Damia (32 page)

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 quiet 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.

The Tower occupied a position beyond the edges of and
on a height above the sprawling colony town which had been built on both sides of the river that flowed into Aurigae’s southern sea several kilometers beyond. A fine straight road linked Tower and town, but there was little traffic on it now in the early evening.

Unlike other Towers, there was no Staff Compound, for most of the Talents preferred quarters in the nearby town. So late in the evening, there weren’t even any ground vehicles about the Tower buildings and only the two personal capsules in the cradling yard. The sweet-scented breeze sweeping down from the high snowy mountain range was lightly moist and the atmosphere had a high oxygen content, exhilarating him. Afra took a deep breath and exhaled.

“It’s a lovely world you have here, Damia.”

She smiled up at him, her blue eyes brilliant under the fringes of long, black lashes.

“Yes, isn’t it. Young and vigorous. Come see where I live. And see how well all the Coonies have adapted to Aurigae.” She led the way from the landing stage to her dwelling.

Her house, a cantilevered affair on several levels, perched on the high plateau above the noisy metropolis. Its randomly sprawling newness had a vitality which the planned order of both Earth and his native Capella lacked. Afra found the view stimulating.

“It is, isn’t it?” Damia agreed, following his surface thought. Then she directed his mind to her day’s discovery, giving the experience exactly as it had happened to her. “And the touch is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.”

“You certainly didn’t expect it to be familiar, did you?” Afra asked in dry amusement.

“Just because they originate in another galaxy doesn’t mean they can’t be humanoid, and thus somewhat familiar,” she replied.

“Dreamer . . .”

They both heard an excited chatter as they started up the last flight of shallow steps to the main entrance to her quarters. She grinned over her shoulder at Afra.

“They know you’re here,” she said just as a tumble of brightly furred bodies squeezed out of their special door, sorting into five separate entities. Squealing and clicking with delight, they swarmed up Afra’s long legs—one Coonie making a splendid leap from the top step directly to his chest. Laughing, Afra reached up to keep the daring Crisp from losing her grip on the smooth fabric of his tunic. Meanwhile, Arfur scrambled to his shoulder, twining his banded tail around Afra’s neck, just as Merfy arrived on the other shoulder, and Priss and Scrap argued with each other for Afra’s crooked right arm. Merfy was disgusted and leapt to Damia’s shoulder, scolding her siblings impartially as she proprietarily threaded her tail about Damia’s neck.

“Aurigae’s unscrewed all their training, too,” Afra remarked as he carried his squirming load into the house. But his smile took the sting from his words. “I’m positive that Crisp and Arfur have put on kilos since they left Callisto.”

“They’ve filled out a lot. The hunting’s good,” Damia said.

“They’re foraging?” Afra was both surprised and pleased. Coonies were infinitely adaptable, which is why they fared well wherever they were raised. This litter had been born on Callisto—under Damia’s bed, if Afra remembered correctly. They had always been Damia’s but had included him in their exuberant affections.

“Daily, or should I say nightly? What they don’t eat they deposit very carefully in my bathtub—where it’s easy to clean up.” Damia made a face. “Are you hungry? I’ve probably interrupted your normal shift.”

“Oh, don’t go to any trouble for me,” he said, settling on the long, deep couch in the living area so that he could pet the Coonies, who rapturously exposed their white furred bellies for his special attentions.

“No trouble at all,” Damia replied. Mischievously she kinetically started several cooking operations at the same time, each one a dish which she knew Afra particularly enjoyed. For quite a few minutes, the kitchen was full of flying
utensils, condiments, and raw materials being processed.

“Always the thoughtful hostess,” he said, graciously inclining his head. “How fast is this alien closing on Aurigae?”

“Give me a break, Afra! I only know it’s there! How could I possibly judge relative speed? I’ve got to establish some frame of reference.”

“Well, you’ve always been precocious.” He had to duck a vegetable peeling which she flung at him in her pique. He neatly launched it into the disposal unit. “Seriously, Damia, how long do you think you’ll need?”

Appeased by a reasonable request, she considered. “I should have some idea of a relative speed in a week or so. Maybe even sooner, but I doubt it.”

Absently fondling soft, silky Coonie bodies, he watched her as she ended the telekinetic preparatory ballet of edibles, and began to sample what she was cooking, corrected seasonings and added final ingredients. Like most T-1s, she enjoyed manual work and kept her house without relying on the mechanicals which most households considered essential. In a very short time, she prepared a perfectly cooked, attractively presented meal at which he glanced casually, seemingly reluctant to disentangle his hands from the Coonies’ playful paws and teeth.