Damia

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Diabetes?” Jeff sat down heavily on the bed beside his wife, drawing her into his arms as if his protection would mitigate the illness.

  “It’s not uncommon in pregnancies, though it usually manifests itself in the first or second. The condition passes when the baby is born.” She was readying a hypo-spray as she spoke. “This injection should balance your glucose levels.”

  “But I’ve always been so healthy. I’ve had three easy pregnancies . . .” The Rowan was stunned.

  Elizara nodded. “So you have. This time you’re not. You will have to watch your diet and your workload. Stress must be reduced or you can do yourself, and the child, serious harm.” She turned to Jeff. “I know that Callisto Station is a vital link in the FT&T network, but I have to insist that the Rowan’s schedule be lightened.”

  “As of right now,” Jeff said, and he ’pathed through the restriction to Afra and Brian Ackerman.

  Elizara caught and held the Rowan’s gaze. “Right now, Rowan?”

  She nodded, no longer able to deny the consuming weariness she had struggled to ignore. She lay back on the pillows and wanted to weep. “Oh, Jeff. I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry? What for?” Jeff enfolded her in his arms, alarmed to see tears streaming down her face. “Not your fault, luv, that your body’s done gone and let you down. Mind you, there’re not many pregnant women who could hold a megaton freighter in sheer determination not to let it drop forever out of sight. Not to mention all the other minor little crises you seem to deal with every day. Then, too,” and his grin turned to sheer mischief as he realized that sympathy was not helping, “if you’d allowed me to produce this embryo in the time-honored fashion . . .” He cocked his head, hoping that he’d taken just the right teasing note with her.

  She stopped crying and glared at him. “You can’t blame the whole thing on me! Sperm’s sperm no matter how I acquired it.” Then she caught his expression and began to giggle. “Oh, all right. I did do this on my own and I’m paying for it! And it is my fault. But you wouldn’t help me. Damia is such a caring child. Look how she treats Rascal and the Coonies . . .”

  “Paints them pretty colors . . .”

  “But she cleaned them up. She just wants what Jeran and Cera already have: a sibling to care for and play with.”

  “And you’re having your own way, and now we’ll take over,” he said, squeezing her affectionately and rubbing his cheek against hers. “But we’ll get you sorted out. We’ll make sure that you get lots of rest, all the best exercise”—he sniggered suggestively—“and no hassles.”

  “The children?” she asked almost fearfully, though she “felt” that he had also taken that decision from her.

  “Are going to Deneb. I’ve already talked with Mother and she’s got some ideas that ought to solve her problems and our problems. And,” he paused significantly, pulling back enough to catch her eyes with his, “you’ll agree to give yourself a long break before you ask me—politely and in the normal fashion—for another baby.” He eyed her sternly.

  “Oh, I will!” the Rowan replied, earnestly wide-eyed. “I will!”

  * * *

  Afra caught up with Jeff Raven. Brian Ackerman was right behind him. “She will be all right, won’t she?”

  “Elizara told you everything?” Jeff asked, allowing Afra to “see” the concern he had kept from the Rowan. “She must keep her metabolism balanced. Elizara had a private word with me before she went back to her Clinic. Rowan did not wait long enough between pregnancies to get her metabolism back to normal. If we keep her occupied with a decent work load, less than she does normally but enough to keep her pride intact, and if we keep her emotions in check—you know better than I, perhaps, how unstable her emotions have been in this pregnancy . . .” He grinned as Afra rolled his eyes expressively and Brian exhaled a long and hard-used sigh. “. . . then she should be fine.”

  “What’ll happen next time?” Ackerman asked skeptically.

  Jeff nodded. “Elizara has hopes. Nothing can be done now, but afterwards there are treatments which can prevent a recurrence.”

  Ackerman looked dubious. “I thought that another pregnancy would always cause permanent diabetes.”

  “Used to be,” Jeff said. “But Elizara assures me that this is no longer so.” He regarded them thoughtfully. “The children are going to Deneb. We’ll have to do that quickly.” He looked directly at Afra.

  “If it’s to be done, ’twere better swiftly done,” Afra said, agreeing and forcing a grin from Jeff at the quotation. “Today. Brian and I can organize transport.”

  “Sure, sure thing,” Brian answered, wondering why he was being seconded to an unenviable chore, but Afra would have his own reasons.

  “I’m not sure what tack to take in breaking the news to Damia,” Jeff said, twisting his mouth in dismay. “The poor little thing’s been so subdued lately.”

  “I’d be surprised if she wasn’t,” Afra said. “How did you get the Rowan to capitulate to send the children away?”

  “That freighter debacle helped almost as much as realizing she’s risking the baby if she doesn’t take care,” Jeff said. “I just don’t want Damia connecting her disobedience with her summary exile.”

  “Why will she? If Jeran and Cera are to go with her,” Afra asked. “Emphasize that the Rowan’s sick—which Damia certainly senses already. Jeran and Cera probably do, too. They may be self-involved, but they’re not insensitive to their surroundings.”

  “No, they’re not.” In fact, Tanya had told Jeff how agitated the pair had been following the freighter episode. And they had known that Damia had been in trouble. They’d even spontaneously involved her in more than one game in daycare. “When?” Jeff asked, his decision made.

  “Today,” Afra responded immediately.

  “Isn’t that precipitous?” Jeff worried about the Rowan’s reaction to what seemed, even to him, like an almost indecent haste.

  “Your mother is ready and waiting,” Afra added, giving Raven the distinct impression that Afra had been in private collusion with her.

  Jeff Raven sighed, nodding and thinking of all the matters awaiting his attention back on Earth. “Very well. Let’s do it today, then.”

  * * *

  Damia had practiced very hard at being good for two whole days. Tanya collected her in the morning because Damia already knew that Mother was very tired and was resting all day in bed. Damia wondered if something was wrong with the Tower. Mother never stayed away from there for very long. So, because Daddy had said that Damia must be quiet, she expanded that request to include her hours at the daycare. Occasionally she would glance around to be sure that Tanya noticed how well she was behaving.

  She had not meant to cause trouble; she had just got frightened when the ship lurched so suddenly. Her voyages had always gone smoothly. Then she had “felt” her mother involved in the lurching and she became afraid that Mommy was mad at her. So, she’d had to call Afra for help. She was sure that he would explain to Mommy and then everything would be all right. But everything was still not right; Damia suppressed a momentary surge of anger at Afra for not making everything better.

  Damia? someone “called” to her. Afra! It was Afra! She turned around. “Afra!” she called aloud, rising to run over to him. She knew she was not supposed to “call” rather than speak, but she could not help a little hopeful echo. Afra?

  Afra squatted down and hugged the small child.

  “You’ve come to play with me because I’ve been very good and quiet,” she cried in happy expectation. She gave him a coy, beguiling look, blue eyes peering up through jet-black hair, trying to think which game she could involve Afra in.

  “Tanya said you have indeed been quiet and well-mannered,” Afra replied. “So if we can play something while I talk with you . . .”

  Happily Damia led him over to her corner, a small hand wrapped around a big finger. “We can play Station,” she decided, having discarded several other possibilities as they walked
. “I’ll be the Prime and you be my twic.”

  “Twic?”

  “Two-I-C?” Damia tried again.

  Afra chuckled. “Second-in-command! Certainly,” he gave her a mock bow from his cross-legged seat on the floor, “your wish is my command.”

  Damia placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head at him irritably. “Afra!”

  “What?”

  Damia waggled a finger at him. “You know. Now play right.”

  Afra obliged, working up a manifest of cows, cats, and clam chowder for their first load. They did three loads before Afra decided that she was sufficiently relaxed.

  “Where’s the next load?” Damia asked, a pout at the ready.

  “How would you like to be a load? A proper one, just like those you’ve seen leave the Station.”

  Damia hesitated, not sure she really wanted to play in the pods right now. “You’ll have a proper carisak to take on board for your trip.”

  “Trip?” Damia was not enthusiastic but she knew she could trust Afra. If he felt she should be a proper load . . .

  “Jeran and Cera will be going, too.”

  Damia was not happy about that. She’d rather do something that they didn’t. They were so mean about sharing with her, though they’d been much nicer the past two days.

  “Are you?” she asked, looking up hopefully, but Afra shook his head. “Then I don’t want to.”

  “Ah, but you see, your grandmother has especially invited you to come. You’ll like her.”

  Suddenly sensing that Afra was not playing the sort of game she liked, Damia threw herself at him, clutching his neck fiercely with her arms. “I want you!”

  Afra gently disengaged her, his hands wrapped around her tiny waist, holding her from him so that he could keep eye contact as well as reinforce his words through touch. “Damia, you need to go on this trip,” he said in his gentlest, most persuasive tone. “Your grandmother has made such special arrangements for you.” He ignored her pout. “You’ll have cousins your own age . . . cousins who’ll include you in all their games. Indeed, knowing you, you’ll probably be leader.”

  “I would?” Damia was captivated by that prospect. Being youngest, she wasn’t allowed to lead anything here.

  “You’ll have a whole planet to play on, not a bunch of domes that restrict you to one measly play area and dank tunnels.”

  “But I like the tunnels . . .”

  “That’s only because you haven’t seen the wonders of a planet that your uncle Ian . . .”

  “Uncle?” She wrinkled her nose in perplexity.

  “Your uncle Ian. He’s seven.”

  “He’s not my age, then. He’s older than Jeran.” She frowned suspiciously at him. “Who’s my age?”

  Afra laughed because he hadn’t inquired about such details. “Well, there’re so many I quite forget who’s who and how old, but your grandmother will introduce you. She’s waiting for you, you know, on Deneb. Where your father lived as a child.”

  “I’m staying here,” Damia declared stoutly, crossing her arms over her chest in bold emphasis.

  “Which toys do you want to bring?” Afra asked, looking around at the pile.

  “Why can’t I stay here?”

  Afra considered his next argument. “Well, you know that your mother’s not well?” When Damia nodded, her little face assuming a solemn expression, he went on, “It’s because of your brother-to-be.”

  “I’m going to have a brother?” Damia brightened considerably.

  Afra nodded wisely. “Don’t tell your mother I said so, but yes.”

  “Will he play with me?”

  “I imagine so,” Afra returned. “Are you going to be nice to him?”

  Damia did not commit herself immediately. “Will he play with me like Jeran plays with Cera?”

  “That depends on you,” Afra replied, giving her a quizzical look. “If you love him like Jeran loves Cera, then he’ll play with you the same way.”

  “I’ll love him!” Damia declared excitedly. “When am I going to see him?”

  “Well, he hasn’t been born yet—”

  “You mean he’s in Mommy’s belly?” Afra nodded. “And she’s got to get him out?” Afra nodded again. “Is that why we’re going to Gran?” Again Afra nodded. “Then why didn’t you say so?” Afra, who had already had experience with her precocity, wondered why he had tried the oblique approach with her.

  “We started to play a game of Stations, remember?” he said, teasingly. “Let’s gather your toys.”

  “Don’t my cousins have toys?”

  “Yes, but surely you’ll want to share yours with them?”

  “I guess so, if they’re going to play with me,” Damia replied cheerfully.

  * * *

  Damia’s mood changed perceptibly when it was time to strap down in the personal capsule. “I don’t want to go by myself,” she cried to Afra. Jeff Raven, lips drawn thin in tight control, stood close by. “Daddy, make Afra come with me?”

  “No, honey,” Afra told her. “I’ve got to stay here with your mother.” He picked her up and set her beside her brother and sister, strapping her in against her squirming.

  “I don’t want to go!” she declared.

  What about your brother? Afra asked her privately.

  Don’t want a brother! I want you! she shot back so strongly that Afra was startled by her vehemence.

  The “noise” attracted the Rowan, who ’ported in the direction of her daughter’s “voice.”

  “Damia? What’s wrong? What’s going on here?” she demanded. Her eyes widened as she took in the tableau. “Jeff! Not yet! It’s too soon!”

  “Luv, you should be resting.”

  “You weren’t going to let me say goodbye?” the Rowan cried.

  Jeff took her hands in his, shaking his head. “You’re not saying goodbye. You’re saying bon voyage. The children will only be in Deneb. You can hear them, no problem.”

  “Jeff!” she started, accusingly. She saw Afra. “You! You’re in it, too!”

  “Rowan—” Afra started, stepping toward her, arm outstretched beseechingly.

  “No!”

  “Mommee!” Damia cried, struggling against her straps.

  “Oh, Jeff, how could you?” the Rowan gasped.

  And then Damia disappeared out of her straps and into Afra’s arms. The Rowan’s eyes widened in shock as she saw her youngest disappear, then her jaw dropped as she saw where she reappeared. She turned to Jeff, hurt amazement on her face.

  “She’s got the hang of it, hasn’t she?” Jeff told her quietly. “What if she were to jump into the vacuum?”

  The Rowan blinked, wetted her lips, and looked back to her daughter, speechless.

  Say goodbye to your mother, Damia, Afra said on the tightest mental band he could exercise, and with such authority that he felt her objections melting in the absence of any option. He took her to her parents.

  And my brother? Damia begged in what Afra knew was a last ditch delaying tactic.

  Very quietly, he said, without letting up on his authority.

  Damia stretched from his arms to wrap her own around her mother’s neck. “I’ll be good, Mommy,” she promised, planting a pair of wet lips firmly on her mother’s cheek. “For my brother.”

  The Rowan hugged her back, suppressing the agony of separation. Any weakness on her part would undo all the preparation Afra had managed. “I’m only just a thought away, Damia dear.”

  “Even in the Tower?” Damia asked anxiously.

  The Rowan closed her eyes briefly against that soft query.

  “I promise, darling, that while you’re away—and, if you’re a good girl—you can even speak to me in the Tower.”

  “Oh!” Damia’s voice was charged with relief and she smiled broadly. “Daddy, too?”

  “If you remember that we might be too busy to talk long,” Jeff said, holding up a warning finger.

  “Afra?”

  “Well, minxlette, I’m not
as good at long distance as your parents are, but I’ll listen real hard.”

  “I’ll call real big.”

  Then she squirmed to be released from Afra’s restraint. He sensed what she wanted to do and let her down. She put her hands on her mother’s abdomen and said with an amazingly narrow shaft of thought, I’ll be the best sister anyone’s ever had. Her face radiated a contentment that he had never seen on her face since her baby days.

  To his intense surprise, Afra became aware that neither the Rowan nor Jeff had heard Damia’s promise. He was more relieved than ever that she’d be away from the hazards of a domed station.

  “Now,” he said, taking charge of matters again, “let’s just get you settled,” and he picked her up and started to settle her back into the capsule.

  “When can we go?” Jeran demanded with a flavor of impatience for all this delay. Cera glared briefly at Damia.

  “As soon as I’m feeling better, your father and I will come visit . . .” the Rowan began, speaking to forestall tears, so she was grateful for the suggestion Afra ’pathed to her, “. . . and see you being the leader of all your new friends . . .” But she fully intended to tell him just what she thought of his part in this hasty exile of her children.

  “Will you visit me, too, Afra?” Damia demanded.

  “Of course,” he replied, “we’re to play Stations, aren’t we?”

  As the capsule closed her submission vanished. “No! NO!” she shrieked, voice muffled inside the capsule.

  Damia! Jeff had been ready for such a reverse and he clamped such a hold on her mind that she was rendered powerless.

  Afra! Afra! I want to stay! Please? I’ll be good.

  Ready the generators, Jeff ordered the Tower personnel.

  Afra?

  The generators rose in pitch.

  Be good now, sweetheart! Afra felt her fear, like an icicle against his heart, but he firmed his mind against her plea, trying to deny how treacherous she must perceive him.

  Aaaffffrrra! The squeal of the generators rose to a crescendo. The capsule disappeared. The generators wound back down.

  They’re here! the distant voice of Isthia informed them calmly. My, can she scream!