The Rowan

PART TWO. CALLISTO

When the Rowan came storming into Callisto Station that morning, its personnel mentally and literally ducked.

Mentally, because she was apt to forget to shield.

Literally, because the Rowan was prone to slamming loose furnishings around when she got upset. Today, however, she was in fair command of herself and merely stamped up the stairs into the Tower. A vague rumble of noisy thoughts tossed around the ground floor of the Station for a few minutes, but the computer and analogue men ignored the depressing effects with the gratitude of those saved from greater disaster.

From the residue of her passage, Brian Ackerman, the Stationmaster, caught the impression of intense purple frustration. He was basically only a T-9, but constant association with the Rowan had broadened his perceptions. Ackerman appreciated this side effect of his position - when he was anywhere else but at the Station.

At the beginning, just after the Rowan had been assigned to Callisto, he had tried to transfer with no success. Federal Telepathers and Teleporters, Inc. had established a routine regarding his continuous applications. The first one handed in each quarter was ignored; the second brought an adroitly worded reply on how sensitive and crucial a position he held at Callisto Prime Station; his third often a violent demand - always got him a special shipment of scotch; his fourth - a piteous wail - brought the Section Supervisor out for a face-to-face chat and, only then, a few discreet words to the Rowan.

Ackerman was positive she always knew the full story before the Supervisor finally approached her. It pleased her to be difficult, but the one time Ackerman discarded protocol and snarled back at her, she had mended her ways for a full quarter. It had reluctantly dawned on Ackerman that she must like him, and he had since used this knowledge to advantage. He was also becoming proud of the fact that he was one of the longest serving members of the Callisto personnel.

Each of the twenty-three Station staff members had gone through a similar shuffling until the Rowan accepted them. It took a very delicate balance of mental talent, personality, and technical skill to achieve the proper gestalt required to move giant liners and tonnes of freight.

Federal Tel and Tel had only five Primes - five T-1's each strategically placed to effect the best possible transmission of commerce and communications throughout the sprawling Nine-Star League.

It was FT amp;T's dream someday to provide instantaneous transmission of anything, anywhere, anytime. Until that day, FT amp;T exercised patient diplomacy with its five T-1's, putting up with their vagaries like the doting owners of so many golden geese. If keeping the Rowan happy had meant changing the lesser personnel twice daily, it would probably have been done. The present staff had been intact for over two years in spite of the Rowan's eccentricities.

The Rowan had been peevish for a week this time and everyone was beginning to smart under the backlash. So far no-one knew why the Rowan was upset… if she did herself. To be fair, Ackerman thought, she usually does have reasons.

Ready for the liner! Her thought lashed out so piercingly that Ackerman was sure everyone in the ship waiting outside had heard her.

But he switched the intercom in to the ship's captain.

"I heard," the captain said wryly. "Give me a five-count and then set us off." Ackerman didn't bother to relay the message to the Rowan.

In her mood, she'd be hearing straight to Capella and back. The generator board was ablaze with varied colored printouts and messages as the team brought the booster field up to peak, while the Rowan impatiently rewed up the launch units to push-off strength. She was well ahead of the standard timing, and the pent-up power seemed to keen through the station. The countdown came fast as the energy level sang past endurable limits.

ROWAN, NO TRICKS, Ackerman said.

He caught her mental laugh and barked a warning to the captain.

He hoped the man had heard it, because the Rowan was on zero before he could finish and the ship was out of the system, beyond com distance in seconds.

The keening dynamos lost only a minute edge of sharpness before they sang at peak again. The lots on the launchers snapped out into space as fast as they could be set up. Then loads rocketed into the receiving area from other Prime Stations, and the ground crews hustled rerouting and hold orders. The power note settled to a bearable pitch, as the Rowan worked out her mood without losing the efficient and accurate thrust that made her FT amp;T's best Prime.

Callisto Moonbase was not a large installation, but its position was critical. Most of the heart system's freight and passenger ships required the gestalt lift beyond the system where the hyper or drone drives could safely be activated. As such bases went, it was luxurious - once you got accustomed to the overhead lower of Jupiter, or its mass jutting up from the horizon. Terraforming the moon gave its workers psychological reassurance during the working "day" with trees and grass lawns and flowering bushes and plants under the main dome.

There were pleasant gardened accommodations for those staff that were on 24-hour duty, though most of the personnel - the Rowan willing - returned to their Earth surface or orbital homes. As befit her status as an FT amp;T Prime, the Rowan had a special double-domed enclosure, with gardens and a pool and rimmed with small trees and bushes to complete her privacy. Rumor had it that her quarters were rich with priceless furnishings, gathered from many planets, but no-one knew for certain as the Rowan guarded her privacy even more than FT amp;T guarded her. The Callisto installation had been the engineering and scientific feat of the century, now commonplace since technological improvements outstripped that accomplishment as humans reached newer and more exotic planets in ever more remote star systems.

One of the ground crew toggled the yellow alert across the board, then red as ten tonnes of cargo from Earth settled on the Priority Receiving cradle. The waybill said Deneb VIII, one of the newest colonies, which was at the Rowan's limit. But the shipment was marked TOP EMERGENCY PRIORITY/ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL with lavish MED seals and stencils shouting "caution". The waybill described the shipment as antibodies for a virulent plague and specified direct transmission.

Well, where're my coordinates and my placement photo? snapped the Rowan. I can't thrust blind, you know, and we've always rerouted for Deneb VIII. Bill Powers was scrolling through the Stardex which the Rowan suddenly tripped into a fast forward, the appropriate fax appearing on all screens at once.

Glor-ree! Do I have to land all that mass there myself?

No, Lamebrain, I'll pick it up at 24.578.82, the lazy rich baritone voice drawled in every mind, that nice little convenient black dwarf midway. You won't need to strain a single neuron in your pretty little skull.

The silence was deafening.

Well, I'll be… came from the Rowan.

Of course, you are, sweetheart - just push that nice little package out my way. Or is it too much for you? The drawl was solicitous rather than insulting.

You'll get your package! replied the Rowan, and the dynamos keened piercingly just once as the ten tonnes disappeared out of the cradle.

Why, you little minx… slow it down or I'll burn your ears back!

Come out and catch it! The Rowan's laugh broke off in a gasp of surprise, and Ackerman could feel her slamming up her mental shields.

I want that stuff in one piece, not smeared a millimeter thin on the surface, my dear, the voice said sternly. OK. I've got it.

Thanks! We need this.

Hey, who the blazes are you? What's your placement?

Deneb VIII, my dear, and a busy boy right now. To-to.

The silence was broken only by the whine of the dynamos dying to an idle burr.

Not a hint of what the Rowan was thinking came through now, but Ackerman could pick up the aura of incredulity, shock, speculation, and satisfaction that pervaded the thoughts of everyone else in the Station.

What a stunner for the Rowan! No-one except a T-1 could have projected that far. There'd been no mention of a new T-1 being contracted to FT amp;T, and, as far as Ackerman knew, FT amp;T had the irreversible first choice on T-1 kinetics. However, Deneb planet was now it its third generation and colonial peculiarities had produced the Rowan in two.

"Hey, people," Ackerman said, "sock up your shields. She's not going to like your drift."

Dutifully the aura was dampened, but the grins did not fade and Powers started to whistle cheerfully.

Another yellow flag came up for the Altair hurdle and the waybill designated LIVE SHIPMENT TO BETELGEUSE.

The dynamos whined noisily and then the launcher was empty.

Whatever might be going through her mind at the moment, the Rowan was doing her work.

All told, it was an odd day, and Ackerman didn't know whether to be thankful or not that the Rowan wasn't leaking any aggravation. She spun the day's lot in and out with careless ease. By the time Jupiter's bulk had moved around to blanket the out-system traffic, Callisto's day was nearly over and the Rowan wasn't off power as much as decibel one. Once the in-Sun traffic had filled all available cradles, Ackerman wound down the system. The computer banks darkened and dynamos fell silent… but the Rowan did not come down out of her Tower.

Ray Loftus and Afra, the Capellan T-4, came over to sit on the edge of Ackerman's desk. They brought out the bottle of some home brew and passed it around. As usual, Afra demured and took from his belt pouch a half-folded origami, his special form of relaxation.

"I was going to ask her Highness to give me a lift home," Loftus said, "but I dunno now. Got a date with…" He disappeared. A moment later, Ackerman could see him near a personnel carrier. Not only had he been set down gently, but various small necessities, including a flight bag, floated out of nowhere on to a neat pile in the carrier.

Ray was given time to settle himself before the hatch sealed and he was whisked off.

Powers joined Afra and Ackerman.

"She's sure in a funny mood," he said.

When the Rowan got peevish, few of the men at the station asked her to transport them to Earth. She was psychologically planet bound, and resented the fact that lesser talents could be moved about through space without suffering a twinge of shock.

Anyone else?

Adler and Toglia spoke up and promptly disappeared.

Ackerman and Powers exchanged looks which they hastily suppressed as the Rowan appeared before them, smiling.

It was the first time that that welcome and charming expression had crossed her face for two weeks.

The grin made you realize, Ackerman thought, very very softly in the deepest part of his brain, what a lovely woman she could be. She was slight, thin rather than slender and sometimes moved like an animated stick figure. She was not his notion of "feminine" - all angles and slight breasts - and yet, sometimes when she looked up at you out of the corner of her eyes, that slight smile tugging at the corner of a rather sensual mouth, she fair took a guy's breath away… wondering. And thinking about things no married man - or T-9 - had any business reviewing, even in his head. Maybe it was her white hair some said she'd had that since she was hauled out of the mudslide on Altair - others said it marked her as part alien. The Rowan looked different because - and Ackerman knew this for a fact she WAS different!

She smiled now, not sly exactly, but watchful, and said nothing.

She took a pull from the bottle, made a grimace, and handed it back with a thank-you. For all her eccentricities, the Rowan acted with propriety face-to-face. She had grown up with her skill, carefully taught by old Siglen on Altair. She'd had certain courtesies drilled into her: the less gifted could be alienated by inappropriate use of Talent. While the Rowan could be justified in "reaching" things during business hours, she was careful to display normal behavior at other times.

"Heard any 'scut about our Denebian friend?" she asked with just the right degree of "casual" in her voice.

Ackerman shook his head. "Those planets are three generations colonized, and you came out of Altair in two." "That could explain it, but FT amp;T hasn't even projected a station for Deneb. They're still trying to find Talents for closer systems." "And not for want of trying," Afra said.

"Wild Talent?" Powers helpfully suggested.

"At a Prime level? Unlikely." She shook her head. "All I can get from Center is that they received an urgent message from an inbound merchantman to help combat a planet-wide virus, including a rundown on the syndrome and symptoms. Lab came up with a serum, batched, and packed it. They were assured that there was someone capable of picking it up and taking it the rest of the way past 24.578.82 if a Prime would get it that far. Prior to this morning, what little goes to Deneb has been sent by cargo drone or rerouted. And that's all anybody knows." Then she added thoughtfully, "Deneb VIII isn't a very big colony." Oh, we're big enough, sweetheart, interrupted the drawling voice. Sorry to get you after hours, my dear, but I don't really know anyone else to tag on Earth and I heard you coloring your atmosphere.

What's wrong? the Rowan asked. Did you smear your serum after all that proud talk?

Smear it, hell! I've been drinking it. No, lovey. We've just discovered that we got some ET visitors who think they're exterminators. We got a reading on three UFOs, perched four thousand miles above us. That batch of serum you wafted out to me this morning was for the sixth virus we've been socked with in the last two weeks, so there're no bets on coincidence.

Someone's trying to kill us off. You can practically time the onset of a new nasty by the digital. We've lost twenty five percent of our population already and this last virus is a beaut. I want two top germdogs out here on the double and, say, two naval squadrons. I doubt our friends will hover about viral dusting much longer. They've softened us up plenty. They're moving in now and once they get in position they'll start blowing holes in us real soon. So send the word along to Fleet Headquarters, will you, sweetheart, to mobilize us a heavyduty retaliation fleet?

I'll relay, naturally. But why didn't you contact direct?

Contact whom? What? I don't know your Terran organization.

You're the only one I can hear.

Not for much longer if I know my bosses.

You may know your bosses, but you don't know me.

That can always be arranged.

This is no time for flirting. Get that message through for me like a good girl.

Which message?

The one I just gave you.

That old one? They say you can have two germdogs in the morning as soon as we clear Jupiter. But Earth says no squadrons. No armed attack.

You can double-talk, too, huh? You're talented. But the morning does us no good. NOW is when we need them. We've got to have as many healthy bodies as possible. Can't you sling the medics… no, you can't, can you, not with Jupiter's mass in the way. Sorry, I just found the data on your station. Filed under Miscellaneous Space Installations. But, look, if six viruses don't constitute armed attack, what does?

Missiles constitute armed attack, the Rowan said primly.

Frankly, missiles would be preferable. Them I can see. I need those germdogs NOW. Can't you turn your sweet little mind to a solution?

As you mentioned, it's after hours.

By the Horse head, woman! the drawl was replaced by a cutting mental roar. My family, my friends, my planet are dying.

Look, after hours here means we're behind Jupiter.

But… wait! How deep is your range?

I don't honestly know. And the firm mental tone lost some of its assurance.

"Ackerman!" The Rowan turned to her stationmaster.

"I've been listening." Hang on, Deneb, I've got an idea. I can deliver your germdogs. Open to me in half an hour The Rowan whirled on Ackerman. "I want my shell."

Her brilliant eyes were flashing and her face was alight.

"Afra!" The station's second in command, the handsome yellow eyed Capellan T-4, raised himself from the chair in which he'd been quietly watching her.

"Yes, Rowan?" She glanced to the men in the room, bathing each in the miraculous smile that so disconcerted Ackerman with its sensuality.

"I'll need all of you to help me. I'll have to be launched, slowly, over Jupiter's curve," she said to Afra. Ackerman was already switching on the dynamos, and Bill Powers punched for her special shell to be deposited on the launch rack. "Real slow, Afra. Then I'll want to draw heavy." She took a deep breath.

Like all Primes, she was unable to launch herself through space.

Her trip from Altair to Callisto had deeply traumatized her.

Primes were the victims of particularly pernicious agoraphobia.

Most could not tolerate heights either. There were some who said that the Rowan did very well indeed to climb the stairs to her "tower".

Paradoxically, where the looming bulk of Jupiter gave others "falling" psychoses, it reassured her. With the planet in the way, she couldn't "fall" far into the limitless void of space.

As another necessary security measure - in the event of a meteor shower on Callisto - the Rowan had a personnel capsule, opaque and specially fitted, padded and programmed to reduce the paralyzing sensation of "movement". By the exercise of severe discipline, the Rowan had accustomed herself to taking short emergency drill trips.

As soon as she saw the capsule settle in the rack, she took another deep breath and disappeared from the Station, to reappear beside the conveyance. She settled gracefully into the shock couch of the shell. The moment the lock whistle shut off, she "knew" that Afra was lifting her, gently, gently away from Callisto. She wasn't aware of the slightest movement. Nonetheless, she clung firmly on to Afra's reassuring mental touch. Only when the shell had swung into position over Jupiter's great curve did she reply to the priority call coming from Earth Central.

Now what the billy blue blazes are you doing, Rowan? Reidinger's base voice crackled in her skull. Have you lost what's left of your precious mind?

She's doing me a favor, Deneb said, abruptly joining them.

Who in the hell are you? demanded Reidinger. Then, in shocked surprise, Deneb? How do you get out there?

Wishful thinking. Hey, push those germdogs to my pretty end here, huh?

Now wait a minute! You're going a little too far, Deneb.

You can't burn out my best Prime with an unbiased send like this.

Oh, I'll pick up midway. Like those antibiotics this morning.

Deneb, what's this business with antibiotics and germdogs?

What are you cooking up out there in that heathenish hole?

Oh, we're merely fighting a few plagues with one hand and keeping three bogey ETs upstairs. Deneb gave them a look with his vision at an enormous hospital, a continuous stream of airborne ambulances coming in; at crowded wards, grim-faced nurses and doctors, and uncomfortably high piles of still, shrouded figures. That melded into a proximity screen showing the array of blips on an orbital hold. We haven't had the time or the technology to run IDs but our Security Chief says they're nothing he's seen before.

Well, I didn't realize. All right, you can have anything you want - within reason. But I want a full report, said Reidinger.

And patrol squadrons?

Reidinger's tone changed to impatience. You've obviously got an exaggerated idea of FT amp;T's influence. We're mailmen, not military.

I've no authority to mobilize patrol squadrons like that! There was a mental snap of fingers.

Would you perhaps drop a little word in the appropriate ear?

Those ETs may gobble Deneb tonight and go after Terra tomorrow.

I'm filing a report, of course, but you colonists agreed to the risks when you signed up!

You're all heart, said Deneb.

Reidinger was silent for a moment. Then he said, Germdogs sealed, Rowan. Pick 'em up and throw 'em out, and his touch left them.

Rowan - that's a pretty name, said Deneb.

Thanks, she said absently. She had followed along Reidinger's initial push, and picked up the two personnel carriers as they materialized beside her shell. She pressed into the station dynamos and gathered strength. The generators whined and she pushed out. The carriers disappeared.

They're coming in, Rowan. Thanks a lot!

A passionate and tender kiss was blown to her across the intervening light years of space. She tried to follow after the carriers and pick up his touch again, but he was no longer receiving.

She sank back in her couch. Deneb's sudden appearance had been immeasurably disconcerting. The strength, the vitality of his mind was magnetic. He had seemed to be inside the capsule with her, filling it with his droll humor and warmth. That was it! He was "warm" toward her and she had basked in that sensation like a sun-dodger. She had never achieved such an instant response to anyone since Turian, whom she often thought of wistfully.

Oh, she had always had rapport, contact, with others.

In fact, with anyone the Rowan chose to, but, with everyone below her own capability, there had always been an awkwardness, a reluctance that had inhibited her overtures. Siglen certainly had thrown shields across her most private thoughts, explaining them patronizingly as "no need to put old worries on young shoulders". Siglen, to this day, still considered the Rowan "a mere child" despite the fact that she'd been Callisto Prime for nearly ten years.

There were still times when the Rowan wished that Lusena had not died in that crash, days before Reidinger had appointed her to the new base on Jupiter's moon.

Lusena had been such a comfort, such a support, believing so firmly in her future, in the future promised by Yegrani: an ephemeral promise. So the Rowan had struggled to understand herself as she had earlier struggled to perfect control of her Talent.

"We who have been blessed with extraordinary powers," Siglen had been fond of declaring in a doleful tone, "cannot expect ordinary joys. We have an obligation to use our Talent to benefit all Humankind!It is our Fate to be singled out and single, the more to concentrate on our duties." There had been only Turian to prove an exception.

However, that had been ten long years ago now. And male Primes didn't have a problem fending suitable mates.

Reidinger had a score of children of varying degrees of competence. David on Betelgeuse was madly in love with his T-2 wife and concentrated on a duty to populate his system with as many high-potential Talent offspring as his wife would tolerate. The Rowan did not have any personal liking for David, though she could work with him satisfactorily. Capella was as eccentric as Siglen was conservative and her personality rubbed the Rowan the wrong way. For all the mental rapport the Rowan achieved with the other Primes, none of them were ever really "open" to her. Reidinger was usually at least sympathetic to some of her problems, but he had to be available every single moment to the myriad problems of the FT amp;T system. And the Rowan knew fully the loneliness that Yegrani had foretold with no diminution anywhere.

When the Rowan had been first assigned to Callisto Base, she had thought it was what the words of the Sight meant, for she was a focus.

After some months of the routine, the Rowan was severely disillusioned.

She was useful, yes: even essential for the smooth flow of material and messages between the Nine Star capitals, but any Prime would have done as well.

Once her enthusiasm died, she fell back on Siglen's dogmatic training and tried hard to find satisfaction, if not sublimation, in doing a difficult and taxing job well, suppressing her increasing sense of unrelieved isolation. Quite aware of her devastating loneliness, Reidinger had combed the Nine-Star League to find strong male talents, T-3s and T-4s like Afra, but she had never taken to any of them.

She liked Afra well enough, and not just because of her promise to his sister, Goswina, but not that well. The only male T-2 ever discovered in the Nine-Star League had been a confirmed homosexual.

And now, on Deneb, a T-1 had emerged, out of nowhere - and so very, very far away.

Afra, take me home now, she said, suddenly aware of physical and mental exhaustion.

Afra brought the shell down with infinite care.

After the others had left the Station, the Rowan lay for a long while in the personnel carrier. In her unsleeping consciousness she knew that Ackerman and the others had retired to their quarters until Callisto once more came out from behind Jupiter's bulk. Everyone had some place to go, someone waiting for them, except the Rowan, who made it all possible. The bitter, screaming loneliness that overcame her during her off-hours welled up - the frustration of being unable to go off-planet past Afra's sharply limited range - alone, alone with her two-edged Talent. Murky green and black swamped her mind until she remembered the blown kiss. Suddenly, completely, she fell into her first restful sleep in two weeks.

Rowan. It was Deneb's touch that roused her. Rowan, please wake up.

Hmmmm? Her response was reluctant for sleep had been deep and desirable.

Help, he said and faded. Our guests are getting rougher… since the germdogs whipped up a broad spectrum antibiotic… we thought they'd give up. No such. luck. They're… pounding us with the missiles… give my regards… to your spacelawyer friend…

Reidinger.

You're playing pitch with missiles? The Rowan came totally awake and alert. She could feel Deneb's contact cutting in and out: he must be deflecting the bombardment.

I need backup help, sweetheart, like you and… any twin sisters… you… to have… handy. Jump over… here, will you?

Jump over? What? I can't!

Why not?

I can't! I am unable to! The Rowan moaned, twisting against the web of the couch.

But I've got… to have… away.

Reidinger! The Rowan's call was a scream.

Rowan, I don't care if you are a T-1. There are certain limits to my patience and you've stretched every blasted one of them, you little white-haired ape!

His answer scorched her. She blocked automatically but clung to his touch. Someone has got to help Deneb! she cried, transmitting the Mayday.

What? He's joking!

How could he, about a thing like that?

Did you see the missiles? Did he show you what he was actually doing?

No, but I felt him thrusting. And since when does one of US distrust another when he asks for help?

Since Eve handed Adam a rosy, round fruit and said "eat", Reidinger's cynical retort crackled across space. And exactly since Deneb's not been integrated into the Prime network. We can't be sure who or what he is - or exactly where he is. I certainly can't take him at his word. Oh, all right.

Try a linkage so I can hear him myself I can't reach him. He's too busy lobbing missiles spaceward.

I'll believe that when I see 'em. For one thing, if he's as good as he hollers, all he needs to do is tap any other potentials on his own planet. That's all the help he needs.

But… But me no buts and leave me alone. I'll play Cupid only so far. Meanwhile I've got a company - and seven systems - to hold together. Reidinger signed off with a backlash that stung.

The Rowan lay in her couch, bewildered by Reidinger's response.

He was always busy, always gruff. But he had never been stupidly unreasonable. While out there, Deneb was growing weaker. She left the capsule and made for the Tower. She should be able to do something once Callisto was clear of Jupiter and the station was operational.

But when incoming cargoes started piling up on the launchers, there were no naval imits waiting for a Deneb push.

"There must be something we can do for him, Afra. Something!" the Rowan said, choked with an unreasonable fear. "I don't care what Reidinger said: Deneb's genuine and Talents help each other!" Afra looked down at her sadly and compassionately, venturing to pat her frail shoulder.

"What help can we offer, Rowan? Not even you can reach all the way out to him. And Reidinger has no authority to order patrol squadrons. What about focusing whatever other Talents there are on his planet? Surely he can't be the only one!" "He needs Prime help and…" She dropped her head, self-defeated.

"And you can barely go past Callisto's horizon," Afra finished for her, "which is more than any other Prime can manage." Keerist!

Incoming missile! Ackerman's mental shout startled both of them.

Instantly the Rowan linked with the stationmaster and saw, through his eyes, the little-used perimeter warning screen, now beeping frantically. Rowan located and then probed out into space. The intruder, a sophisticated projectile, leaking lethal radiations, was arrowing in from behind Uranus. Guiltily she flushed, for she ought to have detected it before the screen had. There was no time to run up the idling dynamos. The missile was coming in too fast.

Deneb was certainly going to prove his peril to Reidinger!

She marveled at his audacity in spinning the ET missile into the heart system.

I want a wide open mind from everyone on this moon! The Rowan's broadcast was inescapable. Mauli! Mick! Go into action. She felt the surge of power as forty-eight Talents on Callisto, including Ackerman's ten-year-old son, enhanced by the twins, answered her demand. She picked up their energy - from the least 12 to Afra's sturdy 4 - and sent it racing out to the alien bomb. She had to wrestle for a moment with its totally unfamiliar construction and components. With the augmented capability of the merge, it was easy enough for her to deactivate the mechanism and scatter the fissionables from the warhead into Jupiter's seething mass.

She released those who had merged with her and fell back into the couch.

"How in hell did Deneb do that?" Afra asked from the chair in which he had slumped. "Reidinger won't like it!" She shook her head wearily.

"No, but it proves Deneb's problem!" Without the dynamos there had been no gestalt to act as the initial carrier wave for her effort.

Even with the help of the others - and all of them put together didn't add up to one-third the strength of another Prime - it had been a wearying exercise. She thought of Deneb - alone, without an FT amp;T station or trained personnel to assist him - doing this again, and again, and again - and her heart twisted.

Warm up the dynamos, Brian. There will probably be more of those missiles.

Afra looked up, startled.

"To illustrate the point Deneb's trying to make, Afra."

Prime Rowan of Callisto Station alerting Earth Prime Reidinger and all other Primes! Prepare for possible attack by fissionable projectiles of alien origin. Alert all space stations and patrol forces. She lost her official calm and added angrily, We've got to help Deneb now - we've got to! It's no longer an isolated aggression against an outlying colony. It's a concerted attack on our heart world!

Rowan! Before Reidinger got more than her name into her mind, she opened to him and showed the five new projectiles driving toward Callisto. For the love of little apples! Reidinger's mind radiated incredulity. What has our little man been stirring up?

Shall we find out? Rowan asked with deadly sweetness.

Reidinger transmitted impatience, fury, misery, and then shock as he gathered her intention. Your plan won't work. It's impossible. We can't merge minds to fight. All of us are too egocentric. Too unstable. We'd burn out, fighting each other.

You, me, Altair, Betelgeuse, Procyon, and Capella. We can do it.

If I can deactivate one of those hell missiles with only forty-eight minor Talents and no power for help, five Primes plus full power ought to be able to knock any sort of missile off. Then we can merge with Deneb to help him, that'll make six of us. Show me the ET who could stand up to such an assault!

Look, girl, Reidinger replied, almost pleading, we don't have his measure. We can't just MERGE - he could split us apart, or we could burn him up. We don't know him. We can't gauge a telepath of unknown ability.

You'd better catch that missile coming at you, she said calmly. I can't handle more than ten at a time and keep up a sensible conversation. She felt Reidinger's resistance to her plan weakening.

She pushed the advantage. If Deneb's been handling a planet-wide barrage, that's a very good indication of his strength. I'll handle the merge because I damned well want to. Besides, there isn't any other course open to us now, is there?

We could launch patrol squadrons.

THAT should have been done the first time he asked. It's too late now.

Their conversation was taking but brief seconds, and yet more missiles were coming in. Earth itself was under attack!

All right, Reidinger said in angry resignation, and contacted the other Primes.

No, no, no! You'll burn her out - burn her out, poor thing!

Old Siglen from Altair was babbling. Let us stick to our last we dare not expose ourselves, no, no, no! The ETs would attack us then.

Shut up, Iron pants, David said.

It's our responsibility, Siglen, you know that! We simply must!

Capella chimed in waspishly. Hit hard first, that's safest!

Siglen's right, Rowan,… Reidinger said. He could burn you out.

I'll take the chance.

Damn Deneb for starting all this! Reidinger didn't quite shield his aggravation.

We've got to do it. And now!

Tentatively at the outset, and then with stunningly increased force, the leashed power of the other FT amp;T Primes, augmented by the mechanical surge of five great station generators, siphoned into the Rowan. She grew, grew, and only dimly saw the puny ET bombardment swept aside like so many mayflies. She grew, grew until she felt herself a colossus, larger than ominous Jupiter.

Slowly, carefully, tentatively, because the massive power was braked only by her conscious control, she reached out to Deneb.

She spun on in grandeur, astounded by the limitless force she had become. She passed the small black dwarf that was the midway point.

Then she felt the mind she searched for: a tired mind, its periphery wincing with weariness but doggedly persevering in nearly automatic reactions.

Oh, Deneb, Deneb! She was so relieved, so grateful to find him fighting his desperate battle, that tears merged before her ego could offer even a token resistance. She abandoned her most guarded serf to him and, with the surrender, the massed power she held flowed into him.

The tired mind of the man grew, healed, strengthened, and blossomed until she was a mere fraction of the total, lost in the great pain of this immense mental whole.

Suddenly she saw with his eyes, heard with his ears, and felt with his touch, was immersed in the titanic struggle.

The greenish sky above was pitted with mushroom puffs, and the raw young hills around him were scarred with missile craters that had been deflected from targets.

Easily now, he was turning aside the barrage of warheads from three immense vessels.

Let's go up there and find out what they are, the Reidinger segment said. Now!

Deneb approached the three enormous marauding ships. The mass-mind took indelible note of the intruders, spidery forms that scrabbled about interiors resembling intricate webs. Then, off handedly, Deneb broke the hulls of two, spilling the contents into space. To the occupants of the survivor, he gave a searing impression of the Primes and the indestructability of the worlds in this section of space. With one great heave, he threw the lone ship away from his exhausted planet, sent it hurtling farther than it had come, into uncharted black immensity. He thanked the Primes for the incomplete complement of an ego-merge and extended in a millisecond the tremendous gratitude of an entire planet which had been so nearly obliterated.

This incredible battle could never be forgotten, and future generations would celebrate the incomparable victory.

The Rowan felt the links dissolving as the other Primes, murmuring withdrawal courtesies, left him. Deneb caught her mind fast to his and held on. When they were alone, he opened all his thoughts to her, so that now she knew him as intimately as he knew her.

Sweet Rowan. Look around you. It'll take a while for Deneb to be beautiful again, but we'll make it lovelier than ever. Come live with me, my love.

The Rowan's wracked cry of protest reverberated cruelly in both naked minds.

I can't. I'm not able! She cringed against her own outburst and closed off her inner heart so that he couldn't see the pitiful why.

Mind and heart were more than willing: frail flesh bound her. In the moment of his confusion, she retreated back to that treacherous body, arched in the anguish of rejection. Then she curled into a tight knot, her body quivering with the backlash of effort and denial.

Rowan! came his cry. Rowan! I love you!

She deadened the outer fringe of her perceptions to everything, curled forward in her chair. Afra, who had watched patiently over her while her mind was far away, touched her shoulder.

Oh, Afra! To be so close and so far away. Our minds were one.

Our bodies are forever separate. Deneb! Deneb!

The Rowan forced on her bruised self the oblivion of sleep. Afra picked her up gently and carried her to the couch in the Tower room.

He shut the door and went silently down the stairs. He positioned a chair so that he could prop his feet on the bottom step and settled down to wait, his handsome face dark with sorrow, his yellow eyes blinking away moisture.

Afra and Ackerman reached the only possible conclusion: the Rowan had burned herself out. They'd have to tell Reidinger. Forty-eight hours had elapsed since they'd had a single contact with her mind. She had not heard, or had ignored, their tentative requests for her assistance. Afra and Ackerman could handle some of the routine freight with generator support but two liners were due in and that required her. She was alive but that was all: her mind was blank to any touch.

At first Ackerman had assumed that she was recuperating. Afra had known better and, for that forty-eight hours, he'd hoped fervently that she would accept the irreconcilable situation.

"I'm gonna have to tell Reidinger," Ackerman said to Afra, wincing with reluctance.

Well, where's Rowan? Reidinger asked. A moment's touch with Afra told him. He, too, sighed. We'll just have to rouse her some way.

She isn't burned out; that's one miracle.

Is it? replied Afra bitterly. If you'd paid attention to her in the first place… Yes, I'm sure, Reidinger cut him off brusquely. If I'd gotten her light of love his patrol squadrons when she wanted me to, she wouldn't have thought of a merge with him. I put as much pressure on her as I dared. But when that cocky young rooster on Deneb started lobbing deflected ET missiles at us… Well, I hadn't counted on that development. At least we managed to spur her to act. And off-planet at that. He sighed. I was hoping that love might make at least one Prime fly.

Whaaat? Afra roared. You mean that boule was staged?

Hardly. As I said, we hadn't anticipated the ETs. Deneb presumably had only a mutating virus plague to cope with. Not ETs.

Then you didn't know about them?

Of course not! Reidinger sounded disgusted. Oh, the original contact with Deneb for biological assistance was sheer chance. I took it as providential, an opportunity to see if I couldn't break the agoraphobia psychosis we all have.

Rowan's the youngest of us. If I could get her to go to him physically - but I failed. Reidinger's resignation saddened Afra, too.

One didn't consider the Central Prime as fallibly human. Love isn't as strong as it's supposed to be. And where I'll get new Primes if I can't breed 'em, I don't know. I'd hoped that Rowan and Deneb.

As a matchmaker I should resign… Afra broke the contact abruptly as the Tower door opened and the Rowan, a wan, pale, very quiet Rowan, came down.

She smiled apologetically. "I've been asleep a long time."

"You had a tiring day," Afra said gently, "day before yesterday." She winced and then smiled to ease Afra's instant concern. "I still am a little frazzled." Then she frowned.

"Did I hear you two talking to Reidinger just now?" "We got worried," Ackerman replied. "There're two liners coming in, and Afra and I just plain don't care to handle human cargo, you know." The Rowan gave a rueful smile. "I know. I'm all set." She walked slowly back up to her Tower.

Ackerman shook his head sadly. "She sure has taken it hard." Her chastened attitude wasn't the relief that her staff had once considered it might be. The work that day went on with monotonous efficiency, with none of the byplay and freakish temperament that had previously kept them on their toes. The men moved around automatically, depressed by this gently tragic Rowan. That might have been one reason why no-one particularly noticed a visitor.

Only when Ackerman rose from his desk for more coffee did he notice the young man in plain travel gear, sitting there quietly.

"You come up in that last shuttle?" "Well, sort of." He spoke with a modest diffidence, rising to his feet. "I was told to see the Rowan. Reidinger signed me on in his office late this morning." Then he smiled.

Fleetingly Ackerman was reminded of the miracle of the Rowan's sudden smiles that could heat the very soul of you. This man's smile was full of uninhibited magnetic vigor, while his brilliant blue eyes danced with good humor and friendliness. Ackerman found himself grinning back like a fool and stepping forward to shake the man's hand stoutly.

"Mighty glad to know you. What's your name?" "Jeff Raven. I just got in from…" "Hey, Afra, want you to meet Jeff Raven. Here, have a coffee. A little raw on the walk up from the launch yard, isn't it? Been on any other Prime Stations?" "As a matter of fact…" Toglia and Loftus had looked around from their computers to inspect the recipient of such unusual cordiality. They found themselves as eager to welcome this charismatic stranger. Raven graciously accepted the coffee from Ackerman, who then proffered his special coveted ginger cakes which his wife excelled at making. The stationmaster had the feeling that he must give this wonderful guy something else, it had been such a pleasure to provide him with coffee.

Afra looked quietly at the stranger, his calm yellow eyes a little clouded. "Hello," he said in a rueful manner, his tone oddly accented.

Jeff Raven's grin altered imperceptibly. "Hello," he replied, and more was exchanged between the two men than a simple greeting.

Before anyone in the Station quite realized what was happening, everyone had left his post and gathered around the newcomer, chattering and grinning, using the simplest excuse to touch his hand or shoulder.

He was genuinely interested in everything said to him, and although there were twenty-three people anxiously vying to monopolize his attention, no-one felt slighted. His reception seemed to envelop them all.

What the hell is happening down there? asked the Rowan, with a tinge of her familiar irritation. Why Contrary to all her previously sacred rules, she appeared suddenly in the middle of the room, looking wildly about her. Raven stepped to her side and touched her hand gently.

"Reidinger said you needed me," he said.

"Deneb?" Her body arched over to project the astounded whisper.

"Deneb? But you're… you're here? You're here!" He smiled tenderly and slid his hand down her shining hair to grip her shoulder.

The Rowan's jaw dropped and she burst out laughing, the laughter of a supremely happy, carefree girl. Then her laughter broke off in a gasp of pure terror.

HOW did you get here?

Just came. You can, too, you know.

No! No. I can't! No T-1 is able to. The Rowan tried to free herself from his grasp, as if he were suddenly repulsive.

I did though. His gentle insistence was unequivocable.

You just jumped from the Tower to this level. If you can do that, why should it matter how far you go?

Oh, no! No!

"Did you know," Raven said conversationally, grinning about him, "that Siglen of Altair gets sick just going up and down stairs?" He looked straight at the Rowan. "You lived with her, you should know. All on the one level, not so much as a step anywhere? That long padded ramp to her tower which is so hemmed by thick-leaved trees any glimpse of the outside is obscured? I know she told you all about that hideous, grim, ghastly, nearly fatal trip she took from Earth to Altair on - of all torture mechanisms a spaceship? Especially when she had planned to stay on Earth as its Prime? Disappointment can have a weird effect on some personalities, you know." The girl shook her head, her eyes wonderingly wide.

"No-one ever asked why she had really rather unusual reactions to a deep space flight, did they? I did. Seemed damned silly to me when Reidinger "explained" the problem." He held his audience's attention as he paused, his grin turning malicious. "Siglen has a massive neural deterioration of the middle ear, a genuine enough disability which does make for travel difficulties. She was so miserably sick in her first space voyage, she went into a trauma about any sort of travel without discovering the real cause. The worst of it was that she then imposed that trauma on everyone else she trained. Of course, it never occurred to her, or anyone else, that this wasn't part of "the price the Talented must pay!" He dramatically placed his hand against his throat, mimicking Siglen so aptly that Afra had to choke back a laugh.

Then he shot a wicked grin at the appalled Rowan.

"Siglen… Oh, Deneb, no!" Raven laughed. "Oh, Callisto, yes. She passed on the trauma to every one of you. The T-2 doesn't have it. Siglen wouldn't be bothered with training an inferior Talent. The proof of the matter is that she didn't train me." He opened his arms wide. "And I, bigod, got here under my own steam. The Curse of Talent!" He mimicked Siglen's deep contralto voice again. "The Great Fear! The great bushwah! You've no middle ear imbalance: you only "think" you've got agoraphobia. Bad enough a thought to hold for long, I agree, but it's a rotten handicap for you to have, my love." Warmth and reassurance passed between them, and the Rowan's eyes began to shine. Her eyes shone.

Now, come live with me and be my love, Rowan. Reidinger says you can commute from here to Deneb every day.

"Commute?" She said it aloud in hollow astonishment.

And stared at him in wonder.

"Certainly," Jeff said encouragingly. "You're still a working T-1 under contract to FT amp;T." "And so, my love, I guess I do know my bosses, don't I?" she said with a little smile.

"Well, the terms were fair. Reidinger didn't haggle a second after I walked into his private office at eleven this morning." "But to commute from Deneb to Callisto?" the Rowan repeated dazedly.

"All finished here for the day?" Raven asked Ackerman, who shook his head after a glance at the launching racks.

"C'mon, gal. Take me to your ivory Tower and we'll finish up in a jiffy. Then we'll talk about it. I'm not pushing you, or anything, but I've got a planet to put to rights…" And a few million things to discuss with you.

Jeff Raven smiled wickedly at the Rowan and pressed her hand to his lips in the age-old gestures of courtliness.

The Rowan's smile answered his with blinding joy.

The others were respectfully silent as the two Talents made their way up the stairs to the once lonely Tower.

Afra broke the tableau by taking a cake from the box in Ackerman's motionless hand. There was nothing in the cake to cause his eyes to water so profusely.

"Not that that pair needs much of our help, people," he said, "but we can add a certain flourish and speed things up."

The whine of the generators sobbed away into silence, a silence which was at first pleasant as the two Primes let the tension of their labors drain from them.

Jeff Raven broke the silence, giving a low grunt as he pushed his chin down to his chest to stretch neck and shoulder muscles. He had been sitting in the swivel chair at the console, so he hadn't had the full body support of a couch like the Rowan's. He swiveled about to face her now.

"I know you," the Rowan said shyly, suddenly unnerved by his presence and the end of known routines, "and I don't." Gently then she felt the feathery touch of his mind in hers, withdrawn as gently but leaving behind it a sweet, spicy taste. That had never happened to the Rowan before in all her mental encounters, and she took a moment to absorb the sensation.

"There's a lot about each other that we're going to have to know," Jeff Raven began to smile, a smile that was also tinged with a shy uncertainty. He ran his fingers through his shock of black hair. "And Lord above, woman, we've got a lifetime to learn." His smile broadened, and he cocked his head slightly at her, looking at her with warmly affectionate eyes that hinted of deeper emotions kept in firm check.

"Look," he said in a totally different tone of voice and he leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, "it's been a rough few weeks for me and now we've met, we don't have to rush anything. In point of fact," he said, with a huge yawn, "I'll be candidly unromantic and admit that I'm whacked. I've been on the stretch since those ETs arrived." He gave her an ingratiating smile. "That rather romantic gesture of mine, to launch us to Deneb, is totally beyond me. I'm starving, I need a bath, and about twenty years' sleep!" The Rowan began to laugh, more gurgle than chuckle, as practical considerations dissolved the moment of restraint and doubt. She rose and thrust out her hand to him. His was warm, calloused, and physical contact only reinforced mind and voice. "Then, tonight, you come home with me!" Gently Jeff pulled her to him. You're such a little thing!

He tucked her head under his chin and held her against his body.

She put her hands about him with an experimental lightness. His body was firm. She liked it. That's good! She also felt the weariness permeating muscle, sinew, blood, and bone.

"Come!" she said and jumped them into the main room of her quarters.

"Rather special," Jeff said, looking about the spacious room with appreciative eyes. "I think you'll find it easier to shrug off Siglen's silly conditioning than you believe. Look, steps all over." He gestured at the various levels, for the dwelling had been built into Callisto's stony landscape.

"I designed it myself." She spoke with pride, sensing his flattering approval as she followed his gaze, from the small conversation pit around the archaic hearth with an imitation fire, to the dining level that had a three-sided view of the gardens and the little copse, to the sound and vision wall, to the corridor leading to the wing.

"Well done! Very well done! And it proves conclusively to me that your agoraphobia was Siglen's imposition. She didn't tolerate steps anywhere. As you must know." Then he yawned convulsively. "What a lover you chose!" "You get the bath," and she pushed him in the direction of the bathing room. "I'll fix a meal guaranteed to raise all known energy levels. Then you may sleep as long as you need to." She "saw" him as he shucked off his clothing: very privately she compared him to Turian's heavier build and the Captain's deep tan.

Then she decided that she liked his spare build, lean, muscled back and narrow hips; bulky people irritated her.

With good reason, Jeff remarked as he eased himself into the steaming pool. She had half-expected him to dive in, for it was deep enough, and heard his denying chuckle.

Another time, he told her with a sigh of total relaxation as he floated. Fix me that food, love, or I'll starve to death in my sleep.

She sent the water pillow to hold up his head and felt her lips tingle with an impressed kiss. She smiled as she collected the necessary foodstuffs from storage. Siglen may have adored eating for its own sake, but the Rowan had learned the fundamentals of good nutrition and the value of well-prepared and presented food.

"What will people think of me when they see you so thin, Rowan? Eat more! It's really delicious. If you'd only force yourself to eat…" Siglen's wheedling tone resounded in the Rowan's ears.

It was, however, infinitely more satisfying to prepare something for Jeff Raven. So involved was she in making certain that all nutritional elements had balanced tastefully that the Rowan was astonished to feel the rhythms of profound sleep emanating from her lover. A moment's pique was soothed by her realization that she would indeed have all the time in the world to prove her worth as a cook.

Now she'd better keep him from inadvertently drowning.

Unexpectedly she felt some fatigue from the day's excitements.

Gently she lifted the inert form of her lover from the water, swathed him in warm, soft, scented towels, and conveyed him to her wide bed. Being telekinetic had, for once, practical applications she had not heretofore considered, she thought, tenderly gazing down at his sleeping face. All the stress and fatigue lines were smoothing away and Jeff Raven looked younger.

His wasn't actually a handsome face: without animation, the harsh planes looked uncompromising, the nose prominent, jutting out from a wide and high brow. His eyes were far more deepset than she had realized. He had a very strong jaw - no getting around this man with specious argument. She wondered if he'd jut his chin out when annoyed.

His lips, too, showed firmness for all they were well-shaped, if a trifle on the thin side, but he had smiled so often, that detail had escaped her. In all, a strong, vital face and exceedingly attractive to her.

Sternly she suppressed unusual clamorings of body and blood.

Eighteen-year-old Rowan might have planned to challenge Captain Turian but she wouldn't ever be silly enough to dare Jeff Raven. She placed water, fruit juice, the "supper" she had made him in a heating cocoon, in easy reach on the bedside table.

What would their children be like? Despite her solitude, she suddenly blushed. Once Turian had been cajoled out of his regrets, they had enjoyed each other thoroughly.

But no-one since then had aroused her. Not even the high Talents Reidinger kept sending to Gerolaman's courses, or to Callisto Tower on specious errands.

For a long while, the Rowan had held the firm conviction that, once her long training had been accomplished, her "travel" would resolve all her problems.

Instead, she had gone from one lonely tower to another.

Yegrani's "long and lonely road" had been before her a long and lonely time. Even the cryptic "seeing" seemed fulfilled.

She had been the focus. Was her reward Jeff Raven?

Would she "travel" now with him?

He stirred slightly, as if responding to her thought; her heart caught in her throat. Then, with a smile, he sank more deeply into his much needed rest. She curled beside him on the wide bed, not needing to touch, content to be in his presence. And then fatigue overcame all her new sensations and wonderings.

The startlement of being kissed woke the Rowan abruptly, and it took a moment to recall the extraordinary events of the previous day.

"Honey, I am sorry to the death to have to wake you, but duty calls!" Jeff's tone and expression were regretful - and so was the clinging touch of his mind in hers, all spicy.

"Why?" She resented "duty" with an intensity that blazed from every pore.

"Easy, girl," and Jeff chided her. "When we so blithely destroyed those ET vessels, we left a lot of debris at spatially unsafe distances for the good of my poor planet." She saw in his open mind the visual report from Deneb.

"Some of it's extrapolated to come thunking down in settled areas. My kin are good, but not that good." "Can I help?" She dressed quickly.

"You can, indeed, and I'm counting on it. Reidinger has got Earth to release our colony a lot of much-needed supplies, and I need you to relay them out to me without splitting the packets. The High Command also wants samples of what we so indiscreetly made piecemeal." "But Jeff, what about us?" The sheer terror of renewed solitude sounded in her cry. He pulled her into his arms, once again tucking her head under his chin. He rocked her slowly, wrapping her in such deep and tender regard that she truly realized physical separation was no barrier to their rapport. Then he tilted her chin up and kissed her lips, a contact that was made far more poignant by his mind-touch and the scenes he projected of how they would make love when "duty" permitted.

She was vibrating with a sensuality which he then completed with an intimate mental touch, and she clung to him in amazed relief. He grinned down at her, pleased by the effect he had on her.

"The chemistry's right between us, love, and I can't wait to prove it time and time and time and time again. However," and his manner altered as, with deep mental and physical regret, he released her, "while I'm gone, work hard on overcoming Siglen's impositions. I'll be back as soon as I've done garbage detail. We'll be transporting some mighty queer stuff. I'd have a good look at it when it comes through Callisto were I you, honey. If there's one group of space traveling animosities, there may be more.

He released his physical hold of her and guided her to the door.

"We'll walk across this time. Gives us a few more moments." She matched strides with him and was unaware of anything on the way to the Tower but the touch of his hip and thigh against hers, his fingers laced in hers. For once she wasn't even aware of the great generators' start-up whine.

"Who was Purza?" he asked suddenly, looking down at her. The unexpectedness of that question at this moment made her lose step. She had been worried that he might have accessed her Turian memories.

Maybe he had and didn't care to comment. After all, that belonged to the past.

"Purza was my pukha," and her throat still closed with a vividly remembered grief and outrage. One is forced to put away childish things.

"Ah, love, and tenderness, spicy-sweet and gentle, laved her. I don't think you were allowed to be a child. We'll assure our own of that privilege." Then, with a mischievous note in his tone, he added, "And I'll prove that a Raven's a much more innovative companion than a pukha." His eyes were intensely blue and a devilish smile curved his lips, and suddenly she was aware of renewed sensations, coursing through her, setting off unusual reactions until suddenly, from her loins, an incredible warmth began to expand in a sudden burst of exquisite pain.

And that is only a sample, my love. Only a sample! Jeff's voice seemed to be part of that sensation, and she had to cling to him to remain on her feet.

Then they were in the tunnel that led to the garage.

With an effort she assembled her wits, aware that Jeff was very well pleased with his effect on her. She was grateful for the diversion provided by the strange personnel carrier in the launch cradle, the blazon of the Central Worlds on its nose, the paint still gleaming with Jeff Raven's code.

"New design, huh?" She ran tentative fingers down the shell. It had not yet acquired the static of well-used carriers.

"Only the very best for the newest, love," Jeff replied, lightly teasing though there was no sparkle in his deep blue eyes. He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her long and deeply. She responded as intensely as she could.

The twinkle was back in his eyes. He quickly settled himself in the carrier. The whine of the generators was keening up to launch power. "See you, love!" It was astonishing for everyone in the Tower to launch Jeff's capsule. He was helping, laughing when the Rowan told him to save his strength for his day's work, teasing Afra and Ackerman in a casual way and then - abruptly he had separated himself from them.

The Rowan became far too busy to examine her feelings just then.

A near invasion of pods and drones, of medium sized personnel carriers were flicked out from Earth Prime en route to Deneb: experts in all fields to parse through the debris of the invaders to ascertain what was the most important for in-depth analysis to be sent back to the main Moon labs. Every sort of information must be gleaned from that assault, analyzed, and neatly catalogued for future reference.

Whenever Deneb-cargo went off Callisto, Jeff and the Rowan exchanged kisses, and other caresses which made her glad she was alone in the Tower. It gave an unexpected fillip to intensive mental effort.

And, as he had asked, she did a quick look at some of the more unusual flotsam that came through: hull arcs, like the segments of fruit; packages of curious supplies (food?); shreds of metallic films clothing?; some frozen specimens of alien parts. She did recall the look of them as she, with the focus meld of Prime minds, disassembled them and their ships. Not at all humanoid, rather a form of beetle, with carapace or chitinous wings, with multiple legs, with joined digits. Some of the creatures which had been standing erect at their control devices were approximately two-meters long. Those in the round access tubes through the long space vehicles had been smaller and scurried about on six of their ten legs. There had been a heavily guarded central feature with immature creatures, a startling number of egg cases and the largest specimen. A generation ship? Indicative of perhaps a cross-galaxy voyage of incredible duration?

The contents certainly gave rise to incredible speculations and overwhelming relief that the Primes had been able to destroy such an alien menace. And some rather silly minor hysterics from the nervous.

Not only was there the unusual traffic to Deneb, but over the next few days, the Rowan was called upon to dispatch naval reconnaissance vessels to the perimeter of the Central Worlds' sphere of influence.

Massive amounts of equipment and personnel were shifted around in the panic following the Denebian Incident. Reidinger decided to increase the Talented complement of the main Prime Stations for the purpose of unceasing vigilance and to upgrade distant early warning beacons set beyond the perimeter. That left him short of experienced staff, and rather short on temper as a result.

"Reports of the Incident were toned down a lot," Ackerman told an exhausted Rowan at the end of that fourth chaotic day. "The public report," he added when the Rowan blinked uncomprehendingly up at him.

He decided her mind was only half here. "They decreased the size and capacity of the ships, and the armaments and potential danger."

"Considering some of the stuff that we handled, I'd say that was discreet of them," Afra remarked caustically, his fingers busily constructing a paper shape remarkably like the aliens that had been destroyed. Then he casually crumpled the origami into a wad.

Afra was exceedingly different from his sister, the gentle Goswina. And the day had exhausted her.

Me, too, Jeff said softly in her head. I've got just about enough energy to crawl into my lonely bed and remember how great it was to lie beside you. To know all through the night that you were there.

When the Rowan realized that she was grinning foolishly, "Jeff!" she said enigmatically and both men nodded understandingly.

Loftus brought in a sheaf of hard-copy sheets. "They plan to work our butts off again tomorrow, too!" He shook out the ream-long manifests of projected shipments. "And a big mother of a battleship, complete with flag admiral. Where was he when he was needed?" "D'you think he will be?" Ackerman asked, suddenly apprehensive.

Afra snorted. "With all the monitors, detectors, remotes, and junk we've had to parcel out? Highly unlikely." "Nothing like locking the barn door when the horse is gone!" Loftus said.

"What on earth do you mean by that?" the Rowan asked.

It sounded like something Siglen would come out with.

"Old saying! Procrastination is a thief! Here, Ackerman. You'd better analyze how we're going to shift all that!" I can see you now, Jeff's loving voice came softly into her mind, talking in the Tower. Why don't you go home so I can see you in your own place and fall asleep knowing where you are?

In a sort of trance, the Rowan excused herself, leaving the three men staring at the spot she had just vacated.

"I suppose we'll have to get used to her looking all starry-eyed and flicking out like that," Brian said, slightly envious.

"Has she gone to Deneb?" Loftus asked, his eyes bugging out.

"She's not quite ready for that yet, I think," Afra replied and tossed off the half-finished mug of stimulant. "I hope it's not a long time coming." As the tall Capellan went back to his workspace, he was unaccountably depressed. In no way did he resent Jeff Raven's acquisition of the Rowan. Afra had long ago buried his tentative and unrequited attraction for the quicksilver girl. He had hoped that out of sheer need she might one day have turned to him, for he adored her in his own fashion. Since the day, as a very nervous eighteen year-old, he had reported for duty at Callisto, they had shared a rapport, becoming stronger over the years, close enough so that he did not exactly envy Jeff Raven. Rather he worried for them both.

They ought somehow to have taken themselves to Deneb that first night. He had been surprised that they hadn't. And more concerned, though it was certainly none of his business, when he sensed that the union had not been consummated. If he'd been in Jeff Raven's shoes… Well, how the Denebian conducted his seduction of the Rowan was NOT the business of Afra, Capellan T-4. The Rowan showed no resentment; why should he?

While he could also understand the necessity of pumping men and material out to the other Primes, and the naval units, and whatever else was on tomorrow's dockets, why hadn't Reidinger sent out some T-2s or a few well integrated T-3 teams to assist Deneb. Why couldn't FT amp;T have given the Rowan and Jeff a few days together?

Was Reidinger still playing games with the Rowan's space afare?

Reidinger might just find his strategy backfiring.

Though Afra had little clairvoyant capability, he had a sickening uneasy-making hunch that Reidinger was wrong to proceed as he did. The trouble with an undeveloped prescience was that it was so fecking nebulous. He intended to push against it until something did clarify.

Forewarned was forearmed. Or was it?

He was tired enough so that, when he got to his own quarters, he drank a formula meal and went imediately to bed.

Rowan, love!

Jeff's rich voice was tender and soft, gently rousing her from sleep. Phantom lips laid pressure on hers, and a phantom touch caressed her lovingly in other places.

She so much desired his presence, was convinced that he had somehow returned, that when she realized that she was still alone in her bed, she almost wept.

Oh, Rowan, lovey. I am so sorry! I devoutly wish I was really there. And she experienced a jolt of his own sexual tension and was a little dismayed at its intensity.

The debris is still falling?

She caught the grimness - and the fatigue - in his mind.

Like rain! He was also disgusted. If any of us in that merge had had the sense God gave little green apples… He gave them some?

We'd have made sure we scattered those hulks sunward!

Oversight!

Overhead, too. At least we have equipment now to man:tar falls.

The squadron's on twenty-four-hour duty lassoing the big stuff, packing it into drones for shipment back. We may think we're tired now, but you wait. She felt the unruly humor.

Our basket's entirely full of eggs.

Eggs?

Eggs, I said. Our biologists say that the beetles were reproducing for 1) a generation-type voyage 2) shortlived workers that had to be periodically replaced, or 3) stocking up for a population explosion on our planet. They want to do an in-depth examination and extrapolation of the life cycle. So don't make an omelette.

Not with frozen eggs. Jeff… Wouldn't it be a lot easier and more work- and cost effective to examine everything there?

The Rowan felt tired just thinking about the effort involved. Was Jeff warning her or complaining?

They "say" they have to do it in the big Moon labs - to prevent contamination or something. I think they don't want Deneb to get such a juicy contract so early in its career as a colony. We could pay off our Central Worlds' Start-up debt if we'd that kind of investagatory work here.

The Rowan thought about that. The Armed Services, naval and military, regarded Talent with deep suspicion since generally speaking, those of a mind to make war were too prosaic to understand minds which eschewed physical violence. Except, of course, she reminded herself, when they needed an entire squadron dispatched to a far corner of the galaxy. THEN they remembered Talent quite well! She didn't trust bureaucracy either but regulations and rules did reduce chaos to mere confusion. She had come to respect regulations: she would never condone restrictions. Not being of an acquisitive nature, she also did not understand the economics involved: she had all the possessions she needed: she could purchase whatever she liked - within reason - and she was not covetous.

Jeff was another matter. And all that happened to Jeff.

How badly is your colony in debt to Central Worlds? And how HAD your governors decided to pay it off?

This planet's mineral rich: we're miners and engineers, with enough farmers thrown in to keep us locally supplied.

The Rowan pondered a moment, permitting the peripheral information she had absorbed in that merge to surface to her public mind. She knew he was an engineer in a farming family. She knew he had six brothers and four sisters, since increases in Deneb's population were as important as any other occupation. She knew that his oldest brother and his two older sisters with young families had been wiped out by the aliens, as well as his father and the two youngest siblings: that two younger brothers were medical personnel, that his mother would soon deliver a posthumous child. He had uncles, aunts, and cousins unto the third degree, and half of them had minor Talents. But Deneb, which was not scheduled to achieve full status in Central Worlds nor slated to receive a Prime in the next hundred years, had not organized its Talents until the imminent invasion had forced them into maturity.

Yes, you picked up a lot about us, didn't you, sweeting? Jeff sounded pleased and she felt him stretching… the stretch of someone relieving aching, strained muscles. She sent soothing impulses, phantom hands to knead and smooth. She would much rather have had the genuine warm flesh beneath equally fleshy fingers. I, too, and the longing in Jeff's tone ran as deep as her own.

This can't continue!

That's for sure, but I also cannot leave Deneb. Jeff's tone took on an irritated resignation. There's just no way I can permit myself personal time if my absence results in more destruction. Like right now. Be back!

His presence in her mind was gone: not so much as an echo remained. She felt more bereft than ever, deeply dissatisfied. If she applauded his principles, she fumed at the circumstances. Which brought her to the nub of the problem: Siglen's imposed space fear. If Jeff could not, in honor, leave Deneb at this critical moment, it was up to her to break down her own resistance to space travel.

Afra!

The Capellan's mind-touch was instantly available. He always was, she realized. Afra was like a shadow - a loving shadow she also perceived with her newly expanded perceptions of loving and caring.

She squashed that observation to save Afra's sensitivity.

I'll need to practice in my shell.

Not in the middle of the night, Rowan, he came back, not bothering to mask his exasperation. Believe me, I'm all for helping the course of true love, but trying to crack a trauma of such long standing is irrational when you - and I - are exhausted. Tomorrow morning. We'll have a few hours before Callisto clears Jupiter and Earth shipments arrive. This humble T-4 needs all the rest he can get to cope with you on the best of days and I don't count today one of them! Go to sleep, Rowan. I need mine!

It was so seldom that Afra was adamant that the Rowan meekly broke the contact. He was right. It would be crazy to try anything in her state of mind.

How did Siglen manage to condition her thoroughly? Why hadn't anyone noticed it? Lusena had been so common sensible: why hadn't she spotted the neurosis?

BECAUSE Siglen harped on it so often, moaned about the Curse of the Primes so that no-one thought to question her. And both David and Capella had been woefully stressed on their flights. Who would have dared question Altair's biggest asset?

Ass was right, the Rowan thought, spotting anomalies that refuted Siglen's contention. She'd always been able to teleport herself about Port City and the Tower. She'd never experienced agoraphobia. The mechanics of teleporting oneself on a planet were no different than teleporting oneself from one planet to another. The Rowan was disgusted. YEARS had been wasted because of Siglen's stupid inner ear imbalance!

And yet, the Rowan distinctly remembered her own terror when, as a very little girl, Lusena was taking her into the shuttle that would have transported her to Earth.

She had been so terrified at the sight of that portal she had even dropped Purza to teleport to the only place of safety she knew. Siglen had been raving then about the horrors of space travel, and sparing the poor child any further anguish. Just as she had in the act of teleporting the Rowan to Callisto! The Rowan shuddered remembering that nightmare: why did Talents have to have such perfect recall?

David of Betelgeuse could clearly remember being nursed at his mother's breast. Capella swore she remembered her birth trauma.

Which, David had acidly remarked, was why Iron pants refused to mate, unwilling to inflict such horror on a child from her womb. Well, that was her excuse.

Once again, the Rowan tried to force her memory back, before that aborted departure. All she knew about her early childhood was what she had been told: that her parents had died in an avalanche, that she had been the sole survivor of the Rowan disaster. She had never questioned those facts. She had devoutly wished that she had known something of her background: her real name, what her family had been like, if she'd had any brothers and sisters. It hadn't been until she'd been in Turian's company that she realized what she might have been lacking.

She did remember being taken from the hopper, and immediately sedated. She most certainly remembered telling Siglen that she was the Rowan, because "they" all called her "The Rowan Child". Now that she knew that this whole fufurrah about Primes traveling in space was an imposed neurosis, she was more than halfway to restoration. Or that was the often repeated theory. She stilled her restlessness, found a comfortable position in her half-empty bed, and initiated her sleep pattern.

The next morning she was awakened by the rumble of generators warming up.

We've two hours before we clear Jupiter, Afra said in his customary dry tone.

I know. Odd how she always did. Callisto's orbit in its relation to its primary was a permanent fixture in her consciousness. She dressed quickly, remembered to drink a sustaining meal, and jogged down the passageway to the bunker where the personnel carriers were stored, saw hers missing from its rack and went on to the launch cradle in which it now rested.

She didn't feel the least bit altered from the last time she had lain on the padded couch. Shouldn't she?

Feel different? Afra echoed and gave her a chuckle.

[Why had she never realized that Afra was warm brown, velvety smooth, and faintly citrony of scent?] YOU yourself haven't altered, Afra went on through her private observation of him. Just your perception of the process.

Did you ever suspect that it was a psychosis engendered by Siglen's lack of equilibrium?

[Mental shrug.] A T4 does not delve into the exalted mechanics of the Primes, my dear. Afra snorted at the mere thought of such blasphemy.

But what do you think about, or Brian Ackerman, or any of those I whip back to Earth, when they're being transported?

I don't listen in, and Afra added an admonitory chiding.

You're being obstructive. Well, be objective. What do YOU think about?

During a kinetic displacement? Generally, I concentrate on getting where I'm supposed to go. Where did you plan to go today, Rowan?

I would prefer to go to Deneb, she answered in a very meek and subdued voice.

Not unless Jeff Raven is there to catch you, and he isn't.

And even with the gestalt, I can't send you very far. You're said in that respect, he added quickly when he felt the first tinge of terror in her mind. It will take time, you know, to condition you to space travel.

I can't just sit here in the cradle - You're not, you know, Afra said very gently. You're hovering in Demos's orbit above Mars.

WHAT? In her fright, the Rowan projected such an almighty scream that Afra slapped his hands, instinctively but ineffectually, to his ears.

WHAT are you doing, Rowan? came a roar from Earth Prime. Afra, I'll flay your yellow skin and hang the meat from your bones out to dry! What ARE you doing with her?

Leave him alone, Reidinger, was the Rowan's prompt and equally agitated response. Afra's obeying my orders and your stated wishes that THIS Prime will learn to travel in space. Stop blustering. Here I am orbiting Demos and that's further than I've ever been able to come before. But, and while she forced herself to admire the view, she found herself "looking" straight ahead, unable/unwilling to turn her eyes from the sight of Demos's pitted surface with Mar's red/orange bulk beyond. As long as she had only that view to contend with, she could manage it. Demos looked exactly like its hologram.

I think that's enough for now, she added, spacing her words carefully, as if one of them might alter her head a fraction, forcing her to see more of the open space all around her shell which could be a prelude to the godawful spinning she'd felt on her first space voyage.

Shut up, Rowan, that was a Siglenish imposition. Nevertheless, she felt sweat trickling down her face.

You did very well, Afra said calmly and the next thing she knew she was back in the cradle.

Did you really send me all the way to Demos, Afra? She felt totally spineless and couldn't move a hand to blot the perspiration on her face.

I certainly did, and you suffered no significant trauma according to the monitors in the shell. Just stop thinking about Siglen.

Afra did not have to sound quite so smug, she thought deep inside her head. He had royally fooled her, that treacherous T-4.

"What's the Rowan's capsule doing out here?" Ray Loftus yelled and he had flipped up the canopy before he noticed her lying inside. "Hey - whaaaaat?" He stared down at her, his face gone white. "Are you all RIGHT, Rowan?" He didn't appear to know what to do, waving one hand impotently.

"Stop dithering and give me your hand," the Rowan said. "I've been to Demos and back - for my sins!" Ray willingly assisted her out of the capsule and, then almost too solicitously for she was drained by the experience, supported her up to the Tower building. His incredulity and several odd, unsortable fleeting emotions were inescapably projected to her through the physical contact. But she also caught pride and relief.

Afra palmed open the door, took her hand and, with a brief kinetic surge, renewed her energy. Before she could read him, he had his shield up again.

You don't need to treat this as so commonplace an occurrence, you know, she added, piqued.

Why not? It should be! Yaw! He sidled away from the pinch she gave him.

Now, if fun and games are over for this morning, can I please review the day's schedule? came the acid tone of Reidinger. There are a few alterations.

That night as the Rowan lay in her double lonely bed, she reviewed that lift. She had felt nothing: not even that spinning - once she'd shut her mind away from the notion - that had consumed her on the 'portation from Altair to Callisto. But, in the light of present knowledge, was it any wonder she responded as she had during her first space voyage? Hadn't Siglen wept and moaned and wrung her hands and carried on as if she was sending the Rowan to her death? And all those preventive shots and medicines which, since her middle ear was not impaired at all, had probably produced the nausea, the spinning and disorientation because she hadn't needed them. Siglen had done one fine job of preconditioning her to react exactly as she had.

She'd get Afra to take her back to Demos tomorrow and this time she'd look at it - and around her. There was absolutely no physiological or psychological reason why she should be affected by space travel.

No, there's not. Keep telling yourself that, honey. Keep saying it until you believe it with all your heart and mind, Jeff's voice said, gently inserted into her mind.

Oh, your touch is so fragile… She worried that the tasks set him were too much for his so recently acquired abilities.

No, not at all, he replied, deepening his tone. I didn't want to startle you.

Don't try to deceive me, Jeff Raven. I know you're exhausted.

You shouldn't even be trying to contact me in that state… Aren't you glad I have? [His mental smirk was accompanied by a very delicate caress.] Wherever you are, no matter how tired I am, I shall always reach out to you.

Though and now his tone altered suggestively, it doesn't help when I am trying to get some rest. Sleep well, love.

She sent a light kiss for his cheek, laughing as she did so and tried to calm his mind to the sleep pattern.

Granny! I can do that for myself!

Tired as she was, she was not quite ready for sleep yet herself.

So often she used sleep as a method of interrupting negative mental patterns, of unproductive and circular thinking. Sometimes she could gain an insight into a problem by going over and over it again then wake the next morning with the solution.

Tonight Purza appeared, not the remains that Moria had vandalized, but the comfort creature that had been her mainstay. The Rowan paused, thinking back to those last days of her childhood, of all the conversations she carried on with Purza, of the silly things they'd discuss… They?

The Rowan caught herself up. She had believed, for many years, that Purza was sentient, despite the unalterable fact that the Rowan knew the pukha was NOT. She had imbued many qualities and characteristics into the comfort… toy, say it, Rowan, toy!…

No, not a toy.

Device! Monitor! Surrogate! The pukha had certainly been the receptacle of more confidences than any human being, even of matters she never could have discussed with Lusena. Yet the Rowan distinctly remembered Purza advising her against things which she, the Rowan, had particularly wanted to do. How could the pukha have such discretion?

The loss still rankled in the Rowan's mind and heart.

She had succumbed to a deep melancholia which Lusena had been unable to lift despite metamorphic treatment.

Siglen had been irritated, having realized just how much she was beginning to rely on her apprentice, but she was far more fearful of contracting even the merest sniffle.

Then Gerolaman had acquired the barquecat. And that ungrateful scamp whom the Rowan had counted on as a companion in her Callisto quarters had refused to leave the tibooti passenger vessel, to the intense delight of the crew.

She'd had to let him stay, more angered than dismayed by his defection.

"When I was a child, I played with childish things!" That phrase, which had been well dinned into her head during that painful readjustment time, now came to mind.

The Rowan tossed restlessly in her bed, hating the phrase, and all the memories it evoked.

Why would Purza come to mind now, tonight? Except that Jeff had queried the memory. Jeff was more than a substitute for a surrogate…

…except that he couldn't even do his courting of her in person!

Why Purza? Why not Rascal? She had truly outgrown the need for the comfort surrogate! Or had she?

Puzzling through that, the Rowan fell asleep. In the morning, searching her waking thoughts for an answer, she found none. Instead she had an overpowering urge to seek Jeff. And resisted. She had set an additional clock to Denebian time and he would be hard at work. She had overslept her usual waking hour but Jupiter did not clear Callisto for three hours.

Listlessly she rose to face the day's routine. She and Jeff might have their lifetimes to get to know each other, but she'd rather start in earnest. Damn Reidinger! How could he! She'd like to tell him a thing or two!

In person.

Watch out! she heard Afra warn the Station staff. She wasn't sure if she was annoyed or amused that caution was given. She palmed open the door into the Tower and let it whoosh shut behind her as she observed the wary expressions.

I don't think you're ready for a jaunt to Earth yet, Afra said.

"Good morning, Rowan. We've got some pretty heavy stuff to shift." She glared at the Capellan, knowing he was right. And yet, if she didn't take the plunge, when would she? Why shouldn't she - if she was only reacting to a conditioning?

But his caution, and his obvious concern, deflated her impetus.

She was not all that sure of her reconditioning not just after one swing to Demos. Her glare was the signal for everyone to become intensely interested in lists or keyboards or any task that took them out of her immediate vicinity.

"Now listen up, you lot. There's two hours and fifty minutes before Callisto clears Jupiter. You all know how to set up the day's shifts without Afra and me. Afra," and she intensified her glare, "I want to go back to Demos again. Now!" "As you wish," he said in an unexpected capitulation.

She caught a very suspicious glint in his yellow eyes before he turned his head away. And his shields were up tight as air-lock seals.

She decided to ignore him and marched back out of the Tower and down to the launch.

This time, though she strained her eyes wide to catch any motion, Afra's lift was so smooth that she had the bulk of Demos before her eyes again. This time she did look about her, and if her breathing quickened, she initiated control and steadied herself. The view was rather spectacular.

Is Earth visible from his position? she asked Afra. She caught her breath again as her capsule altered direction.

Cut in the visual magnification. Second position on your right fingerboard, Afra told her.

Four taps and the cloud-swirled marble of Mankind's world became clearly visible. Its moon hung like a milky pebble, fully lit by the distant sun. Awesome to think that the insignificant speck in the vast space-black panorama had spawned those now inhabiting the planets of far distant suns.

Suddenly she became very conscious of the blackness around her: too much dark and she was confined in a very small space… And she didn't even have Purza for comfort!

Easy, Rowan! And abruptly she was back in the launch site on Callisto, Afra unsealing the lid of her personnel carrier, his yellow skin sallow with anxiety.

Shaking, she held her arms out to him. He lifted her out of the capsule and ran with her back into the Tower, yelling vocally and mentally for a stimulant.

Blackness! Why blackness, Afra? I was all right, truly all right, until I thought of the blackness… And claustrophobia, Afra added. He took the glass Ray offered and held it to her lips. She was shaking too much to hold it herself.

ROWAN! Jeff's anxious shout made her wince.

I'm all right, Jeff I'm all right.

Blackness. Why are you reacting to blackness, Rowan?

Why do I see the pukha in your mind?

I don't know, Jeff I don't know. I'm all right. Afra's determined to get me drunk early today! She tried to lighten up her mind tone: she didn't want to upset him because she'd experienced a moment's silly panic.

Scared me half to death, you did! Jeff went on and she was as aware of the pounding of his heart as her own.

Jeff, she's all right, Afra said, initiating metamorphic massage to reduce her tension.

"It wasn't space. It was the blackness. The awful blackness." Damn it! I've had just about enough of this! Jeff Raven said, his tone incandescent with fury.

DENEB! and Reidinger's roar made even the Rowan's skull vibrate.

Afra rolled his eyes in intense mental pain, clutching at his head.

Primes don't have privileges! She's only shaken. And there'll be no more of these experiments, Rowan. YOU HEAR ME?

Even I can hear you, said David of Betelgeuse sourly.

I think you're being extremely selfish, Reidinger, came from Capella.

I told you this could be fatal, was Siglen's moan.

Leave me alone! the Rowan said, furious at being the center of so much unnecessary attention. Go away and get back to business.

Reidinger's made his point!

Jeff's parting phantom caress did not make it any easier for the Rowan to ascend to the Tower, and her couch, and try to focus her thoughts on the day's business. A steaming cup of java appeared and she reached for it gratefully. Deep inside her something was frozen, some black.

Something odorous? A whiff that she couldn't identity - a reek that was connected with the frightening blackness.

Not today's darkness, a smelly, clanging, revolving darkness.

That was what had set off her panic - revolving around to see Earth…

…Just as the bucking Miraki had panicked her with Turian sailing up the Straits that time.

But it had been a "spinning" motion that had triggered her on the Jibooti on her first space voyage.

Cargo coming in, Afra said, bringing her back to her responsibilities.

Once again Callisto Tower staff moved with dull efficiency through the day's tasks, with none of the livening humor or even bad temper that signalized an off day for the Rowan.

Callisto was space-side of Jupiter and receiving the last of the in-bound receipts, which would be downshipped once the Moon was again Earth-side, when an emergency signal for live cargo lit up the board.

Live one coming in, Rowan, Brian Ackerman warned her in his capacity of Stationmaster. She'd lost her deft touch in the late afternoon, unusual enough for her, but as the packets were not marked fragile, he hadn't remonstrated.

Now what? she demanded but she retrieved the capsule with more care.

Some Fleet nerd to judge by the ID - then broke off.

At first the Rowan did not notice the silence from her staff. It was day's end and, with that tardy capsule, the generators were growling down to rest. She was making a neater pile of deliveries and transshipment copies when she heard someone taking the Tower steps two at a time.

"Tut tut, I didn't think I could really put this over on you so easily!" And it was Jeff Raven who swung the door wide, his blue eyes brilliant with teasing - and his love. "I don't think you've missed me at all!" The Rowan didn't bother to answer his jibe. She grabbed his hand and launched them into her quarters, into her bedroom, out of their clothing, proving in every way possible just how much she had missed him and exactly what she had missed the most of him.

At several points during that magical night, they had time to exchange words rather than emotional extravagances.

"I've a new nephew, you see," he said, cuddling her against him, her head on his shoulder, her body edged as closely to his as was possible, her legs entwined about one of his. With one ear on his chest, she could hear his voice rumbling up from his diaphragm. "And I was congratulating Mother when she reminded me that a day of rest from hard labor has long been ordained. So, with the impetuosity for which I am known on Deneb, I tagged an assortment of reliable people to hold the planet secure for at least one day, and came back for what I've been aching for!" "I shall bless your mother forever!" "She's mighty curious about you, I will say. I have informed her that holograms do not do you justice." "Does she have any Talent?" "Oh, masses, but she's never trained much, so sometimes her use of what she has can be quite devastating," and Jeff's chuckle began where her left hand rested on his flat belly. There wasn't, the Rowan realized, a spare ounce of flesh on him anywhere. He was much too thin. Eating's the last thing on my mind, love! "I don't think she has enough range for Callisto but, if she put her mind to it, she could blast a message to us anywhere in the City and down on the farm." His chuckle turned rueful.

"Could never put anything over on our Mom." "I never knew my mother!" Jeff's arms pressed her lovingly. "I know, pet. I know."

He shifted suddenly, raising up on one elbow, breaking the physical closeness that the Rowan was reveling in.

"Why is that Purza on your mind again? I know the function of a pukha, but it's no surrogate mother!" "You're digging deep." "No," and Jeff frowned slightly, soothing her hair back from her face and gathering up a handful from the pillow, fascinated by its paleness in the dim tight of the room. "I'm not. Not half as deep as I intend to dig. And speaking of digging, or delving… And that ended that conversation though the Rowan was fleetingly aware as Jeff stroked her body with deft erotic caresses that the interruption was deliberate.

She was soon too involved on too many levels of exquisite lovemaking to complain. Jeff was incredible and kept urging her on to new delights.

When at last they moved apart an inch or so, Jeff's stomach emitted a rolling growl which the Rowan's answered.

"By God, we've even got compatible digestions."

"And you need feeding up. Does no-one take care of you on Deneb?" she demanded, half her attention on manipulating food items from freezer to heating chamber.

"Got any Terran beef steak up here?" he asked, following her efforts. "We lost most of our food animals in the bombardments and we can't really plant until we clear the fields of metal objects. I don't care how nutritious the processed stuff is supposed to be, it tastes bloody awful.

"Oh," and he inhaled the aroma of grilling meat that wafted into the bedroom, "and never smells right. What a talented woman I've found!" And he expressed his appreciation in the most delightful way.

"Jeff! The meat'll burn!" "Oh, a little charcoal does you no harm! Got to eat a peck of dirt, you know…" "JEFF! That's the only decent steak I have right now!" "Oh, in that case…" and he desisted.

After they had ravenously consumed a huge meal - with the Rowan going back again and again to her larder to supply them with the high-protein substances they both needed to fuel their ardor - they made love again. They slept so soundly that neither heard Afra's discreet knocking, nor the ringing of the comsystem.

I do beg your pardons! Afra inserted the phrase politely in each mind, repeating it with more mental force until the Rowan roused.

She felt deliciously rested, totally sated. Rowan! You're broadcasting… Afra said with a discreet mental cough.

Startled into full consciousness, the Rowan felt the unexpected heat of a blush. Afra would never "look" but nonetheless she covered herself with a fold of the thermal sheet. Jeff Raven grumbled sleepily, one hand searching for a touch of her.

"Jeff! Wake up! We've overslept!" "Nonsense. Today's my day off!" He opened one eye.

"I think that was yesterday, Jeff." She's right! Reidinger doesn't know you're here. Why not? Jeff pulled himself to a sitting position and then hauled the Rowan back into his arms, his hands lightly caressing her.

He's not… Afra faltered. He's in a very touchy mood.

That's not unusual! Jeff refused to be cowed. He threw us together on purpose and now I'm here on purpose so he can like it or lump it.

Tell him the truth, Afra, the Rowan added. I overslept and I'll be back at work as soon as I've had a decent breakfast.

Aware that she had, indeed, been delinquent in her own responsibilities, the Rowan tried to wriggle free. But Jeff merely tightened his arms, keeping her close.

Trouble with Reidinger is, he says jump, and every single one of you asks how high! Well, this Denebian lad doesn't!

"IS there anything left to eat in the house, darling?" And, as if he hadn't a care in the world, Jeff grinned fondly down at the woman held firmly against him.

The Rowan swallowed, both appalled by and admiring of Jeff's nonchalance.

"I think, lovely, it isn't only Siglen's conditioning you must slough off." His voice was soft, very gentle but with an edge in it that gave her another, totally new perspective on Jeff Raven of Deneb.

"That FT amp;T of yours has exploited you for such a long time that you've never stopped to realize that you, as a Prime AND a citizen of Central Worlds, have certain inalienable rights that you haven't even bothered to exercise!" He dropped an affectionate kiss on the end of her nose.

"And it's time to exercise! Last one in the pool has to take the day off." He began to unwind himself from her and the covers.

With all respect, Rowan, Raven, Afra said, still standing outside the dwelling, we managed well enough yesterday but there's a passenger carrier coming in that needs the Rowan's gentle touch.

So it has to stay cradled for half an hour, Jeff replied, employing his mouth to plant kisses on places of the Rowan that he had somehow missed earlier. Tell the Captain it's generator trouble. I have it all the time on Deneb.

None minds!

"But, Jeff, not a passenger ship. That's a contractual violation…" the Rowan began.

"And violating the contract we've been forming is a far more heinous crime in my eyes," and he leered at her, his black hair hanging over his eyes to give him a very piratical appearance. We shan't be that long, Afra! Tell them they have to give way to a priority shipment. Me. And it's not ready to launch yet.

Their swim was less than brisk but more than languid, interspersed as it was with loving kisses and caresses. Just the touch of his hand roused the Rowan, so totally unused to any physical contact. She kept in tactile contact as if loosing touch would somehow lessen their incredible rapport.

Between them - for Jeff was becoming familiar with the storage and cooking facilities in her kitchen - they had breakfast ready by the time they had dressed.

On their way to the launch pad, the Rowan's hand tucked and held against Jeff's arm, Reidinger's angry shout made her wince.

No need to shout, Jeff Raven replied mildly.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?

Spending my day of rest - HA!

Now, now, Reidinger, there is a long-standing precedent for rest days, and I haven't had one, and my lovely Rowan certainly hasn't had one… Jeff looked down at her, his blue eyes glinting with pure mischief and a broad grin spreading across his mobile features. He restrained the Rowan from quickening her pace in her obedient effort to placate the angry Earth Prime and held her to his lazy saunter.

You have a contract with FT amp;T. So I do, so do you, and does the Rowan, but nowhere in that contract does it stipulate we are obliged to work a seven day week, twenty-four or twenty-six-hour day. His tone abruptly changed. Now butt out, Reidinger. You're invading our privacy. And that IS a contract violation!

Some kind of a sound, initiated and abruptly severed, similar to a gargle of pure rage, echoed in their heads. Jeff grinned and the Rowan looked anxious.

"Honey, don't let him exploit you any more. We can do without him, but he and the mighty FT amp;T can't do without us! Remember that. Stiff upper lip and all that guff." They had reached the battered personnel carrier, in which he had made his surreptitious arrival. Now he took her into his arms again, tucking her head under his chin, their bodies as close physically as their minds were. He said nothing, savoring the contact. Abruptly he released her, kissed her cheek, and stretched himself out in the carrier. "Same time six days from now, darling." The hatch covered his reassuring grin.

Scurrying to the Tower, the Rowan pressed her lips tightly against the pain of this farewell, somehow more intense than when she hadn't known what she would be missing.

Now, then, honey, neither distance nor nine can really separate us!

And he gave a quick demonstration that made her gasp. See what I mean?

Her cheeks were burning in the cooler air of the passageway.

Ducking her head so that none of the Station personnel could see her face as she entered the Tower, she took the steps two at a time.

By the time she had taken her place, the generators had hit their peak whine.

Safe trip! she said, as she spun his shell back to Deneb.

A kiss that lasted beyond the moons of Neptune brought a smile to her face. Then she flipped up the com to the waiting passenger liner.

"I do apologize for the slight delay, Captain, but if you are prepared, we can launch at your convenience." Either he was an unusually tolerant master or someone in the Station had dropped a discreet word, but he made no more comment than to request the lift at the mark of five minutes.

Mi that day the Rowan half expected a blast from Reidinger, so she took particular care to keep incoming and outgoing shipments moving in a steady flow. Nor did she receive any word from Jeff over the next five days. She was, however, in very constant and reassuring touch with her lover: his presence palpable in her mind, like a silken touch in the corner of her mind, a feather-gentle caress.

That was probably why it was such a shock when abruptly she became aware of the absence of that touch.

Jeff? She felt more alone than she had when Purza had been destroyed, than when she had… in the tumbling blackness. Jeff! She strengthened her mental shaft, swiveling in her chair in Deneb's relative detection. JEFF!

Anxiety took the place of surprise. JEFF RAVEN!

What's the matter, Rowan? Afra asked, now aware of her concern.

He's gone. His touch is gone!

She heard several people rushing up the steps to her Tower.

We'll link! Afra suggested as he, Brian Ackerman, and Ray Loftus entered the room.

She opened to them and, tapping the generator power, called again.

Panicking, she turned to Afra.

"He isn't there! He's surely heard us!" She tried to keep her voice steady, but Afra was far too sensitive not to feel her growing terror.

The tall Capellan took hold of her hands. "Breathe more slowly, Rowan. There can be many reasons "No! No, it's as if he'd been blotted out suddenly. You can't understand Rowan? The mental call was faint, heard only because the Rowan was linked with the others. Rowan.

"You see, I told you…" Afra began and she yanked her hands out of his.

"That's not Jeff!" Yes?

Come at once! Jeff needs you!

"Now, wait a moment, Rowan," and Afra caught her arm as she started out of her chair.

"You heard! He needs me! I'm going!" I want a wide open mind from everyone on Station, she added, jumping herself out of Afra's physical grasp and to the launch. She flipped open the canopy and settled herself within. Where's my linkage, Afra? There was a long pause, although the Rowan could feel each new mind of the Station's personnel adding strength to hers, Mauli wishing her luck as Mick echoed it. Afra, do it now! If Jeff needs me, I must go! Do it before I realize what I'm doing!

Rowan, you can't attempt. Afra began, desperately worried for her.

Don't argue, Afra. Help me! If I've been called, I must go!

She already was consumed with anguish by Jeff's absence in her mind: she would go mad with the uncertainty of why his touch had been so abruptly withdrawn.

I will be watching for her at the usual point… came that faint firm mind-tone.

With her own abilities augmented by all those on the Station, the Rowan overrode Afra's hesitation, bringing him so firmly into the merge that he could not resist or alter it. Then, with the coordinates of the dwarf star firmly in her mind, she pressed against the generators, too, and launched her carrier.