“I’ve got the placements for the big daddies, Damia,” Herault said, shaking his head. “And they’ve instructed us to pick ’em up at the mines again.”
Damia nodded curtly to Herault, pursing her lips in annoyance over that as she glanced at the generator boards where Xexo was monitoring their performance.
“We’ll have full power in another ten minutes. The two spot’s going to need servicing soon, Damia,” the T-8 engineer said, shaking his head at the unwelcome necessity.
“Blast!” Damia allowed her anger to show. Afra could scarcely blame her. With what she had to teleport, she’d need all four generators giving her top power. “And they’re too broke to buy me a spare.”
“Backtrack a moment,” Afra said, holding up a hand. “You have to pick up the cargo at the mines?”
“We have to,” Damia said with a meditative shrug and a gamin grin. “They don’t possess a land vehicle strong enough to transport them even the short distance from the mines.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of the rugged foothills behind the town.
“Nonsense,” Filomena, the T-9 expeditor, said sharply, “they don’t want to gouge ruts out of their new roads which they didn’t construct correctly to carry the heavy loads they ought to have known they’d have to transport. This IS a mining planet!”
Afra regarded Damia sternly. “They’re abrogating FT&T regulations . . .”
“I know that,” Damia responded tartly, “but,” and she sighed, “I can try to oblige them and save a lot of hassle—which transport would be . . .”
“To say nothing of the wear and tear on you and your staff . . .”
“Afra! This is my Tower and I’m running it my way.”
Afra inhaled deeply. It was improper for him to challenge Damia in her own Tower. He exhaled, lifting his hands in a gesture of yielding. “I just hope that Aurigae appreciates you. All of you.”
At that instant both Damia and Afra heard the generators reach their peak.
“Well, folks, let’s speed the daddies on their way while we’re fresh and eager. It’s also morning on Betelgeuse so David’ll catch efficiently. Afra?” And she led the way into the Tower.
To his surprise, a second conformable chair stood next to hers, complete with a secondary board, screens, and a terminal.
“Thank you,” he said as he settled himself.
“You deserve no less,” she said at her sweetest, and he curbed an impulse to “see” what she was up to. “Placements!”
Both tower screens showed the huge ore pods, dwarfing the men on the ground in the Mine yard, and even the heavy cranes and flatbeds that had helped load them. Beneath the picture were the coordinates for delivery at Betelgeuse’s outer planet.
Betelgeuse Tower, Aurigae here, she said, observing protocol.
Damia? ’Morning, replied David of Betelgeuse. The refineries have been screaming for this shipment.
You’re likely to have a hernia bringing ’em in, Damia said.
Too much for you, darling? David asked archly. Afra knew the older Prime enjoyed taunting Damia.
Not for me, she replied, projecting a broad and confident grin. Ready?
Damia! Afra sent the warning on a tight shaft, having heard just that tone of voice from her mother.
Don’t Afra. You’ll spoil my fun! Damia shot back and began the lift. Because he’d been forewarned by her mental tone, Afra was ready to follow her mind to the immense drones in the Yard and felt himself strengthened by the incredible catalytic link she could establish. Effortlessly they ’ported the first big daddy toward its destination.
What under the stars are those Aurigaens trying to prove? David exclaimed, and both of them heard him work to receive her ’port.
Your principals were screaming for the shipment, weren’t they? Damia’s voice was smooth and silky with satisfaction. Ready, number two?
Ready when you are, and there was determination in David’s voice.
By the ninth ’port, Afra knew himself to be tiring and wondered at the energy Damia exuded.
That is the last of such weights I will accept from Aurigae, David said. And I’m registering a complaint against the Mines with Earth Prime. I can’t imagine why you haven’t, Damia. I don’t mind cooperating with management and industry, but nine of those is stretching both of us. Do not, I repeat, do not accept such monsters again. Why, I could shift a battle fleet more easily.
Damia’s grin at irritating David altered to a frown and Afra sensed her sudden apprehension . . .
A random remark, and those daddies would weigh the same. You’ve had your fun. Leave it, Afra shot at her. “You do have coffee here, don’t you?” he asked, looking about the Tower.
Two steaming cups and a plate of energy biscuits appeared and one cup homed in on Afra, the plate following it.
“You’re guest,” she said with an unrepentant grin and a shrug of her slim shoulders. “I don’t have enough staff to adhere to strict protocol.”
Refreshed, they were shortly ready to ’port and receive incoming cargo, none of which was anywhere near the weight or mass of the morning’s first delivery. Damia worked without affectation, Afra was pleased to note: a Prime in easy command of her skills. There was an excellent harmony with every one of her staff. Aurigae was a more than adequate testing ground for Damia. Afra wondered if she’d been apprised that she would succeed Guzman at Procyon when the old Prime was finally persuaded to step down. Despite her youth, FT&T would have insisted on his retirement if they’d known how frail the old man was, but Jeff Raven, and others, conspired to deceive the administration. And they’d continue to do so as long as necessary.
Shortly all the incoming loads had been cradled and the light afternoon traffic processed. Damia, her eyes glinting with mischief, slid out of the conformable chair and signaled for Afra to take her place. When the focal Talent of the gestalt went from one to the other, not even a half beat of the pulse of the Aurigaen Tower was missed. Damia used the Tower exit to reach her capsule and informed Afra of her departure. He let up on the gestalt long enough for her to ’port her own launch before he picked it up again. She was gone too quickly for him to keep even the most negligible of contacts with her.
So much for that notion. However, her absence would permit Afra to use gestalt to communicate with Jeff, should he need to. The Tower’s work proceeded smoothly. There was, in fact, rather more traffic than Damia had anticipated, but no more big daddies, though several medium drones of refined material had to be dispatched to various destinations. Inbound supplies arrived sporadically, but nothing that an experienced T-3 couldn’t handle. However, number two generator was definitely ailing and Afra was concerned. Xexo tinkered and fiddled with it whenever he could, but the machine needed more than adjustments. Fortunately, Damia would not require full Station power to assist her comings and goings so, once the day’s work was done, Xexo could begin to dismantle it.
In terms of intergalactic distances, the aliens approached at the proverbial snail’s pace: by interstellar references, incredibly fast. Such a feat argued for a highly sophisticated technical species. On the evening of the eighth day, Damia returned from her quest, bursting with news. She ’ported herself from her capsule right into the lounge area where Afra was amusing the Coonies.
“I made individual contact,” she cried. “And what a mind!” She was far too excited to notice Afra’s flare of apprehension. He told himself this was just Damia being her usual melodramatic self. “And what a surprise he got,” she went on.
From the first words out of her mouth, Afra knew that the mind was male.
“Really?” and he injected genuine interest into his response. “A Prime Talent?”
“I can’t assess his abilities. He’s so—different,” she exclaimed, her eyes shining and her mental aura dazzling with her success. “He fades and then returns. The distance is still immense, of course, and there isn’t much definition in the thoughts. We can only deal in abstracts.” Sh
e laughed tiredly. “As scientists have often maintained, I made a start by reciting the periodic table of chemicals and basic atomic structures to establish as least some level of communication.”
“Surely an intergalactic ship would utilize a more sophisticated source than atomic power?”
“I’m sure it would have to, to travel such distances,” and Damia threw herself on the long couch, pushing back her long hair in a tired gesture before she let her hand drop bonelessly to the cushioning. “I can’t be bothered at this stage of interaction to deal with minor details.”
“Minor details?”
“Oh, don’t fuss, Afra,” she said irritably. “Considering our space travel experts postulate drives as far beyond fusion as the wheel from mixed fuel space drives, we can posit that they would have to have developed an efficient drive. At least I could project mutually understood abstracts. I’m exhausted. I haven’t had this sort of a workout since Larak and I played dodgeball against all the cousins. Let me grab a little nap before I contact Dad.”
“Xexo’s patching that ailing generator.”
Damia scowled, then shrugged off that complication. “All the more reason for me to have an hour’s snore.”
“You don’t snore,” Afra said firmly, giving her a mock-stern glare.
She managed a grin for his loyal denial.
Afra waited until she relaxed into sleep. Putting ethics aside, he tried to reach this experience in her mind, below the emotional level, only to find himself overwhelmed by the subjective. Damia was indulging in a high emotional kick! He recognized that she had every reason to be proud of herself in establishing any sort of contact with an alien, but he was afraid for her, with a fear deeper than any he had ever touched personally or vicariously. Afra withdrew, troubled. Crisp and Merfy crawled over to him, whining softly as if they felt his concern. Soothing them, he managed to disperse his presentiment.
He let her wake up naturally and was proud of her now calm and balanced mind. As she “reached” Jeff, she was totally the Prime, giving a considered and professional report of the contact. Not a trace of the excitation Afra had probed colored her thoughts. When she had finished ’pathing, Jeff inserted a private query for Afra, but he could only confirm Damia’s report. He saw no point to mention vague forebodings, but he did mention the matter of overweight drones. Jeff had received a formal complaint from David of Betelgeuse and there was to be an official protest from FT&T to Aurigae Miners.
The next day, Damia tossed off the few live ’portations and departed for her surveillance. And Afra contained his presentiments. She returned so shining from the second session of communication that Afra had to clamp an icy hold over his mental reactions.
“We’re making great progress in conceptualizations,” she told Afra, pirouetting with abandon into the lounge and flopping onto the long couch, her eyes glowing. One long tress, half black hair, half white, fell across her flushed face.
“Such as?” he inquired in a politely interested tone. She was so absorbed by her accomplishment that she didn’t react to his ironic tone.
“Once past simple atomic weights, we’ve . . .” The pronoun, an innocuous detail in itself, raised Afra’s hackles. “. . . gone on to solar systems. His has twelve planets and two asteroid belts.”
“What sort of planet does his species inhabit?”
Damia shot him a quick glance, then laughed uneasily. “That’s strange. We didn’t establish that.”
“And how did you answer his query about Aurigae?”
She was more alert now and her eye contact was wary. Then she grinned cockily. “I gave the same detail he did. Without, dear Af’a”—her use of her baby name for him underlined her impudence—“disclosing any more than the number of planets, moons et cetera. I’m not a fool!” She hauled herself out of her semi-recumbent position and made a show of tossing her hair back.
“You’ve never been a fool, Damia,” Afra replied coolly. “Nor am I catechizing you. I cooked dinner tonight.”
“Did you?” and she seized on that topic with obvious relief. “You’re a better cook than any other man I know.”
Afra decided that she had redeemed her use of “Af’a” with that unsolicited praise. One day, maybe, they’d confront each other as functioning adults . . . Ruthlessly he suppressed the eros and reinstated the philia. And began to serve her a much needed meal.
The third morning, as Damia sat in the Control Tower, she worked with such haste that Afra was obliged to reprimand her. She gaily corrected herself, making far too negligent a response. Then, eagerly she propelled herself out to make the rendezvous. When she returned that evening so tired that she reeled into the room, Afra took command.
“I’m going with you tomorrow, Damia,” he said firmly.
“What for?” She glared at him from the couch into which she had sunk. “I’d know the sting-pzzzt of Beetles. And there isn’t even a trace of that about Sodan.”
“Sodan?”
Damia flushed at the crack in his voice but did not evade eye contact with him. “That’s how he identifies himself. Furthermore, I inserted the concept of other sentient life forms and he denied knowledge of any.”
Afra decided not to challenge that information. “What do you mean by the sting-pzzzt of Beetles? The Deneb Penetration happened before you were even conceived.”
She rose and came to sit at the counter where Afra was fixing their dinner plates. She gave a casual shrug. “When we were exploring around Grandmother’s farm, we often found bits and pieces of Beetle metal. Uncle Rhodri was still paying by the weight for their junk.” She gave Afra a teasing grin. “It made a comfortable addition to the measly pocket money Isthia allowed us. Larak and I decided that there was sting—” now she wet the tip of one finger and placed it on the counter surface, making the “pzzt” sound “—in Beetle metal. There’s no sting-psszt about Sodan.” She sounded entirely confident.
It disturbed Afra to know that this entity had a name. It made the alien seem amiable/approachable. Nor could Afra quite reason away the unusual lilt with which Damia spoke the name.
“Fair enough,” Afra said, with an indifference he didn’t feel as he passed her a plate. “However, the lack of sting-psszt is not going to reassure Earth Prime. Tomorrow, take me along for the ride. There’ll be no need to introduce me. All I need to do is confirm your sense of the aura. I certainly wouldn’t want to jeopardize whatever rapport you’ve managed to build. He’ll never realize I’ve been there.” Afra yawned.
“Why are you tired?”
“I’ve been stevedoring all day,” he said with a malicious grin.
“How? Who?” Damia demanded, indignantly. “There was nothing urgent on the schedule when I went off.”
“No, there wasn’t, but there was a minor mine disaster where the Tower could assist. Then a delayed shipment of spare parts was signaled in from Procyon, and a freighter with some perishables and a convoy of prospective immigrants came through.”
“Damn them! They were taking advantage of you, Afra! Towers have protocol to avoid collisions and confusions. Especially on inbound ’ports. Unscheduled shipments . . .” Then she stopped, for he was grinning at her. She let out a gusty sigh. “I know.” She waved her hand irritably. “Phrases out of mother’s mouth. But . . .”
Afra waggled a finger at her. “You set the precedent at Aurigae Tower, Damia, by being so cooperative that miners and shippers assume that you’re ready, willing, and able when need arises.”
“This smells heavenly,” she said artlessly as she loaded her fork.
“Hah!” Afra said, refusing to be diverted.
“And it is,” she said through her first mouthful. “Lovely seasoning.”
“Thank you. By the way, that crew of yours is really excellent. Even the generator behaved. Have some chopped fruit. Takes the edge off that pepper.”
They ate companionably, though Damia’s appetite seemed to be affected by her fatigue, for she usually went for seconds of one of his s
pecial meals. She did ask for details of the mine problem—a line of ore carts had slipped off the cable, causing an obstruction in the shaft which Afra and the Tower folk were able to shift so there was no significant loss of time. When he asked her what else she had discussed with Sodan, she had trouble formulating sentences despite a resurgence of animation on that subject.
“Don’t stand on ceremony with me, Damia,” Afra finally said when she didn’t even have the energy to groom Merfy, when the animal brought her the brush. “Here, I’ll do Merfy. You go to bed. Sleep well.”
Such exhaustion for one so vibrantly healthy worried Afra even more than her emotional involvement with this Sodan entity. It no longer mattered that the intruder was unrelated to the species that attacked Deneb; he was a menace in himself.
The next day, after ’porting out medium-sized drones of refined ores, Damia told Keylarion to inform any callers that the Tower was on hold for repairs to the generator that Xexo now said were critical. Then she and Afra settled into their personal capsules. Afra followed Damia’s thrust and held himself silent as she reached the area where she could touch the aura of Sodan. To his relief, Damia had no hesitation when Afra asked permission to establish a light-link in her mind. So she carried them both to the alien ship. As soon as the alien touch impinged on Afra’s awareness, much was suddenly clear to him: much seen, and worse, much unseen.
What Damia could not, would not, or did not see justified Afra’s nagging presentiment of danger. Nothing out of Sodan’s mind was visible: and nothing beyond his public mind was accessible. The alien had a powerful mentality. As a quiescent eavesdropper, Afra could not probe, but he widened his own sensitivity to its limit, and the impressions he received served to confirm and increase his intuition of danger.
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