agreed, all three sauntering down the cool hall to their quarters.
She went to her room and changed into her swim togs, struggled into the long caftan that would also be a protection against Clarf’s late-afternoon sun. Tip and Huf rummaged to find pads to lie on and the umbrella that Laria wisely carried to shield herself from the sun at the swim place.
“Have fun,” Lionasha said as she watched the three of them file out the door.
Halfway there in her ground car, her caftan clinging to her sweating body, Laria wondered why under any sun she was doing this now. She could have waited until sunset, when the air was less humid and Clarf’s primary was not shining directly in her eyes, as it was now that she was heading west. If Vanteer was going to work on the generator, she couldn’t remain in the Tower premises, especially after Kincaid’s remarks.
She knew Van had acquired another girlfriend: a chemical analyst just in from Betelgeuse on a three-month assignment. That was a long enough stay for most Humans who came from colder Human planets. They might exude joy over a world that rarely had any rain; when they had to endure the constant heat and humidity night and day, the novelty soon wore off. An unlucky minority would prove to be allergic to the harsh rays and have to be transferred, to the
annoyance of their contractors, Human or ’Dini. Meanwhile, there was no point in trying to get Van’s attention: this Marjolee Hess-Tukin monopolized him. Laria had seen her at the very party where Van first met her: a pretty little woman, Laria admitted impartially, with long eyelashes, which she used to good effect on any male. Ironically, it was because Vanteer was Talented and part of the Clarf Tower staff that he was such a conquest for Marjolee. Doubtless one of the other, less tactful females who had also been wooed by Vanteer would warn the girl of his fickle nature. Laria had come to the reluctant conclusion that Van couldn’t resist the challenge of a new female to be courted and won. He required diversity. And the way he kept up with the demands made on him by his other women—he had once sworn to Laria that he loved her to the exclusion of any other woman he’d ever known—astounded his colleagues in the Tower.
“How does he do it?” Lionasha often remarked when Van had lured yet another girl into his bed.
“I know plenty of men who’d like to know,” Kincaid had replied, grinning. “Of both inclinations,” he’d added with a droll smile.
Whatever, Laria needed to get out of the Tower. She thought wistfully of cool, dark-sun Iota Aurigae and home: with the wild wind and the mountains, and riding Saki to hunt scurriers and avians. But now was not the time to ask for home leave.
One of the four planets that Kincaid had discovered of those he had probed on his unhappy stint in Squadron D on the Galaxy-class Valparaiso had been named Talavera, following the nineteenth-century naming of his other three M-type finds: Marengo, Waterloo and Ciudad Rodrigo. Its primary was not quite as fierce as Clarf’s but would certainly suit ’Dinis better than Humans. With so few dying in combat against the Hivers, all five worlds were bursting with candidates willing to undertake the immense task of colonizing, even if it meant heavy ecological work. No birth control methods existed for the ’Dini species. Indeed, their prolificacy had been an advantage during their two hundred years of fighting the spheres. They could “lose” suicide crews, knowing that others of the same genetic pattern would be born in the hibernatories at some later date. Such a “reincarnation” allowed the ’Dinis, if it became necessary, to sacrifice themselves willingly. This was, of course, a fundamental difference between them and Humans, who did not waste their space personnel. Fortunately, Mrdini High Command and all its Councillors were aware of this major psychological difference between the two species, or the mind-set might have caused an insuperable schism. The difference occasionally caused trouble on mixed-species crew ships despite continued lectures on the subject.
The Tower and the Hive Page 4