Afra let out a long-held breath in a ragged sigh.
The Rowan threw herself into Jeff’s arms, weeping bitterly. “I feel the most complete traitor,” she cried.
“You’re not the only one,” Jeff replied, noticing the haggard look on Afra’s face. “But we had to. You know that.”
“I do, but oh, Jeff!” Suddenly the Rowan looked up, her expression radiant, despite the tear strains. “I can hear her! I can still hear her!”
Afra turned away. “I can’t!” And he ’ported himself back to his resoundingly lonely quarters, hearing Damia’s prattle echoing from every corner.
* * *
It had taken Deneb seven years to recover from the Beetle attack. City was a thriving center for the whole planet which now had two other metropolises: Riverside and Whitecliff. Both were seaports located close to extensive mining operations on the other continents. Roads were still mostly the illusion of roads elsewhere on Deneb. Seagoing vessels plied a great trade on the high seas and railroads connected smaller villages along the coastline to the larger cities.
Deneb’s Tower was located at the same site the Rowan had renovated so many years ago and it was near here that Isthia and the Raven clan had their town dwelling. This was built around the original, smaller house that had partially survived the Beetle Bombardment. Wings had been added on as the Raven clan grew and expanded. These now enclosed a large central garden, perfect for a play area. The dwelling was on a large parcel of land, with hills rising through forest to one side, farm land and barns on another two, and the City skyline visible in the distance.
Many lessons had been learned since the Expansion from Earth. Denebians, indeed all colonists, had a greater feel of husbandry for the land than had early Earth dwellers. Forests had been marked off as reserves for oxygen generation, mines were always tunneled when bacteria-leeching techniques were not viable, and, most importantly, the clean, quiet flitter for medium and long distances had replaced noxious internal combustion-powered wheeled vehicles. Shorter trips made use of small, sturdy, and tractable ponies who thrived on the rough grazing and wandered unchecked in small herds.
Deneb, and all colony worlds, started life indebted by the large cost of the initial colonization of the planet. As such, all colony worlds sought rapidly to provide export goods, while at the same time limiting imports to the bare essentials. The best export items were those that commanded the greatest prices for the least effort to ship. Rare or high-quality finished goods, objets d’art, music, literature all fit the category perfectly. Knowledge and useful new engineering techniques, patentable to the planet of origin, were even more exportable but much rarer—the great engineering solution of one planet was often inapplicable on another. Raw materials, valuable but bulky, were a poor last choice of a cash-starved colony.
Talent, particularly those rare people who could hurl objects through the depths of space instantaneously, was the greatest boon to a colony’s cash flow. Talent was in short supply everywhere and in every kind—the metal finder who could locate in scant seconds high-grade ore precisely and perform remote assays, which would cost a regular crew millions of credits and years of time. Or the electronic specialist who could detect faults in circuitry by its “feel.”
The Raven clan had produced a number of such Talents but, until the Penetration had tapped these hidden resources, such natural abilities had gone relatively untrained. The Rowan had identified some useful faculties besides the medical Talents of Asaph and Isthia’s sister, Rakella, when she’d had to rebuild the Tower in the days after Jeff’s accident. Sarjie had a metal affinity which she now used in the rich Benevolent Mines that supplied much of Deneb’s cash balance. Morfanu had been struggling to manage his kinetic Talent and had been tested as a T-3. He now handled most of the FT&T transfers to the planet, though he needed assistance. Besseva was telepathic but her range was limited.
Of the untrained Talent of Deneb, Isthia Raven was the strongest, but she knew herself that she dabbled in too many things to perfect one. So, to bring her grandchildren here in the safest possible fashion, she had assembled everyone on Deneb known to be Talented. She’d hovered so closely in Morfanu’s mind when he “caught” the capsule from Callisto, that he’d had to kick her shins to divert her.
It took no Talent at all to hear Damia bawling or the fierce remonstrations of her brother and sister.
“Why are you crying? You’re perfectly safe! And it’s your fault Mother and Father sent us away!”
IT’S NOT! IT’S NOT! Damia was as loud mentally as physically.
No, it’s not, grandson Jeran. I, your grandmother, specifically invited Damia, and you and your sister, to come live with me on Deneb. To Isthia’s relief, Damia’s howling abated. I had to argue long and hard with your parents to allow this visit. Now, are we going to start off on the right foot by being pleasant, or do I send away the ponies I brought for you to ride home on ?
Ponies? Damia asked, now merely sniffling.
Ponies? and Cera showed a glimmer of interest. What kind of ponies? The kind Damia’s always playing with? Her tone was scornful as well as skeptical, and her sudden, very private aside to her brother on this matter caused Isthia some concern. That bond she and Afra had initiated was far stronger than she’d been given to understand.
Why don’t you all put on your best faces and party manners, and we’ll see, shall we? Damia? I’ve told everyone about you and how wonderfully well-mannered you all are. Don’t disappoint me. Isthia employed the same positive tone she had always found useful in dealing with her dozen children. These three, after all, were also Ravens. Are you ready?
She motioned for her son, Ian, to stand beside her. He’d been jiggling with impatience to see his nieces and nephew. Being the youngest in his family, he envisioned the fun he’d have bossing someone around the way his older siblings had bossed him.
The capsule split, the top rising upwards to reveal the inside. Isthia was relieved to see that while not beaming, Damia was attempting a smile around her wide-eyed curiosity.
“Welcome to Deneb,” Ian piped up on cue. He looked to each one in turn. “Jeran, Cera, Damia. I’m Ian, your uncle.” He did not giggle but his eyes were bright with suppressed laughter. He swept an arm back to his mother in continuation of his carefully rehearsed greeting. “And that’s Morfanu who ’ported you here, and your great-aunt Rakella, and . . .”
“Ponies?” Cera said, looking accusingly at Isthia, “You promised ponies . . .”
“We did, didn’t we?” Isthia said mildly when Ian looked at her for guidance. He hadn’t half introduced those he was supposed to. “As promised, ponies,” and she nodded to Ian.
Grinning from ear to ear because he could get to show off so soon, Ian “called” the ponies from where they browsed on the grass growing among the cradles. Obedient to the summons, they trotted to him while the children, still in the capsule, stared with wide open mouths and eyes at the little troop.
Damia was out of the capsule like a shot, Jeran and Cera not a split second behind her. But Damia stopped just short of the first pony, taking in his flaxen mane and tail which Ian had plaited that morning, the darker “beer” of his hide, his dainty hooves, his bright black eyes, alert with interest.
“Just hold out your hand—flat so Jupiter can’t catch your fingers—and let him sniff you,” Ian instructed.
“What’s this one’s name?” Cera asked, already holding her hand out to the lighter colored mare nearest her.
“And this one?” Jeran asked, wanting his answer from Ian before Cera had hers.
“The mare is Birdie, Cera, and, Jeran, your gelding is Cricket,” Ian said, genuinely enjoying his role.
If Afra had told them about the ponies, Jeff, Isthia remarked to her son later that night when her grandchildren had finally been put to bed, there’d’ve been no fuss on leaving.
I forgot you still had to use those wretched beasts, Jeff said ruefully, for he had stopped riding the moment he had learned how t
o teleport accurately. Afra will be immensely relieved. He was talking about sending out a Coonie or two to keep her from being too lonely.
Thank you, no. There’s enough livestock to be cared for about the place. As it is, it took a lot of persuasion to get Damia to sleep in her bed instead of out in the paddock with Jupiter.
Jeff chuckled. Jupiter?
Yes, Damia was so pleased by that. She has a remarkable appreciation of her environment, doesn’t she? Anyway, reassure Angharad that all’s well.
I will, but I may not mention that she’s been displaced by runty legged manure makers.
The Rowan knew that the children had arrived safely and were settling in, but she’d given himself and Afra such a bollicking for the way they had practically abducted her children that he decided not to risk another storm. She was resting now, more deeply than she had in many months. That was something he wouldn’t mention, though he was intensely glad to see how effective the lifting of her maternal burden had been.
Those runty legged manure makers are the best possible antidote for unsettled kids. Damia had firm control over Jupe in about five minutes. Cera wasn’t all that pleased with the effect of a long ride on her tender behind, but Besseva slathered her with an appropriate salve. Jeran’s being pompous. He’s so much like your father at moments!
Jeff chuckled because he knew exactly what his mother meant. Then I shall expect to see him much improved when we get a chance to visit.
Ah, about that! Leave it a while. Angharad really oughtn’t to travel—too much stress. And let the children settle in completely. Rhodri and Ian took half a dozen tapes, which I’ll get Morfanu to zip off to you. That should reassure you both.
I am, I am, Mother, and can’t thank you enough for pitching in like this.
Oh, I had my reasons.
But when Jeff probed to find out what they were, Isthia refused to admit him.
Besseva, noting Isthia’s smug grin, raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
“I’ve reassured the doting papa that his little ones are safely asleep in their cots,” Isthia said, and resumed her slight smile.
“We’re going to have to watch that youngest one,” Besseva said. “Oooh, but she’s powerful.”
“Hmmm, yes.”
“But really, Isthia, aren’t they a bit young?”
“Not at all,” Isthia replied stoutly. “They’ll have fewer inhibitions.”
“And get into more trouble, too.”
“Besseva, we’ve got to develop our own Talents, and that requires Talent. One blind man can’t lead another effectively.”
“But they’re children!” Besseva’s voice rose slightly in protest, and Isthia, mentally and physically, shushed her. Ian was working in the corner, giving his niece’s saddle a good soaping to soften the leather.
“And a little child shall lead them,” Isthia said, her eyes sparkling.
“You are the absolute end, Isthia Raven.”
“On the contrary, I’m the beginning,” Isthia replied. “And, if I’m going on as I mean for them to begin, I’m going to need a good night’s sleep.” She gave a gusty sigh. “Why do children have the reserves of energy people my age so desperately need?”
“Huh!” Besseva said in contradiction to that complaint.
* * *
Lying in a new bed into which she had been tucked by her fascinating grandmother, Damia was still reviewing all the wonderful things that had happened since the capsule had opened. Being on Deneb was much better than hearing Daddy talk about it. And why hadn’t he ever mentioned that Deneb had ponies? She sighed and, to make sure he was all right, she “reached” to touch Jupiter. He’d stopped eating and was idly flicking his tail, as much to discourage the minute nightflyers from settling on Birdie’s head as to keep them off himself. His mind was drowsy with sleep.
Just like Rascal’s when he was curled up on her bed. Was Rascal missing her? Damia wondered. He’d have no one to sleep with. A sad feeling made her throat constrict. Poor Rascal! Maybe, just tonight, Daddy would let him sleep on the foot of their bed. She loved having a pony, but a pony couldn’t sleep at the foot of her bed and she missed the comforting presence.
“Mrrow?” came a plaintive call from outside her door. Damia had been given a proper bed without railings. She crawled out from under the covers and opened her door. “Mrrr?”
“Who are you?” Damia called sleepily. A large orange and white cat marched into the room, rubbing himself against her leg. “Oh, you’re beautiful.” Though the animal was as tall as her waist, Damia hoisted him into her arms, once again exerting kinetic energy without realizing what she’d done in her wish to do what she needed. “There,” she said, plonking the cat down at the foot of her bed. “Now, you stay there and keep me company, hear? Maybe Rascal will have sense enough to go to Afra if Daddy won’t let him sleep in their room.”
Yes, she thought firmly as she scrambled back under her covers, Rascal’ll go to Afra so he won’t be so lonely with me gone.
Seeing her settled, the cat circled into the spot of his choice at the other end. His purring put her to sleep as Rascal’s so often had.
* * *
Afra sat back in the couch, exhausted by the day’s emotional upheavals. He fed the Coonies and they went out for a night of hunting vermin in the tunnels. He could have used their company, especially tonight. He cleared his mind and tried repeatedly to stretch himself across the eighteen light years to Deneb, but he had failed every time to pick up even the merest glimmer of young Damia.
“She’d be sleeping,” he told himself. “I hope.” I ought to do the same, he continued silently. All of a sudden, a body burst through the catflap.
In the next instant, that body executed a flying leap, landing on his chest so hard that Afra grunted.
“Rascal? What are you doing here?”
Never had Rascal purred quite so loudly in Afra’s presence, nor was the animal so determined to settle himself on Afra’s person. It was as if . . .
“Did Damia tell you to come to me?” Afra asked, wonderingly. “Or is it just that you miss her, too, and you came looking for her here?”
The way the barque cat had leapt onto him did not suggest he’d been looking for anyone else but Afra. Planting his hindfeet squarely on Afra’s thighs and his front paws on Afra’s chest, Rascal then butted his head imperiously into Afra’s face. Then, looking squarely yellow eyes into yellow eyes, Rascal said definitely, “Meh!”
That apparently settled that and Rascal jumped down, looked expectantly at Afra, before sauntering in the direction of the bedroom. Afra saw him settling himself on the bed with an air of “Here I am, here I stay.”
“You’re quite right, Rascal. I’ll turn in now, too.” Good night, he called blindly across the void to Deneb.
He didn’t expect to sleep, certainly not with a heavy lump weighing down the duvet over his feet, but curiously comforted by that companionship, he did.
* * *
There were lots of girls and boys Damia’s age at the school in which Isthia enrolled them, for Deneb did not run special daycare centers for pre-schoolers. Damia couldn’t appreciate that Deneb was undergoing a much needed population explosion, but she did realize what Afra had promised her was true. Within a few minutes, Damia was seated at a small table with a green-eyed blonde girl named Alla, a solemn-faced boy called Jorg, and a freckle-faced, red-headed girl named Jenfer who didn’t stop grinning all that first morning. There were lots of other children her age, too, just as Afra had promised her, at more small tables in the sunny room with shelves and shelves of toys and books and curious boxes that Damia was dying to open. But because Alla, Jorg, and Jenfer sat very correctly at the table, Damia did so, too, however much she wanted to play with the fascinating stuff in the boxes. She tested and found one was crammed full of colored crayons of all different sizes.
Both her grandmother and her uncle Ian had impressed on all three Gwyn-Ravens that they were to be on their best behavior at school. Or,
and the threat was awe-inspiringly frightful, they wouldn’t be permitted to ride their ponies. Jeran had had a private word with his sister and had glared ferociously at Damia so that she knew she’d suffer his retribution, too, if she tried any of her tricks.
Damia was far too entranced with her new friends to think of any “tricks.” She listened, very carefully, to the instructions Linna Maybrick gave the class—hearing it on two levels—and sometimes puzzling at the contradictions. But when she saw the others obeying what was said aloud, she followed their example.
At the morning break, she let Jorg lead the way to the playground where the four tablemates played together, climbing all over the “mountain” and down into the “tunnels” and swinging over the “rivers” and reveling in noise and happy dirtinesses . . . for play area was dirt and shavings.
Linna Maybrick, their teacher, watched carefully from the doorway. Alla climbed to the top of the mountain and hesitated for a moment at the top of the slide down, for it was, for a child, a huge drop. One of the more aggressive older boys was behind her and he lost patience, giving her a push on her way. His thrust was off-centered and caught Alla just as she was bent to sit on the slide. Thrown off-balance, she teetered to one side, a two-metre free-fall to the playground below. Alla screamed. Damia, who had been waiting at the bottom, gave a horrified shout, then “concentrated.” Linna, who had started running the moment she saw the boy shove Alla, came to an abrupt halt as the little girl bounced gently onto the hard ground. Damia rushed over to her friend and helped her up.
“Are you okay?”
Alla nodded shakenly. “I got pushed.” Then she cocked her head. “Did you do that?”
Damia turned suddenly shy. If she admitted to doing any “tricks,” she wouldn’t be able to ride Jupe. “Do what?” she asked ingenuously.
Alla narrowed her eyes at Damia. “Well, someone did something.”
Jorg, who had watched the whole incident wide-eyed, eyed Damia critically. “You’re not from here.”
“I am, too. I live with my grandmother and my uncle.”
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