Damia

by Anne McCaffrey

  It was no consolation to Damia that her mother, in a rare example of maternal solicitude, had warned her of this intense, feminine loneliness which she, too, had experienced. But Jeff Raven had appeared to breach the Rowan’s Tower and the Rowan had at least had Afra’s company . . .

  Afra! Why did her mind keep returning to him?

  Damia realized that she was grinding her teeth. She forced herself through the rituals again, sternly making specific thought dissipate until her mind drifted. And, in the course of that aimless drifting, an aura impinged on her roving consciousness. Startled—for nothing could be coming in from that quarter of space—she tightened her mind into a seeking channel.

  An aura! A mere wisp of the presence of something. Something . . . alien!

  Alien! Damia recomposed herself. She disciplined her mind to a pure, clear, uncluttered shaft. She touched the aura. Recognition of her touch! Retreat—return!

  The aura was undeniably alien, but so faint that she would have doubted its existence except that her finely trained mind was not given to error.

  An exultation as hot as lust caused her blood to pound in her ears. She was not wrong. The trace was there. And it wasn’t Beetles!

  Taking a deep breath, she directed an arrow-fine mental shout across the light-years, nadirward, to the Earth Prime Tower in the squat Blundell building which housed the administrative center of Federated Teleport and Telepath.

  I’ve caught something out here, Earth Prime!

  Aurigae Prime, damn it, control. Control, girl! Jeff replied, keeping his own mental roar within tolerable bounds.

  Sorry, but I’m aimed directly at you, Damia replied without real contrition. Her father was capable of deflecting her most powerful thrust.

  Thank all the gods for that mercy. So what have you caught? Specify! His tone was official.

  I can’t be more specific. The alien aura is barely detectable, coming from four light-years galactic north-northeast, Sector 2. I arrowed in once I heard the trace and it responded.

  It responded? And four light-years out? Damia, where are you? Jeff’s tone was suspicious.

  Slightly beyond Aurigaen heliopause, she replied, hoping that her father had no way of judging just how far she actually was. I’m resting.

  Just how far are you from your Tower? Jeff demanded, more irate father than Earth Prime.

  Only a light-year.

  Leaving the Tower with only a T-6 in control? I thought we’d instilled more common sense than that in your head! Let’s not get too cocky, Damia. Those hey-go-mad colonists are having a bad effect on you.

  Damia chortled. And here I thought the opposite was well reported. Damia knew perfectly well that her father would have heard about her exploits with carefully chosen energetic and chauvinistic young engineers and miners. But none of them had been the least bit Talented so her affairs had not harmed them. She’d never been able to forget Amr Tusel. If some of her partners thought she would favor their shipments over others because of her liaisons, they were soon disabused of the notion. In her Tower she scrupulously adhered to FT#x0026;T’s business.

  You are at least discreet, Jeff admitted, but don’t change the subject. Resting is good, but you can achieve as much rest beyond Aurigae’s moons as you can a light-year out and not risk being irretrievable.

  Privately, Damia admitted that his point was well taken. I wouldn’t have impinged on that aura if I was only beyond the moons, Dad. Aren’t we supposed to discover visitors, and she added a mental grin for her description, before they reach the heliopause?

  All right, all right, Jeff said, but Damia knew she hadn’t convinced him. Show me, he added, his tone reproving.

  She allowed his mind to join with hers as she led him directly to the alien trace. The aura was palpable but so far away that only the extraordinary perception of two powerful minds could sense it.

  I sense anticipation, curiosity, surprise, Jeff told his daughter thoughtfully as he withdrew from the tight focus. And caution, too. Whatever it is, is approaching our galaxy. Damn, why couldn’t we have at least a few peripheral sentinels for you beyond Aurigae.

  Mechanicals would be no good in this instance, Damia declared, irritated by the inference that devices would be more useful than she could be.

  That’s true enough, though the safest procedure is for mechanicals to inform humans.

  So I’ve stolen a march on those much vaunted DEWs. And I can find out a helluva lot more than they could. Damia couldn’t resist reminding her father of that.

  Not at any time personally endangering yourself, Prime, Jeff replied, coloring the official concern with personal.

  Of course not, Damia replied, fully confident in her own abilities. But if I can establish some kind of communication with these visitors, I’ll need someone to take over my Tower. Like Larak.

  I can’t spare Larak immediately. He’s training a T-3 to augment old Guzman at Procyon Tower. The old fellow tends to fall asleep and great tact is required to keep from irritating or humiliating Guz, neither of which temper keeps Procyon operating smoothly.

  I thought you’d a dozen good T-2’s coming along, Damia replied, for she kept informed of all matters concerning Talents.

  I do, but there isn’t a team working smoothly enough yet to take over on such short notice. I’ll send you Afra. He’d be better anyhow.

  Because Afra was involved with the Deneb Penetration? Damia asked, slightly supercilious. And you don’t think I’d know Beetle stink after a childhood on Deneb?

  Jeff chuckled. Yes, I suppose you’d have learned that, too.

  Well, I’d rather wait until Larak’s free if it’s only a question of a few weeks. We’ve time in hand, I think, before the alien vessel gets anywhere near Aurigae’s heliopause. And you know how Mother hates being deprived of Afra, Damia added, not quite leaching all the rancor from her voice.

  Damia! and Jeff’s tone crackled with disapproval. I thought you’d grown out of that bit of childishness. Furthermore, I will not tolerate such disrespect of your mother, least of all from you. He paused, leaving Damia in no doubt of his anger, a palpable bridge of tension between them despite the enormous distance that physically separated them. By rights, I ought to saddle you with some T-2’s and let you sweat out their teaming.

  Thank you, no, Dad. Not under the present circumstances. And Damia did not bother to hide her dismay at his suggestion.

  Unfortunately the most useful pair are twins and as you never got on terms with the way Jeran and Cera operated, I doubt you’d establish a rapport with them either.

  Sometimes, Dad, I don’t think you like me.

  Of course I do, Damia, and a swelling of love, affection, and approval laved her, as your father. But, and now Jeff’s voice turned droll, as Earth Prime, I’m as aware of your strengths as your weaknesses. You operate far more effectively with T-3’s and under. I just don’t happen to have any T-3’s but your brother. There was a note of wistfulness in her father’s voice that Damia understood all too well, to both her amusement and chagrin.

  Your dynastic plans will bear better fruit with Jeran, you know. He’s been awful cocky lately. Only don’t let him settle for anything less than a T-4.

  She grinned to herself at her father’s startled pause.

  You haven’t been eavesdropping again, have you, Damia?

  She parried that surprise with a quick After Afra reamed me for that with Jenna? Not bloody likely.

  Oh, so it was Afra. Your mother thought it might have been Isthia. Your grandmother had a rare Talent for knowing when one of her charges was up to mischief.

  The trouble with telepaths is that sometimes they think too much, she remarked acidly, infuriated afresh to realize that her mother also knew of that incident.

  Damia! Jeff’s tone was unusually severe. Better than anyone else in this galaxy, your mother understands your Tower isolation.

  Is that why she handed me over to Isthia to raise? Damia flashed back.

  To give you a saf
e ambience when you were too damned precocious to appreciate the dangers of living in the Callisto dome. And I know you remember Afra hauling you out of a passenger liner a split second before your mother was about to launch it to Altair.

  Damia did remember but she didn’t like to, and she hated for her father to bring it up.

  Furthermore, and she had to set her teeth as her father continued on that tack, let me try to seal it into your stubborn head that it was I who insisted that you go to your grandmother on Deneb, not your mother, and it was Afra you were clinging to like a barnacle when it came time to be put in the capsule for the trip. Right now, Damia particularly didn’t like to be reminded of that fact, not when Afra’s silence had lasted seven months. Her father sighed, abruptly breaking off that familiar lecture. You and your mother are so much alike.

  Damia snorted. She was not the least bit like her mother. There was absolutely no resemblance between them. She was Jeff’s daughter from her slender height to her black hair and vivid blue eyes. Jeran, yes, and Ezro, too, took after the Rowan. But not she. Of course, her mother had an exceedingly strong and diverse psionic Talent or she wouldn’t be Callisto Prime, but Damia felt that she was just as strong, and she had the added advantage of that catalytic ability as well.

  Well, Jeff was saying in a resigned tone, you’ll see it one day, my dear, and I, for one, will be immensely relieved. Your mother and I love you very much and we’re damned proud of the way you’ve been managing Aurigae Tower. Professionally I have no quibbles with you. Damia basked in her father’s praise. He didn’t give it lightly. I’ll send Afra on directly, he added, spoiling her pleasure. I can trust his impartiality, and to Damia’s amazement, her father chuckled.

  She stabbed at his mind to find the basis for the amusement, but met a blankness as her father had turned to some other problem.

  “Impartiality? Afra?” The sound of her own voice in the little personal capsule startled her.

  What on earth was that supposed to mean? Why would Afra’s impartiality be trusted—above hers—in identifying or evaluating an alien aura?

  But Afra was to come to Aurigae.

  * * *

  After he had broken contact with Damia, Jeff did not immediately turn to other problems. He mulled over the subtler aspects of that vivid contact with his daughter. Damia’s mind was as brilliant as Iota Aurigae, and right now blazing with excitement over the contact. He didn’t like her recklessness but, in this instance, he could only be relieved that she had been in position to catch the aura.

  Odd that she could still be so angry about being sent to Isthia. Odder still, that she could still deny that it had been Afra she’d clung to, and cried for, not her mother. Jeff knew very well that, once Damia had settled in with her grandmother and her cousins, she’d been extremely happy and benefited tremendously by the Special School for Talent that Isthia had set up. Jeff sighed. The decision to send Damia to Isthia had been one of the hardest he had ever had to make, personally and professionally. But she’d come early into her extraordinary mental powers, frightening everyone on the Station with her antics and incredibly dangerous use of telekinesis. Only Afra had any control over her and even his patience had ended with her capsule stunt.

  Under Isthia’s calm, unruffled discipline, and with a huge planet to roam in and myriads of cousins to keep tabs on her, Damia had learned how to use her Talent without abusing it, herself, and anyone in her immediate vicinity. She became sincerely fond of her grandmother and would obey Isthia where she argued every request from her parents, especially her mother. Strange that it was the Rowan whom Damia still blamed for fostering her.

  Rowan, Jeff called out to Callisto Tower, and sensed that his wife was resting as the interchanges on Callisto’s cargo cradles filled from Earthside.

  Her mind linked with his gladly, just as if they hadn’t breakfasted together on Callisto a few hours earlier.

  I’ve a message of extreme importance to impart to you, luv. Open to me.

  Damia’s made contact with an alien aura? The fleeting maternal concern was quickly supplanted by professional curiosity as the Rowan scanned Jeff’s recent experience beyond Aurigae. Of course Afra goes. I can’t think of anyone better. Her tone was slightly ironic until she caught the thought that Jeff tried to lose. But why on earth Damia would think that you can’t assign Afra wherever he’s needed, I just don’t understand. Oh, well. I don’t understand that child. I’ll take a pair of those T-2’s you’re training until he comes back. Twins, huh? Well, Mauli and Mick have been a superb team, and Jeran and Cera accustomed me to fraternal language. She added with a sigh, I’ll miss him.

  You always do, Jeff replied teasingly, to divert Rowan from scanning the recent conversation too deeply. Good thing I trust that yellow-eyed Capellan . . .

  Jeff Raven, there has never been an improper thought between Afra and myself even before you lurched in from Deneb . . .

  Jeff laughed and she sputtered at him indignantly.

  Actually, she continued, it’d be a relief for me to know that Afra’s out with Damia. I really do worry that she might get besotted with one of those brawny Aurigaen types she plays about with.

  The last thing Afra’d do is interfere with her pleasures.

  The Rowan let out an exasperated sigh. But those pleasures do nothing to relieve her loneliness. Sometimes . . .

  I know, said her husband with considerable sympathy and then his tone hardened. She wouldn’t BE lonely if she hadn’t been so heavy-handed with every other high-T young male . . .

  She resents our matchmaking as much as I resented Reidinger’s.

  There’s no guarantee she won’t find a Denebian, too, you know, Jeff replied, allowing his voice to become so lascivious that the Rowan pretended shock. When can you spare Afra from doing your work?

  Afra? Doing MY work? Just wait till you get home. And she pretended to ignore his response to that threat. Afra? Jeff requires your attention.

  Jeff caressed her with a genuinely affectionate thought before he felt Afra’s mind touch his.

  Are you sure you’re still only a T-3? he asked, surprised at the firmness in the Capellan’s contact.

  I’m in gestalt, after all, Afra replied, adding a mental shrug at Jeff’s surprise. What else could you expect after twenty-odd years of proximity to two of the strongest Talents in explored space? It’s no wonder I’ve learned a few tricks from the pair of you. From the expression on Rowan’s face, I’d hazard that Damia has lately been discussed. What’s she up to now?

  * * *

  Damia had just returned to Aurigae when she heard the Rowan giving the Tower official warning of the transmission of a personal capsule.

  Afra? Damia exclaimed, reaching back along her mother’s touch to Callisto.

  Damia! Afra said warningly but too late.

  Without waiting for the Rowan to launch the capsule toward Aurigae, Damia blithely drew the carrier directly from Callisto, ignoring her mother’s stunned and angry reaction to such bad manners.

  Damia regretted her impulsiveness immediately. But Afra’s capsule was opening and he was swinging himself out. She could not have missed his trenchant disapproval if she’d been a mere T-15. He stood, looking down at her though she was tall enough to look most men in the eye, as imperturbable as ever. As aloof and contained as always. Did Afra never alter? Did he never give vent to his feelings? Did he have any? Unfair of her, for she knew he did—even if he seemed to expend most of them on barque cats and Coonies. She really shouldn’t have snatched his carrier from her mother: that had been childish and she so wanted Afra to notice how well she managed Aurigae Tower with a minimum of Talented staff and a maximum of efficiency. She sighed, for she knew she hadn’t impressed Afra at all.

  Instinctively she straightened as if to minimize the difference in their heights. Even so, she still only came to Afra’s shoulder.

  “You will apologize to your mother, Damia,” Afra said, his unexpectedly tenor speaking voice a curious echo of his q
uiet mental tone. “Isthia taught you better manners even if we never could.”

  “You’ve been trying to lately, though, haven’t you?” The retort came out before she could stop it. Why did she always feel like an errant child in Afra’s presence? Even when she wasn’t at fault.

  He cocked his head to one side and regarded her steadily. She sent a swift probe which he parried easily.

  “You were distressing Jenna unnecessarily, Damia. She appealed to me because she did not wish Jeff to know of your indiscretion.”

  “She chose well.” Damia was so appalled at the waspishness of her tone that she extended her hand to him apologetically.

  She could feel him throw up his mental barriers and, for a second, she wondered if he might refuse what was, after all, the height of familiarity between telepaths. But his hand rose smoothly to clasp hers, lightly, warmly, leaving her with the essential cool-green-comfortable-security that was the physical/mental double-touch of him.

  Then, with a one-sided smile, he bowed to indicate he was flattered by the compliment of touching but allowed a recollection of herself, clad only in drypers, cross his public mind.

  She made a face at him and substituted Larak’s son. Afra blandly put “her” back beside her nephew.

  “All right,” she laughed. “I’ll behave.”

  “About time,” he said with an affable grin. “Now apologize to your mother.”

  Damia made a face but she sent a suitably contrite message to the Rowan, who accepted it with only a modicum of disapproval. When she had done that, Damia saw Afra looking about him. He would have seen Aurigae through the perceptions of herself and Keylarion, her T-6.