The Rowan

PART THREE. DENEB

It was black, yes, but the capsule made the jump with no rotation to remind her of an old terror. She felt the unfamiliar multiple-mind touch hers, felt both urgent need and gratitude. Inclining to it, she followed the path it showed her.

Her carrier rocked as it landed roughly in the cradle.

Simultaneous to the apology for the landing, she heard the gasping, clanking off-torque rattles of a malfunctioning generator. If the multiple-minds had gestalted with that, she was bloody lucky to have reached her destination at all.

Opening the canopy, she lifted herself out of the carrier, fighting to hide additional dismay at what she saw. The generator, apparently hastefully installed at the side of what had once been an airfield control tower, gave one last wheeze as a stanchion collapsed.

A cloud of black, oily smoke rose to obscure the mechanical corpse.

From the temporary tower a group of people emerged, one of them carrying a child across her shoulder.

The Rowan reached out and recognized the dominant mind of the merge: Isthia Raven, Jeff s mother. Of the ten minds which had participated, only hers remained relatively unstressed by what the Rowan knew would have been a tremendous effort for a novice team.

My profound gratitude, she sent gently to them all. How badly is Jeff hurt? she asked directly of his mother.

Isthia Raven looked to her right, to an older man with such a strong resemblance to Jeff that she wasn't surprised to discover that he was an uncle.

"A freak accident," Rhodri said, guilt/grief/concern vivid in his mind as he spoke. "We'd found an unexploded beetle bomb. We're supposed to let them…" (and a thumb jerked skyward indicated the Fleet in orbit above Deneb) "… neutralize 'em but the fardling idiots set their great flaming pod down so hard it jarred the detonating mechanism and it exploded. Jeff tried to shield us and forgot to duck! Damn fool altruist. I told him and I told him that you gotta think of number one first." As he spoke, she caught a replay of the scene from his mind, which was an orderly one for all the present turmoil of self-recriminations. She saw the cylinder uncovered in the trench it had plowed on the edge of the City; saw the disposal group's tentative investigation; saw the large armored Fleet pod come down, displacing dust and dirt in the ungainly landing, heard the shouts, saw the bomb's disintegration, and the searing rain of fragments and even their deflection. Then she saw Jeff's body start to rotate, stagger, and fall.

"The worst is the chest injury," his mother said. And from her clear mind, she showed an all too graphic image of Jeff's lacerated body and the long deep wound across the left pectoral. "The medics say it's only shock but I couldn't reach him. I thought you might be able to. Time is critical." "Where is he?" the Rowan replied with a calmness and assurance she did not feel. Especially as she sensed that Isthia Raven was withholding some information. Something else had gone horribly wrong with Jeff. She must deny despair as long as she could.

She paid strict attention when Isthia projected an image of an underground facility, the only still functioning medical installation in the battered City. A large "7" was painted on the pillars outside a lighted entrance. "We'll follow," Isthia added, nodding toward the assortment of groundcars.

The Rowan nodded understandingly, for the kinetic effort had drained energy from everyone in that makeshift team.

She concentrated on her destination's coordinates and teleported herself as close to the 7 pillar as possible, making it less likely that she would collide with a person or an emergency vehicle. Her nose was only an inch from the pillar. She turned herself toward the entrance. Immediately she felt the presence of more Talents, Talents of varying strengths and most of them trying to cope with grief and anguish. Well, this was a hospital! What else did she expect as its aura? Jeff Raven might be the most important one to her personally, but she had caught sight of peripheral victims in Rhodri's vision.

The doors into the Level 7 facility whisked apart for her. She was surprised to find people alert to her arrival, pointing directions to the intensive-care facility where Jeff Raven lay.

She paused long enough in the anteroom to let the sanitizing panels purify her. As soon as that procedure was finished, the inner door slid aside. The recovery room was circular, split into ten wedge-shaped cubicles, several of which were curtained with patients already installed.

Against the wall above each section, easily visible to the nursing staff seated at the central hub of the facility, were banks of screens, monitoring the vital signs of the injured.

Jeff was in the fifth cubicle, four medics and a nurse watching his screens, murmuring occasional comments.

Their mental comments over the erratic behavior of his life signs told the Rowan that two despaired of his recovery: Two more were Talents, and one was desperately trying to think of something more to do for Jeff. Her approach was noted and room was made for her at the bedside.

Despite what she had gleaned of Jeff's injuries from his uncle, she was shocked to see him, his tanned face bleached by the powerful surgical lights, his left side showing nearly a dozen wounds in an almost stylized pattern along his upper arm, chest, hip, thigh, and calf where fragments had been removed. But the chest wound was the deepest. She could follow it, through the layers of skin, muscle, and bone, right to his heart and see where the damage had been repaired.

"Asaph, Chief Medic," said the older man. His mind still sorted out alternative treatments but he looked to her for some "miracle".

"They got you here in record time. We've only just come down from the theater." He paused and the Rowan had no need of her Talent to recognize his reluctance to proceed.

"Your prognosis?" He sighed, choosing his words, but the Rowan followed those he discarded and those he used. "He has suffered massive shock and insult. It was touch and go despite the fact they 'ported him directly here. The Admiral sent down two of his best surgeons," and Asaph indicated two of the other medics.

The Rowan's swift probe told her that the naval medics were amazed the man had lived through surgery and didn't give him a chance of survival. Their doubt stiffened the Rowan's purpose.

"Shock can be reduced, and major bodily insult," she said with such confidence and assurance that she surprised herself. But this was Jeff. Jeff Raven, her lover.

"Get him through the next few hours and he could stabilize," Asaph said, somehow taking heart from her positive attitude.

"It'd be a miracle," one of the naval men said, shaking his head.

"There should have been a response by now…" The Rowan ignored him and looked at the two Talents the nurse, whose mind identified herself as Rakella Chadevsky, Jeri's aunt, and the medic, identified as his surgeon brother, Dean.

"Have either of you tried for a response?" "Tried, yes, when he was first brought in…" Dean admitted.

There was not so much as a flicker, Rakella said, and a great deal to be done physically before it was too late. At that, I only just managed to restart the heart!

No delay? the Rowan asked, refusing to panic for that was what Isthia Raven had withheld from her. Hearts can be repaired, replaced if necessary, even in this temporary facility. As long as the brain had not been deprived of oxygen, a heart wound was not as serious as a major head wound would have been for a Talent.

None, Rakella reassured her. I was monitoring his heart closely because of the wound, she gave a tremulous smile, I caught it before the EEc could register it!

Then no-one's tried to reach him on the metamorphic level…

Neither of us know that technique, Dean added.

"Then you're about to learn," the Rowan said, wondering just what Talent medical staff were taught on Deneb, -apart from reviving a faltering heartbeat.

Suppressing the fears which his moribund appearance had raised, the Rowan moved to the bed and placed her hands on Jeff's ankles. The slight chill of the skin was only normal, she told herself, and pressed deeper, feeling the faint shallow pulse at the meridian point. With fingers and mind she could feel the congestion there, as Jeff's system began to close down prior to cessation. She dug her thumbs deep into the soles of his feet, in the solar plexus correlation point, rubbing with a hard, circular motion.

Then she pressed hard on the top of each big toe, again, and again. Then back to the solar plexus reflex. As she pressed again, she heard Rakella's quick inhalation.

There's a response. Whatever it is you're doing got a response!

You've repaired him on the physical level. I will deal with the metamorphic. May I assist you? Rakella asked.

By all means. Copy my manipulations. I admit that I've had few occasions to use such treatment, but it can be quite effective. Any stimulus could make a difference. Right flow, time would have no meaning for him so we use that timelessness to develop a support level strong enough to sustain his life force and restore balance.

She was startled by the muted wail of an angry baby.

Balance yourself, Isthia Raven said in a dry tone, entering the room. Grateful for the tonic of Isthia Raven's presence, the Rowan did. I think, Asaph, that there are far too many unnecessary bodies crowding around my son. Do thank the Fleet men and send them on their way. Their thoughts are too negative, and that's a bad aura to have in here.

With Rakella now following her every move, the Rowan repeated the hard pressure on the sole, began to massage the whole foot, warming the flesh, then gently and lightly rubbing the main bones from toe to heel bone. She worked longer at the groove between the internal cuneiform and navicular bones, which should quicken his flagging energies. She moved on to the calcaneum, massaging the side of the heel back to the Achilles tendon. Lightly her fingers crossed the top of the foot, down, and under the outer ankle bone. Then she repeated the sequence, using hard strokes only on the sole and the big toe, before lightening her pressure up the bony ridge of the arch.

Rakella had acquired the rhythm of the massage now, and they worked in unison. Occasionally Rowan tested the meridian above the left ankle, willing the tempo of her own measured heartbeat to echo in Jeff's arteries, willing him to rally, to respond, however faintly, to show them that he clung to life.

The superiluous bodies out of the way, Isthia moved to Jeff's head, smoothing back his sweaty hair. Then she placed her fingers lightly on each temple and looked up at the Rowan. Jeff's mother had the same startlingly blue eyes, the same direct, honest gaze. But neither of them could "feel" his mind.

We Ravens have hard heads, Isthia said, closing off her emotions to the hope still deferred.

And callused feet, added Rakella.

As the Rowan kneaded the sole, she suddenly felt the breakup of that awful congestion. She glanced at the monitors and they confirmed a slight but measurable improvement. Yet still, there was nothing of Jeff to touch in that special area in which all Talent dwelt.

We will not let him go! Isthia said softly. Her eyes held the contact with Rowan.

No, we will not! And the Rowan renewed her ministrations, sliding her hands up his legs to his knees and the next major meridian. Even lax in his present condition, she could feel the muscular strength of him - memories flooded back.

Even those could help, his mother said drolly.

The Rowan looked up, caught off guard.

Jeff said you had a loud voice, the Rowan said respectfully, gently stroking the bony ridge down the arch. The lightest of caresses now to coax his return. He didn't mention you had a long ear.

Isthia smiled. I'd heard about this sort of hands-on techniques.

Interesting!

It might take time to show results… It takes time for most healings, Rowan. And I "feel" that this is working even if we don't see much progress.

Suddenly Jeff's foot gave a feeble twitch. The Rowan started in surprise.

Now that's a definite reaction, Rowan! Rakella said, looking much encouraged.

So the Rowan pressed deeply in the pad of his left big toe and saw a wriggle in the Alpha line and a minute shudder in the Delta. Rakella gripped the right toe, and again there was a brief response.

"How long do you keep this up?" Medic Asaph asked, returning. He was deeply anxious about Jeff, his broad face reflecting concern and fatigue.

"Until we bring him back," the Rowan stated flatly.

"There is no time where he is now." Asaph gave a snort. "Time? He gave us a time, I'll tell you! Worth it, though. Jeff's sort of special to us here on Deneb." Then he added hastily, "Unfortunately, I need Rakella. Jeff wasn't the only one injured." Isthia touched the Rowan lightly on the shoulder. "I should feed the baby," she said, and through her mind the Rowan could hear the now frantic cries of a very hungry infant. "If it's necessary he can wait a while longer…" The Rowan could also feel the dichotomy of her needs: two sons to succor.

"Feed the child!" she said. She could concentrate entirely on Jeff, then, free of the anxieties of others; alone with Jeff, who was her responsibility right now as no-one else had ever been.

Isthia slipped away through the curtains. The patient in the next cubicle groaned, and the Rowan heard the quick, soft steps of the nurse coming to attend him.

Then, in privacy, the Rowan forced herself to look at Jeff's face again, so sickly pale beneath the tan. For a man of such mental and physical strength and vigor, he looked boy-like when unconscious, as if injury had wiped clean all traces of his charismatic personality as well as health. The ache within her grew to alarming proportions, an insistent pressure of tears behind her eyes and her throat so clogged that she had to force breath out and then down.

Easy! Isthia's touch, stemming as it must from a pain as severe as her own, soothed her. Do not compromise the good you've already done with negative emotions.

Such a long ear his mother had! The Rowan was both resentful and grateful for that reminder. She paused long enough to bring the stool, the one other piece of furniture in the cubicle, to the foot of the bed. And then renewed the metamorphic treatment. Lightly, lightly, stroking endlessly. Occasionally she placed her fingers on the meridian point, feeling the beat of the arterial blood flow, and trying to bring the tempo up to her own circulatory level.

"Are you there, Jeff? Are you still there?" she whispered, willing him to hear her voice, if not her mind. And as she continued to stroke his feet, she talked to him in that whisper, so low that it would not reach past the privacy screen. Oddly, the sound of her own voice soothed her.

The Rowan had never sat in vigil. Nor had she ever no, once before, a long, long time ago - felt so helpless. In a tumbling stinking darkness? But never had helplessness been so bitter a state.

What good did Talent do her now?

And yet it had! His mind might not know that she was there, but his body did, borrowing her physical strength to holster his faltering grasp on life. She placed her hand on his wrist, her fingers monitoring the slow but not so faint beat. Yes, his body knew that she was there, even if that could not be recorded in the green lines wavering along the screens.

Through her hands she continued to let her energy flow to him.

When Jeff… yes, when Jeff was well… she promised herself she would take additional training in the metamorphic from those Earth Talents whose healing abilities produced effects close to the miraculous. A miracle was certainly needed here. How long did miracles take on this alternate level?

Had she truly reached it? Be positive! Jeff would live, would revive, be wholly himself again. She flowed life from herself into Jeff Raven in a calm and even stream, laden with love and dedication.

Despite herself, despite her uncomfortable position on the low stool, despite her continued gentle massage, the Rowan must have dozed.

For her head was resting against one foot. She shook herself awake, ashamed at such weakness, which was negative, when positivity was so essential. Apprehensively she glanced at the monitors: all registered stronger functions.

The shout that then burst from her, bringing both nurses to the cubicle, was sheer exultation.

Rowan! cried Isthia, hope bursting like a meteor tail through her voice.

Back where she had missed it was the light but tender touch of Jeff Raven's sleeping mind.

He's there! He'll live! He's there! He'll live! she chanted, sobbing with almost unbearable joy and relief.

She intensely resented the nurses who shoved back the curtain and briskly motioned her to one side.

Let them do their job, Rowan, said Isthia in a tone of mild rebuke. It's not as if he could help raise his endorphin levels and reduce pain. Which I guarantee you he'll feel soon. He was brought in unconscious, bleeding to death, so there was no time to use less stringent methods of anesthesia. It'll take him a while to revive from the chemicals. But at least now we know he will! You have my eternal gratitude.

The Rowan did not like being pushed to one side so arbitrarily, having to watch while necessary things were done to the body of her lover. Then the nurses, with no more than a curt nod to her, left the cubicle, twitching the curtains back in place.

"Don't jump before you can walk, girl," Isthia remarked dryly as she entered. "In case you're thinking of singlehandedly nursing him from now on. Frankly, you may know how to deal excellently with the metamorphic levels but not the medical, even as deeply as you can experience.

And don't glare at me like that, child! I willingly accept that my son has chosen you as his life mate but," and Isthia raised a warning hand, "you don't try to own a man like Jeff." The Rowan found herself resenting Isthia's presence because it impinged on her privacy with him. She resented her cautions all the more because she recognized their validity. She did not wish to share Jeff, injured or sound.

She hadn't realized just how much their necessary separations had rankled in her mind and emotions.

"Sort it out in your head now, Rowan," Isthia continued, ignoring thoughts which the Rowan didn't bother to shield. "Don't let petty jealousy and other unworthy notions tarnish what you and Jeff share. Nourish your bond, don't stifle it." When Isthia placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, she almost jerked away from it, unused to casual physical contact. Isthia's hand tightened.

Well, we Denebians use a lot of tactile contact, so that's another thing to get used to. It helps us lamebrains to function on the mental level.

"You're no lamebrain," the Rowan flared, her basic sense of justice denying Isthia's self-deprecation. But in rejecting that, she made eye contact with Isthia and the older woman caught and held hers, using the anger to project a searching shaft past the Rowan's guards.

You have never had it easy, have you, child? Isthia's mind brimmed with compassion and a generosity of spirit that the Rowan had not encountered since Lusena's death and which dissolved her immediate resentments. You love Jeff but so do most of the people left on Deneb.

You can't deny them their share of his attention. I wouldn't try.

You're smart enough to know what I mean. Be wise enough to accept it.

You hold most securely what you are willing to let go. Then Isthia frowned slightly. "Who is Purza?" "Jeff said you had a devastating Talent," the Rowan said, stunned that Isthia had "seen" Purza. "And I cannot imagine how you managed to access that bit of ancient history."

"It's right there at the top of your mind, my dear," Isthia said gently and pressed for an answer. "Purza's not a who, it's a what. A monitoring device in any one of a number of comfort forms for a troubled child." "Which you certainly were - also very much on the top of your mind. You've too strong a mind for someone untrained like me to pry into very deeply."

The Rowan gave a short ironic laugh.

"That's better," Isthia said, smiling back. "You'd got locked into a very bad mind loop there, doing you no good when Jeff is still going to need you. I'll have a meal brought in to you, and a more comfortable chair." With that she left.

Both the meal, which the Rowan forced herself to eat, and the chair, which was an improvement on the stool, were welcome. The monitors above Jeff's bed all indicated much stronger body rhythms, good Alpha and Delta responses. His light contact remained in her mind but it was still a passive one.

It was another hour before he revived enough to recognize his surroundings. At the sight of the Rowan beside his bed, he gave a weak grin which turned into a grimace of pain.

"Rowan?" and he reached for her hand, "I thought it was you, but I didn't know how you could be here." His voice was a dry whisper.

Sensing his thirst, she brushed his lips with water as she had seen the nurse do, then dribbled a teaspoonful into his mouth. In fact, I argued with myself that I had imagined you from a deep subliminal level.

"Hush, love. You needed me. I'm here."

You made it on your own? His mental tone was far stronger than his physical voice, and his fingers clutched hers with more force than she had expected.

Your mother.

Trust her to call in the cavalry. But you came? His astonishment and gratitude washed her mind.

Isthia had assembled a team. And then the generator fell apart!

Relief made her silly.

Reidinger let you come?

Hush, love. I hear the nurse coming.

"Well, back with us again, huh, Raven," said the sandy haired older nurse who flicked back the curtain. She nodded approvingly at the Rowan. "Medic Asaph will be very pleased." Then she turned squarely to the Rowan.

"Now will you leave his bedside and get some rest before I have to clout you on the head with that hardwood bat I keep for obstreperous bedside leeches?" "I'm fine," the Rowan said and her voice cracked with fatigue.

The nurse cocked one eyebrow skeptically. "Ha! You've done two and a half shifts already. Raven, you manage her." Go and rest, darling! Jeff urged. I'll keep you in mind, you know. And he gave her the tender smile that was hers alone.

Over the next two days, now that Jeff was on the mend and she had time to observe her surroundings, the Rowan was increasingly amazed by the resilience of the Denebians.

The planet had lost over three-fifths of its population, its two population centers had been demolished by bombardment, farming communities burned out, and the mines, on which Deneb depended for outworld supplies, were all but useless.

All known survivors of both plague and attack had long since been centralized, along with available supplies and skills. That had happened even before Jeff Raven had contacted the Rowan for assistance.

Between their first momentous meeting and now, the City's ruins had been leveled, and temporary living quarters erected: rudimentary, to be sure, but supplying shelter for all. The hydroelectric plant, deep in the cliffs through which the broad Kenesaw River surged down to the distant sea, had escaped damage but it was the planet's only operating power source. An immense communal kitchen fed everyone and four facilities scheduled time for personal bathing and laundry.

Except for toddlers and infants, even the children spent half their day on work teams, and schools for the older ones were devoted to on the-job training.

While the Fleet had generously given urgent medical supplies and freeze dried emergency rations to the battered colony, the Rowan began to notice critical shortages… such as work boots and warm clothing now that the Denebian winter was closing in. Though the City was located in the temperate zone, winds with bitter chill factors were known to buffet the plain and the hunters could not bring in sufficient pelts from the meat animals they killed to clothe everyone.

The Rowan knew she would receive private assistance from Capella and Betelgeuse as soon as she asked, but until she had a functioning generator, she couldn't bring any of it in to Deneb. She 'ported herself out to the dilapidated facility to see just what was needed to make it functional. The cracked housing, still on the ground, was not a priority repair. The generator itself was jerry-rigged.

Two slip rings had cracked, there were only the holders of the carbon brushes left, and the drive shaft looked doubtful. She lifted the housing back into place, wondering if anyone in the City had pyrotic Talent to mend the crack and if there were any spare generator parts left on Deneb.

When she entered the shaft (she couldn't give it the title of Tower), she realized that sheer blind luck must have been the guiding factor: the instrumentation was minimal, contrapted together out of spare parts not all of which seemed to perform any function when she tried to trace it. She thanked Gerolaman from the bottom of her heart for teaching her so much about the mechanical and electronic workings of a Tower. She might have passed the first essential lesson in 'porting herself in her frantic dash to Jeff's bedside, but she couldn't - wouldn't attempt a return without more sophisticated safeguards than these.

Isthia had helped her convince the pro teen Council that the Tower facility was a priority.

"We're sort of used to doing for ourselves, you know," Makil Resnik, the provisional Governor and Labor Manager, had told her.

"Anything we can't make ourselves, we do without." Hold it, Rowan, Isthia advised when she felt the surge of the Rowan's protest. "We can make a great deal ourselves mostly, Makil. We may even get through the winter without suitable clothes. But we must import seed and medical supplies. We've got too few survivors to risk any on the horns of false pride." "You got a point there, Isthia. Even so, can't spare a big team to help. Got to open the Benevolent Mine right soon. They'd just hit a big seam of platinum." "I can do a good deal of the contracting myself but I need someone with electronic skills," the Rowan said, managing a calm tone.

Resnik consulted his compack, tapping keys with a blunt thick fore-finger.

"Zathran Abita's the one she needs," Isthia said calmly.

"She knows more about Towers than Jeff did. Give her a team of kids to scrounge. With any luck, she'll find most of what she needs in the salvage sheds. Oh, and Jeff has those I-beam specifications for you."

You've all this down to a fine art, haven't you, Isthia? the Rowan said, appreciating such deft manipulation. Was it you who taught him how to charm?

No, I learned in self-defense against his father. Bear that in mind! Isthia turned her smile from the Rowan to Resnik, her manner acquiescent and grateful.

"Little thing like you can refit a Tower herself?" Makil asked, peering at her appraisingly. "Hmm. When d'you want to start?" She who hesitates loses her advantage, Isthia drawled.

zerrs occupied at a suitably sedentary task that'll keep him out of mischief A little fresh air and exercise will do you good.

"No time like the present," the Rowan replied, deciding to ignore the fact that Isthia was manipulating her as easily as she did everyone else around her. Why weren't you made Governor?

The rich sound of Isthia's chuckle echoed in the Rowan's skull. A nursing mother would make an awkward Governor. Otherwise… "I can detach Zathran only two days. Then he'll be needed at the mine, when we've got the adit cleared.

Sooner we get a mine running, sooner we'll have something to cheer about." "You've already done marvels," the Rowan assured him, slightly distracted by Isthia's asides. Then she wondered if she would manage.

She'd never done anything like this before.

You'll do fine! Jeff told her. His mental tone was considerably more vibrant today than his physical condition. The Rowan knew that he struggled to overcome his injuries. And when you're stuck, you can always call on me to bail you out!

Ha!

By the end of the first day the Rowan found herself exceedingly encouraged by the result. With a half dozen mid-teens, she had gone through the open sheds where the salvaged items were stored. She had reviewed her requirements with Jeff, to see what he thought she might be able to find among the salvage. Having quick-witted kids who knew where to look among the bewildering aisles and sheds was one advantage: being kinetic and able to shift what was found immediately out to the Tower shack was another. The list of needed parts was reduced drastically by the end of that day. But before she could make the best use of Zathran Abita, she needed items like carbon brushes, two more large magnetic coils and slip rings, as well as small transducers and some circuit boards, which she could only get with Reidinger's assistance.

The unexpected fillip in the day was discovering three burgeoning Talents in her young team. The oldest girl, Sarjie, had a definite metal affinity and could assay metallic content, discern metallic fatigue or flaw in any piece she handled. She tossed more into the meltdown bins than on the pallet for transfer to the Tower.

Fourteen-year-old Rences could snatch the shape of what the Rowan wanted from her mind and unerringly locate it among hundreds of rods, pipes, fittings, coils, and other "junk". Morfanu was struggling to understand a kinetic ability and the Rowan deftly guided her efforts into more positive channels.

Sarjie had no telempathy: Rences' was limited to shape finding (he preferred to see drawings or pictures of what was required), and Morfanu could not project. They needed years of training to refine their innate abilities.

For someone who had always worked with mature, trained Talent, and those mainly kinetic or telepathic, the Rowan found the association with new abilities a fascinating experience.

You've got a lot of patience with them, Jeff said approvingly.

You've tired yourself out, the Rowan accused, furious that she hadn't been keeping a watch on him along with her salvage operations.

It wasn't my head that was opened. Jeff sounded irascible and, remembering Isthia's cautionary words, the Rowan aborted a scathing retort. Sandy 's read me the riot act. But the drafts for the mine reopening are finished. She felt his sense of satisfied achievement.

He was a difficult patient, hating to be incapacitated when he was most needed, railing at medical restrictions and supervisions.

The day after major surgery, he had insisted on taking on paperwork: freeing up uninjured personnel. Sandy slipped enough of a sedative into a "restorative" drink to send him to sleep for several hours. That night, fretting because he hadn't finished the task he'd set himself that day, he refused to stop work. So, the Rowan simply shut him down into sleep.

In the small hours of that night the Rowan, tapping as lightly as possible into the generators that supplied the hospital's power, contacted Afra with the order for the most urgent items. He was reassured by her touch and reassured her that all was still functioning smoothly there, but he wasn't certain how long that would last.

Relieved, the Rowan then curled up on the cot beside Jeff's bed and told herself to go back to sleep.

Don't try that on me again, Rowan, Jeff told her when she finally let him wake up late the next morning. He was livid at her high-handedness.

At least you've the strength today to get mad, she replied, unrepentant. There was more color in his face and more vigor visible in the monitoring graphs. And quite likely strength enough in that fist of yours to handle a spoon. Your breakfast's ready.

He glared at her, his eyes glinting as he imaged what he would like to do to her.

Tsk, tsk! How bizarre! she responded very sweetly. With careful kinesis, she lifted his upper-torso, inserting several pillows behind his back before she spread a napkin over his chest. Any day now you're strong enough to try that, my own true love, I shall give in gracefully to the inevitable. Will you return the compliment now? Here's your breakfast!

"Now," she went on pleasantly, "I have to figure out when is the best time to use the tower, so as not to brown out.

Reidinger caught up with her on her fourth morning on Deneb.

ROWAN! HOW IN HELL DID RAVEN GET YOU THERE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION?

It was as well, the Rowan thought with grim humor, that she was on Deneb instead of Callisto. He'd have singed her shields out with that roar.

Perhaps I was wrong to assume that you would prefer Jeff Raven alive? she asked acidly and grinned at such a suave throttling of Reidinger's officious outrage. She wished she could have seen his face at that moment. She followed up that shock by a clear image of Jeff as she had first seen him, adding a macabre view of the gaping chest wound.

She followed this with Jeff's current appearance, palely sleeping after his chest wound had been dressed. Even with her assisting Rakella's kinetic manipulations, it hadn't been an easy ten minutes for Jeff. The medical facilities here were reduced to the medieval by the bombardment. Which reminds me… I sent in a Top Priority Emergency order for replacement parts and unless you want me lodged permanently here on Deneb, they'd better be 'ported out this way NOW!

At that it will take me another six days to organize a Tower I'd risk myself with. It is also, she added, suppressing a desire to smirk, too far for you to lift me.

She knew that Reidinger was listening, and hard, for she could feel the throb of continued contact between their minds. Since she had his attention, she continued.

What you cannot have appreciated, as you haven't been on this planet and none of that irrelevant armada on retrieval patrol would think to mention it, is that Jeff Raven had only a very elderly jury-rigged generator for his gestalt when he was lobbing back missiles and repelling three alien vessels. Just think what he could do with the kind of equipment most Primes consider absolutely essential before they tax their lobes.

Deneb's broke, Reidinger roused sufficiently to growl at her.

I'm not, the Rowan replied in her sweetest tone. That order's paid for and should be ready for shipment today. Any time you have a spare moment. Oh, and if you'd send Afra a couple of T-2s, he'll see that Callisto Station operates as efficiently as if I were there.

And how long, came the slow acid tone of Earth Prime, do you feel this new Denebian emergency is going to last?

Well, until I have a Tower facility of an operational standard.

If Raven was that badly wounded, who brought you in?

Reidinger's tone was suspicious.

Pure luck, I think, she replied soberly now that she had had plenty of time to poke about in the tower. When she realized what little formal kinetic training Isthia Raven had had, and all the things that could have gone wrong, she'd been horrified. Desperation can produce amazing stimulae. I'm not about to risk a return without properly drilled personnel. She felt curiously reticent with Reidinger and unwilling to disclose just how many strong Talents existed on Deneb. If Jeff Raven had not informed Earth Prime, she wouldn't.

There are some Talents with enough range for short-range stuff. But nothing is really short-range to Deneb, is it? Not until Jeff is recovered. Desperation got me here but calm, cool reflection is unlikely to get me back to Callisto!

That was little more than the truth. In the first place, she was not leaving Jeff until she was certain of his complete recovery. In the morning he would be transferred to a private room. He had already taken a very short walk, gritting his teeth until his endorphin level compensated for the pain of sore tissue and muscle. The Rowan had had to exercise a stern control over the almost overpowering desire to support him kinetically. But Isthia flicked her a warning glance so the Rowan had endured the mental echoes of Jeff's discomfort without interceding.

In the second place, she wasn't at all sure that she was sufficiently confident enough to push herself, coldmindedly, out on such a long kinetic haul. She wondered if she could try Reidinger's patience enough to wait until Jeff could handle gestalt again.

If you don't have a generator, Reidinger said with dangerous logic, how can you expect to catch a shipment?

My immediate need is light stuff. I've access to a small generator.

Toss it out to reach here at 0300 Deneb time, and I'll catch.

If you're trying an unpowered catch, you little… Burning my mind out is the last thing I want, I assure you, Reidinger, but I must have those parts or we don't get the tower functioning. If there isn't a proper tower here, you don't get me back at Callisto! Understand?

I'll deal with you later, you may be damned sure of that, Rowan child!

Despite her valiant words, the Rowan shivered delicately at the malice in those last two words. A Reidinger threat was never idle.

But no threat could be severe enough to remove her from Deneb right now. Besides Jeff Raven, the planet was eminently worth any effort on her part. Like her devoted team of scroungers, Isthia, and other intangible things, like sunsets.

For ten years, she had seen none. Here, Deneb's primary went down with blazing red and orange clouds, the hectic colors fading slowly to a bleached-blue sky until the sharp peaks of the mountains that ringed the plain stood out with incredible clarity. Though starscapes were nothing new to her, the night sky was equally brilliant.

Deneb VIII had three small moons whipping about it and an asteroid belt beyond their orbits that was the remains of a fourth. But it was the crispness of the night air, scented with pungent and unfamiliar fragrances when the wind blew down from the mountains, which the Rowan found truly remarkable. She liked the feel of it riffling her hair, caressing her face, pressing gently against her raised hands. Callisto had no breezes. She hadn't realized how much she had missed them until now.

So she didn't mind standing out in the dark, waiting for the shipment, ready to gestalt with the hospital's generator, taking an atavistic pleasure in the night.

Reidinger sent exactly what she ordered: not a brush, bar, or board more. It took the Rowan and her team a long day to get the generator cleaned and repaired, to reconfigure the control panel, and strengthen an adequate link to the Kenesaw hydroplant. Scarcely an aesthetic installation when finished, but it worked. Zathran Abita worried about the drain on the City's power. As the electronics expert had no notion of how Talent worked, she had to explain that the tight focus of gestalt required a short burst of power: Flow rate and pressure altered slightly with the distance and/or the weight of the object 'ported, but the actual "use" of power was split-second.

Finishing the Tower gave Deneb one more short step toward independence. The Rowan's team had broadcast her efforts so that she was greeted wherever she went on the streets or in the hospital. She was both slightly embarrassed - since Talents preferred nonentity - and delighted. Morfanu followed her about, which could have been a nuisance, except that it allowed the Rowan more opportunities to train the girl's innate Talent.

Had every single Talent instructor been killed? Or was it a result of Deneb's rather off hand colonial mind-set? On Central Worlds, parents had their children tested at birth for any sign of viable Talent. (Birth trauma often produced a measurable spark even if the ability did not mature until adolescence.) Talented children were assiduously guided and trained, even as she had been.

So far only Jeff Raven was formally contracted to the FT amp;T, and the Rowan knew that he was determined to keep it that way. It was also obvious to her that Deneb needed to keep every useful citizen on the planet, to ensure its revitalization. But they ought to be trained.

Was it fear of the exploitation by FT amp;T that Jeff had mentioned to her which inhibited training? But if you liked what you were doing, did it well, was that really exploitation? She had everything she wanted, anything she asked for, including tonnes of generator parts and comm equipment. Apart from her intense loneliness and isolation which had always been with her - as Callisto Prime, she enjoyed enviable privileges along with her responsibilities.

Once Jeff was in a private room, he had almost nonstop visitors: additional workspace had to be sent for to accommodate files and monitors. He seemed always to be conferring with some group or other. "I thought Makil was Governor," the Rowan remarked acidly to Isthia, seething with worry that Jeff would work himself sick again. "Can't you do anything to curb him?" "He's one of the best engineers we have," Isthia said, though her thoughts echoed the Rowan's worry about Jeff's stamina. "So much needs to be organized for us to get through this winter. You know how short his time is." Short? The Rowan demanded of Isthia with sudden panic, probing to comprehend her qualification.

Easy, girl, and Isthia bounced the probe back. You know he's under contract to FT amp;T. When the Fleet is satisfied they've swept sky and surface clear of alien artifacts, they'll go and Jeff will be transferred elsewhere. Deneb's not due for a Prime.

Reidinger made that clear to Jeff in their initial interview.

The Rowan had forgotten about that. If he's trying to work himself into a relapse to stay here longer, Reidinger can invoke punitive measures. He wouldn't like that. I wouldn't like that for him.

Then make him stop working, my dear. I'm only his mother!

And, grinning at the Rowan's astonishment, Isthia left the room.

And you have measures that I can't use! Then her laugh echoed merrily in the Rowan's ears as the girl suddenly realized what she meant.

The Rowan waited until the current delegation left, then she closed and locked the door.

"Now don't start on me again, Rowan," Jeff said, looking up from the files he was scanning preparatory for his next appointment.

"You have ten minutes free-time right now," she began, affecting a provocative posture, "and it's mine!" She snuggled up to him in the bed. "Everyone on this planet gets a piece of the action but me," she went on, "and I…" "Rowan," he began, not quite masking irritation at her form of interruption. Then, he took a deep breath and smiled. "I do have a lot to do." "You'd do more if you give yourself a chance to rest." Was rest what you had in mind? His startlingly blue eyes began to sparkle.

Well, it's plain you've got your mind on many things far more important. He laughed then, and dropped the films on to the bedside table, putting his good right arm about her.

And while cerebral activity is all you're able for.

"We've got ten minutes alone and I'll just prove what I'm able for, my darling," and that is just what he did, with considerable invention to overcome the handicap of his injuries.

When he was totally relaxed, she subtly nudged his mind into a sleep pattern and postponed his next appointment. His nap was brief but he ruefully admitted that it had done him so much good, he wouldn't fight her on that point again.

By the end of that week, healing had progressed so well that Jeff was allowed to move to the Ravens' accommodation. The Rowan was amazed to see so many people living so congenially in such cramped quarters.

The room she shared with Jeff was smaller even than the one she had occupied in Lusena's neat apartment. There was space for the bed, a workspace and monitors, and one had to step around the foot of the bed to get in and out of the room.

"Of course, we don't need much space," Isthia remarked as she easily read the Rowan's dismay despite a quick shield to hide it. "We don't have much in the way of possessions at the moment," and she gave a wry laugh.

"Except for Ian, none of us have more than one change of clothes right now." At the best of times the Rowan rarely paid much attention to what she wore, but footwear, appropriate for walking between Tower and her quarters on Callisto, was coming apart at the seams.

"I think I can help you there," Isthia said and passed Ian over to the Rowan who had never held a baby in her life.

The child regarded her with solemn wide eyes and his fist crept up to his mouth.

You can trust me, the Rowan said carefully, wondering how you reassured a nonverbal infant. She was rewarded by an astonishingly jubilant smile so infectious that she grinned back in an idiotic fashion.

"Yes, he has that effect on one," Isthia remarked, rummaging in a small chest that also served as seating.

"Ah. You've small enough feet. Maybe these will fit." The Rowan had grown accustomed to Isthia's openness so that when it shut down completely, as Isthia handed her a pair of country boots, she looked at her questioningly.

"A granddaughter's," was Isthia's terse response. Then she repossessed Ian, who squirmed about to watch the Rowan try on the boots. "She'd be thrilled to think her beloved uncle's wife could use them. Put them on." The moment of closure passed, but the grief behind it had not.

The Rowan carefully put them on, folding over the flap and standing up to test the fit. A little loose but a thicker pair of socks would solve that problem.

"I should have some socks around here, too," Isthia said and those, too, were passed on to the Rowan.

"This is becoming a most salutary visit for me," the Rowan said.

"One gets accustomed to taking ordinary things for granted, like socks and shoes and a change of clothes." Isthia smiled warmly at her, taking Ian's fist out of his mouth. "A new baby helps, too," she added in the same thoughtful tone. "A new life means continuity. In one way I'm sorry he's the last of them. However, an even dozen was all I promised their father.

The Rowan felt an unexpected shaft of pure envy for Jeff. To be one of a large and, from what she'd now seen, extremely congenial, loving family was truly enviable.

Lusena's two children, Bardy and Finnan, had been much older, so she'd missed a true sense of family. Turian had also had a similar deep familial attachment.

"You had no family at all?" Isthia asked, surprised.

Shaking her head, the Rowan dropped the eye contact.

"I was the sole survivor of a mining camp that was buried in a freak mud avalanche," the Rowan said quietly.

"The Company office narrowed it down to three possible sets of parents…" "But surely, you'd remember?" "I was three. When I cried for my mother, an entire planet heard me." The Rowan managed a weak chuckle.

"They had to shut me up so all memory of the tragedy was blocked out." "And no-one's removed the block?" "Yes, they tried once," the Rowan said, frowning as she remembered the occasion. "The block was well constructed. I resisted and they couldn't go deep enough. So," and she firmly changed mood, "that's it." "Is it?" Isthia remarked cryptically as she left the room.

Startled, the Rowan probed but she came smack up against Isthia's formidable shield.

It took the concerted effort of his entire remaining family to get Jeff, complaining that he had a lot of catching up to do, to retire at a reasonable hour. But he surrendered gracefully. "Not that I had any choice," he muttered to the Rowan as she preceded him into their room.

"At that, we're lucky," he added.

"We are?" and the Rowan heard the faint sibilant shushes and loud whispers for "silence". "We've got a room with a lock." He yawned mightily, wincing. The wounds across chest and ribs remained tender.

Cautiously he lay down on the bed, then negligently reached out to draw her close to him. "I made them all promise to knock, too. "Will they?" the Rowan asked, experiencing a sudden inhibition. She'd been looking forward to some privacy after the comings and goings of the hospital. "Will they, Jeff?" A gentle snore informed her that the convalescent was already asleep.

Living in the boisterous Raven household was at first a novelty for the Rowan, totally foreign to anything in her experience. His various brothers and sisters, their mates, children, occasionally in-laws, orphaned nieces, nephews, and some elderly relations of both Isthia and Josh Raven lived happily in each other's pockets. The accommodation wasn't even quiet late at night since some of the residents worked late shifts. While there may have been an understanding about knocking on the door, in practice a knock was usually immediately followed by the door being opened to admit anyone who wished to speak to Jeff. The first day, the Rowan took it in good part: she remembered what Isthia had said about "sharing". But she was unused to continual babble and certainly all the touching that went on, friendly though it was and meant in the nicest possible way, made her edgy. She firmly suppressed the irritation and sublimated it into hard work.

Along with manning the Tower for 'porting men and supplies out to the platinum mine, the Rowan did some judicious investigation into what could not be found in the salvage sheds. No-one had fully inventoried what had been saved from the ruins so, when she learned from Rences that he had spent fruitless hours trying to find certain unusual bolts and fasteners, when she heard Rakella complaining about the lack of some surgical instruments, or from Isthia which size of work boot was no longer available, she discreetly contacted other Primes and, pledging her credit, made up the shortages. She respected the fierce independence of the Denebians but they could carry it too far, even if the planet was poor. A few bits and pieces could be added without offending anyone's pride.

Then Jeff paid her a surprise visit at the Tower while she was shifting some internal freight, including two crates of tools which she had discreetly brought in from Capella.

The kinetics she was training for in-planet freight never questioned what she asked them to 'port. Jeff was another matter entirely. Unfortunately, not only was the origin of the crates clearly stenciled on the side, but also they were far too fresh-looking to have been miraculously "unearthed". There were also two inbound shipments still in their cradles, waiting to be dispersed.

Where did all that come from? Jeff wanted to know, striding into the Tower room. He halted, staring about a facility which bore little resemblance to its previous appearance. He whistled in apparent appreciation which made the three youngsters grin, but the Rowan had no trouble sensing a growing concern and anger.

"All right, Tony, you and Seb link and send Cradle 4 to the mine," she said, continuing the procedure. "Good," she added as Seb punched the appropriate coordinates up on the screen. "Touch the gestalt…" The generator's whine peaked. "No, don't look at me for the go. You have to know yourself when it's go… that's right. On the button! Good transfer!" Jeff found himself a seat and, if he seemed to be interested in how the three trainees were teleporting, the Rowan was all too aware of the tension building in him.

His eyes were brilliant with what she identified as suppressed outrage.

"That's all for today, crew," she said. "Now, why don't you take all you've learned 'porting inanimate objects, and take yourselves back to the City while the generator's still running sweetly." She added that impudently.

"You'll never know until you try," Jeff added with a hearty enthusiasm for them to be well gone from the tower. "Out you go. You've thrown heavier stuff than yourselves. And you ought to know where home is by now. Off with you."

One by one they managed the feat, echoes of astonished delight from each of the three minds before their touches dissolved.

"And why are you annoyed, anxious, outraged?" the Rowan demanded because she couldn't bear his displeasure "Deneb's bankrupt!" The words exploded from him and his eyes seemed to shoot sparks at her. "How're we going to pay for all this? Hire more kids out to FT amp;T when we need every survivor we've got to rebuild?" "It's all paid for," she said, clamping down but not quickly enough for someone as swift to see an opening as Jeff Raven. Why not? I never use half my contractual monies anyway. I called in a few favors… Deneb isn't your planet, isn't your problem. Don't be so damned proprietarial! It's my problem if I make it mine. I've great respect for this planet's people. I admire your family tremendously.

Family's the keyword, isn't it? Jeff's tone had abruptly altered and his eyes narrowed. He caught her by the shoulders then and before she guessed his intention, he had pierced through every layer of privacy in her mind.

She cried out at the force of his mental penetration as he also broke through the block that had remained intact against every other invasion.

Trembling violently, she clung to him as his intrusion restored the memory of that horrendous time. Then slowly, with infinite tenderness, he withdrew, soothing away forever the terrors of a three-year-old girl, battered about in the dark of a rolling, plunging vehicle.

They stood a long while locked in each other's arms, until the glorious sunset colored the sky and they realized just how long this passage of restoration had taken.

Rowan's tears were dry on her cheeks and she was no longer racked by shudders.

"I was named Angharad Gwyn. My father was a shaft supervisor and my mother was a teacher. I had a brother named Ian." She looked up in amazement.

"We have something else in common then." He tucked her head under his chin again, holding her more firmly now. "It was a rough trip all right, enough for one small, lonely girl." He pressed her tightly when he felt her begin to shudder again. "You know, I don't think that it was all Siglen's fault that you were afraid of big, black holes in space. Not after that trip!" "You know, you might be right," the Rowan said slowly, for she remembered all too clearly her terror at being propelled toward the shuttle that was to have taken her to Earth for training. She'd been so frightened that she'd even dropped Purza as she 'ported herself back to the one safe place she knew. "I couldn't think of anything but you on my way here." She gave a convulsive shake at the memory of her first glimpse of Jeff.

"I was really messed up, wasn't I?" he said in a thoughtful tone as he caught the image in her mind. "It's probably a very good thing that patients don't see how they look to observers." She hugged him as hard as she could. "So, if you don't object, may I please contrive in my own small way to be of assistance to the beloved planet of your birth?" Jeff cocked an eyebrow as he looked down at her. "You do mean well. And Makil and the Council are about to give you honorary citizenship for getting this facility working again, so I'll trust your discretion. Now, since the Tower is functional, how much longer do you think Reidinger is going to allow you a leave of absence?" The Rowan smiled beatifically at him. "Oh, as long as I can make him believe you're still recuperating." "Oh?" and Jeff was highly skeptical.

"It's nice and quiet out here," she said, pulling him toward the long bench under the windows, "and no-one will knock on the door and then just…" she halted, hearing the edge in her voice.

Jeff chuckled understandingly. "I thought it was getting a bit much for you - all the Raven togetherness. You have to grow up in such bedlam to be able to ignore it, and you never really had much childhood, did you?" "Don't patronize me!" "Temper, temper!" And he kissed the corners of her mouth in a way that put all trace of temper out of mind.

AND JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU WHITE-HAIRED, BUG-EYED ALTAIRIAN LOON.

An empath with half your range should instantly perceive that I am feeding my nephew his breakfast, she replied equably, as she managed to get another spoonful of thin cereal into Ian's mouth.

Jeff, hands cupped under his chin, was closely observing this totally unexpected facet of his lover. Ah! Our master's voice. Glad it's directed at you!

NOW, LISTEN YOU, YOU UNREGENERATE… You know I'm immune to flattery, the Rowan replied.

You're not immune to contract penalties. And that goes for that culchie whom I sense is in your immediate vicinity. If you and that bondmate of yours are not back at your respective stations by the end of this day - this Earth Day - you will both suffer the maximum deductions for dereliction - of duty. And that should put a crimp in this altruistic spending spree of yours, Rowan of Callisto!

"I think he means it," Rowan told Jeff, giggling.

"I am sufficiently recovered to shove you back," he said ruefully, for the past week had been one of joyful discoveries about each other.

Despite busyness requiring long days, they had managed to work in tandem now whenever possible. And they had managed to get sufficient sleep at night to work equally hard the next day.

"I'm secure enough now to do my own 'ports," she replied, deftly scraping up the residue of cereal around Ian's mouth and popping it in again. "This doesn't seem to be too arduous a task." The first time, no, Isthia Raven said from another room.

By the twelfth, you, too, will be delighted to have volunteers.

My, what a long ear you have, Granny Raven, Jeff said.

I can hear with it, too, she added drily. Or are you two so totally engrossed in each other that you can't tell when you're speaking or minding it?

"I'll mind leaving here," the Rowan said with a deep sigh, mopping young Ian's mouth clean. Her brother's namesake was twice as precious to her for having had the brief care of him. The baby waved his arms vigorously, a deep scowl on his little old man's face which utterly entranced the Rowan. She lifted him over her shoulder, patting his back.

"Anyone would think you'd been handling babies all your life," Jeff remarked with a snort though he regarded his littlest brother with great affection.

"A natural talent," was her quick retort. Simultaneously each realized that their inane remarks covered the dismay both felt at the imminent end of this idyll.

It's not an end at all, Rowan, Jeff said, his tone infinitely tender and his blue eyes ravishing her with love.

It's a separation! she said rebelliously.

For six days? He raised both arms, to dismiss such a minor parting. Your place or mine? His eyes glinted mischievously.

I'd prefer to come here, but it might be more politic to remain at Callisto after being away over three weeks.

The first vacation, may I point out to you, my love, which you've had in the ten years you've been Callisto Prime!

Ah, but I never had vacation plans before now! And I suspect from the depths of our Master's anger, that it had little to do with my absence.

Oh??

I may, of course, be doing Reidinger an injustice.

That's hardly likely, love, considering the terms of the contract he made me sign - in heart's blood.

Just keep everyone at their exercises while I'm gone, Jeff. I know Sariie's young but she should be at the mines, learning all she can about metals and mining. She should go to Earth for training.

Especially since mining's Deneb's main source of income.

We can't afford to send her away. She'd hate Terra, Jeff added.

We Denebians are real home bodies and don't like leaving our birthplace.

You did!

I, my love, had devious ulterior motives… and besides, I lost the toss. He grimaced in mock horror. However, lest he chastise me by sending me somewhere too remote from Deneb… Nothing habitable is remoter than Deneb. Checking appropriate times, the Rowan and Jeff decided it was best for her to arrive at the beginning of Callisto's working day, when shipments would be forwarded from Earth. For the first time, the Rowan could enter her personal capsule without a single vestige of the old inhibiting terror. In fact she was eager for the challenge.

That's the girl. And aren't you going to surprise Reidinger!

Through him she felt the generator whining up to full power. Jeff had done some fine tuning, though he had been full of pride in how she had effected the initial repairs. Closing off the fierce regret at having to leave him for even six days, the Rowan settled her mind against his and readied herself to exert their mutual gestalt.

The voyage was accomplished in a mood of high elation, for Jeff followed her all the way back. As she felt the slight jar of her carrier settling back into the cradle it had left twenty standard days before, she felt another of his special phantom caresses.

ROWAN? Afra's incredulous shout was accompanied by cheers from every other empathic Talent in the Station.

Those who could teleported to the landing area.

Protocol and privacy was forgotten as she was grabbed, hugged, slapped, and made to feel royally welcomed. She found herself unexpectedly warmed by such a reception and felt color flooding her cheeks.

"We'll lay on a real celebration later, folks," Brian Ackerman said, "but we got a heavy morning's work. Boy, am I glad to see you, Rowan! You'll just never know!" "You know," she said with a surprised laugh, "I'm glad to be back, too!" When she reached her Tower, with all the sophisticated technology which the makeshift one on Deneb lacked, she was surprised to see two couches in place. And then turned to meet the T-2s who had replaced her. The rising whine of the generators reminded them all of duty.

We'll talk later but you have my deepest gratitude and appreciation, she told Torshan and Saggoner. She realized from a quick "look" that their deep, personal attachment raised their efficiency to a level close to Prime.

The entire Station knew the difference when the Rowan began to spin outbound materiel in or launched waiting inbound shipments.

Deneb's facilities would need to be quadrupled to match Callisto's, she thought with the part of her mind that was not needed in these routine shunts.

There was so much still to be done there: so little more that would be wise to do without giving offense.

Finally back at work, are you? demanded Reidinger as she deftly caught a "fragile" shipment directly from him.

I thought you'd never notice!

I'll have a few private words with you later, girl! he said in a tone that once might have distressed her.

Deep down inside herself, she chuckled. He'd have those words.

In private and in person.

Then, one by one, the other Primes contacted her with welcoming thoughts. David remarked rather caustically that she had finally found out what it was all about, and did she like it? The Rowan had forgotten how clever he could be. Fortunately Capella had so many complaints about "inefficiency" from Callisto that she didn't bother with personal remarks. The others were courteously glad to have her back in her Tower and relieved that Jeff Raven was able to resume his own duties. Siglen alone sent no greeting, but the Rowan wasn't particularly surprised by silence from that quarter. Siglen would not have understood why she'd jeopardize everything to go to a sick man!

Once outward bound freight had been received, and inward stuff dispatched, there would be a four-hour period in which Jupiter's bulk still shielded Callisto Station from deep space. As the Rowan figured she could complete her "talk" with Reidinger well within that time frame, she spoke in a tight shaft to Afra.

I've a few things to discuss with Reidinger, old friend, she began. And felt his astonishment. Yes, of course, I'm going to Earth!

I can make my points a lot stronger in person. And, it's about time we met face-to-face.

Is that wise? Afra asked noncommittally. He had met Reidinger on a number of occasions and was always relieved to escape unscathed.

He can't be that bad! He's got no call to discipline me for responding to an emergency. The Station was covered. I've just had a look through the records, and you've managed quite nicely without me: Nothing got cracked or spilled and no freight got misdirected. What's his problem?

The risk to Callisto Prime, Afra replied, his tone dry and his yellow eyes sardonic.

He gained a lot more than I risked, she said tartly.

I know, Afra answered with gentle emphasis.

The Rowan grinned. I'd like to surprise the old geezer.

Geezer? Afra sputtered at her impudence.

You've contacts at Earth Prime Headquarters. Can one of them sneak me in without having to announce my arrival?

Hmmm, that's not the easiest thing to arrange, you know.

Callisto keeps you secure but there're still a lot of crazies on Earth. Reidinger's pretty heavily guarded.

Guarded?

Guarded!

But surely a Prime is able to defend himself… A waste of energy that could be expended elsewhere on FT amp;T's behalf, Afra remarked dryly.

The Rowan snorted. Well, can you help at all?

There's a T-4 I trained with: one of Reidinger's trouble shooters, a Terran named Gollee Gren. I'll see if he can oblige. Don't tell him who I am!

At that Afra laughed. I doubt there's a single Talent who doesn't know who you are, my dear Rowan.

Oh! And when she had absorbed the implications of that. What if I shield tight? And if he's not expecting the Rowan, why would he know my identity if he can't read it?

A point there but you still have to pass Security to get into the FT amp;T cube. A routine check will reveal your identity.

If a Prime can't manage a minor formality like that… The Rowan was dismissive.

If you want to get in quietly, to surprise Reidinger, it'll take managing. Let me check with Gren. There was a fairly lengthy pause before Afra came back to her. Well, he's agreed on my especial request to escort my anonymous young friend as far as he's able but Security has to be placated. He'll meet you at the landing entrance.

The journey was so effortless that the Rowan wondered that self-portation had once seemed so arduous and terrifying. She wondered if there was anything to be done to release Capella or David from that imposed travel fear.

She indulged in a projected scene, where she just waltzed into Altair Tower and told Siglen that she had just come in from Callisto Station. The old dear would probably faint.

She settled her carrier at 14.30 Earth time in one of the single cradles just outside the reception building. She had always known what the main FT amp;T facility looked like, having shifted carriers, pods, and vessels of all sizes in and out of the great landing field. But standing in the center of it, dwarfed by the immense cube to her right, that was the Headquarters building on a field of twenty-square kilometers, gave her the proper perspective.

Cradles, scarred by long use and rough handling, surrounded her, from the singles and doubles nearest the building to those looming on the edges of the field that could receive the largest freighters, passenger and naval craft. To the east she caught the glint of water.

Surrounding the field on its land sides were rank upon rank of buildings, starting with low industrial complexes. Behind them, in seried ranks of varying height and bulk, the business and residential towers of the largest single metropolis of the Central Worlds receded into the distance.

The Rowan knew from childhood lessons that The City was unbroken along the coast of the Atlantic Ocean and each decade penetrated farther inland. By the turn of the next century, The City would inexorably engulf the entire continent as the western habitations expanded eastward to meet it. What a contrast to Deneb!

Beneath her feet she could feel the rumble of immense generators, and the wind carried the high pitched whine of hard working turbines.

A light sea breeze ruffled her hair, bringing with it the taint of brine. That was almost a welcome change from the metallic stink of air that caught at the back of her throat. Even Callisto's recycled atmosphere was better than this. She began to cough as the acrid air irritated her throat.

"Hey, where did you sneak in from?" asked a man in the bright orange of a cargo handler, appearing from behind a rack of single carriers.

"I didn't sneak in," the Rowan replied. "I've come from Callisto with orders to report to Reidinger." "Prime Reidinger to the likes of you," he replied with a sneer. He peered at the number of her shell and consulted a wrist-unit. "Hey, your carrier 5 not listed." "T-4 Gollee Gren has been delegated to escort me," she replied. So much for Afra's contention that Callisto Prime was well known.

"Talent Gren? Well, now, we'll just…" Suddenly his expression altered to nervous surprise and he straightened, giving her a strange glance. His right hand went to his ear and it was then that the Rowan noticed he was wearing a com device. "Yes, sir, Talent Gren. A carrier of that ID has arrived. Yes, I'll direct her." With a much altered manner, he pointed toward the FT amp;T building. "You go there. Talent Gren's waiting for you. And you don't keep Talents waiting. Not around here you don't." He jerked his head toward the airy shell of concrete and plasglas that extruded from this facade of the vast opaque cube of the Federal Telepathic and Teleportation Agency.

From the sides of the great cube she could see transport cables stringing out to the edges of the great portfield and the dewdrop vehicles speeding along them.

Housed within Earth Prime Station were the administrative and training facilities of Federal Telepath and Teleport, and somewhere inside was Reidinger. The size of the place was daunting. Her whimsical notion to surprise Reidinger would tax her ingenuity. She ought not to have dismissed Afra's mental reservations so airily.

How had Jeff got in to see Rowan? She pressed her lips together: that man could charm his way anywhere in the galaxy. But if he could, so could she.

The Rowan straightened her spine, rejecting the grandeur and sheer size of Earth Prime Station. Would Reidinger be as grand face-to-face?

How truly realistic had that hologram cube been? She squashed notions of inadequacy, and impudence, and walked as briskly as she could, considering the difference in gravity between Callisto and Terra, toward the shell entrance.

As she neared the entrance, she saw a lone figure waiting by the door, highly visible in the deep crimson suit he wore. Suddenly she wished she had taken time to plan this expedition, for she was in rather drab work clothing.

So much for impulsive decisions. Perhaps. But she was here on Earth and that was a positive action and long overdue.

The central door panel of the plasglas facade whooshed open and the man stepped forward smiling, hand extended. She battened down her shields.

"Good afternoon, Angharad Gwyn." The Rowan took a second to recognize her birth name. That was clever of Afra. Had she actually told him or had he accessed that discovery from her mind? Sometimes she wondered if Afra had not improved beyond a T-4. "I'm Gollee Gren. Afra of Callisto requested that I escort you to the Prime's offices." Smiling, she shook the offered hand and deflected the tentative peek which the physical contact allowed. She permitted him to glimpse an inexperienced mind awed by its present surroundings. In return she extracted a good deal more from the T-4's mind.

"I appreciate your escort, Gollee Gren," she said in a breathless manner. "I had not realized how massive the installation is." He hesitated, holding her hand longer than the courtesy required, and he frowned slightly. "Have we met before?" "I doubt it. This is my first trip to Earth." "I see. Well, let's get inside, shall we? That air's bad for the lungs," Gren said with an ingratiating smile as he gestured for them to proceed. "I've always been in Afra's debt," he went on, "but I'm not at all sure that I can assist you very much, no matter what Afra may have hinted. Especially today with all that's happened." He led her to a bank of shafts, set in the rear wall, on one side of the main exits. "Once we've got your Security Clearance," and from his mind she neatly picked all she needed to know about that procedure, "I can, of course, escort you to the Prime's office." "I'm properly cleared," she said and showed him the Top Security Clearance badge which she had just procured for herself. "Afra took care of everything." She stepped into the first vacant lift.

"Oh?" Gollee was amazed. "I didn't realize well, never mind. But even with that, it's still not going to be easy to see Prime Reidinger today. You'll have to be content with an appointment for another day." Then he placed his hand on the palm plate marked "Restricted" and the door closed and the lift rose.

"I heard," and she stressed the verb, "that the new Deneb Prime didn't have to wait." To her surprise, Gollee Gren gave a hearty chuckle.

"How that lad knew where Reidinger's real office was located has given the Security Talents bad nightmares." So, because that location was very much in Gren's mind, Prime Rowan had no difficulty extracting it. Jeff Raven, with that charismatic charm of his, had probably used the same trick.

They stepped out of the lift into a handsomely furnished lobby, with wall hangings of exquisite design and vivid colors. Elegant hardwoods in an intricate pattern covered the floor although corridors branching from the big room were carpeted. There were finely wrought seats, couches, and some odd resting pods to accommodate nonhuman forms. Two women, elegantly dressed in wildly striped, tight-fitting body-suits with their hair in intricate braids, seemed intent on the monitors of their consoles. Both had instantly identified and made mental notes of the new arrivals, slightly uncomplimentary about the Rowan. A man appeared at the side of the main desk complex, smiling at Gren and attempting to read her. A T-3 had no chance of doing that.

"I'd like to freshen up before…" the Rowan said in a meek tone after looking about her with suitable awe.

Gren pointed to the green carpeted hall directly to their right.

"I'll wait for you," he said and walked jauntily to the front desk to speak to the man. The Rowan heard him greet them by name as she moved out of sight. In the toilet she did give her silver hair a brush and washed her hands. The T-3 had kept a loose touch on her as she made these ablutions. He broke that light contact with propriety as she entered one of the stalls.

Then, grinning at such a splendid opportunity, the Rowan teleported herself down three stories and into the southwest corner of the great cube, right into the center of the spacious suite that was the operational "tower" of Peter Reidinger IV. She blanked herself out totally as she emerged so that not even Earth's Prime would know she was there, since he didn't waste his energies on personal safety.

His contour chair was similar to her own, but larger, to accommodate his heavier, taller body. In front of him was a console, far more extensive than hers on Callisto. Like a shadow she glided to a point where she could see his face in profile. His hair was black, with just a touch of white at the temple. She had thought he'd be younger for his mental tone was so forceful, reeking of authority and vitality. His beard must be a recent affectation, for he had been clean shaven in the halos she had of him. But the beard was cut close to his jaw and, oddly enough, was dark red as was the carefully trimmed mustache on his upper lip. Standing he would not be as tall as Jeff Raven, but he was more powerfully built. He wore an ordinary worksuit just as she did. He was frowning in concentration and the dials reflecting generator power were jumping toward the right-hand sides as he exercised considerable gestalt. Since he was obviously in mental contact, she would not commit the worst solecism of her kind.

Suddenly a long, red panel flashed wildly across the top of his console and a weird hooter broke the silence.

"Heat readings detect an intruder, Prime," said an agitated male voice.

"Well, I am glad that people can't just sneak up on you," the Rowan said with a laugh, opening her mind enough for him to recognize her, as he swung his chair about, glaring savagely.

His eyes quite literally bulged as he recognized her. She continued to laugh at the conflicting expressions mirrored on his face and did not intend to establish a mental contact until he had calmed down.

"Prime? Answer! Are you all right?" "Abort measures." Reidinger continued to stare at her.

"But there are two heat sources…" "Identify the second as Prime Rowan of Callisto and leave us alone." There was an audible click as the comunit went silent.

"So true love really works," he said. "Which is serendipitous and saves that wretched Denebian for other duties. Since you have mastered the inhibition, you will in fact do far better than Raven." There was a smug look on Reidinger's heavy-featured face. He steepled his fingers and actually smiled at her. She did not like that smile.

"Yes, by far the better since you're familiar with the Altairian Tower."

She caught his news then, and realized she had not only misinterpreted Siglen's lack of greeting but Gollee Gren's remark about recent developments.

"Siglen?" "She's had a massive coronary and it would be kinder if she didn't survive." To do him credit, Reidinger deeply regretted her illness. "I didn't fancy putting Raven in charge of a Tower."

"He's more than capable of it," the Rowan interrupted, with fierce pride.

"Have the courtesy to be silent!" His vocal bark was quite as severe as his mental chastisements. "Capable, yes, but unfamiliar with procedures and rather rough and ready in deliveries. As I recall it!" He cocked a heavy eyebrow at her.

"I think he's done exceedingly well considering the fact he's only just emerged." "How is his convalescence progressing?" The Rowan suppressed the biting answer that was her reaction to his acid tone and shrugged noncommittally.

How could she have been naive enough to believe she could best Reidinger. Except… and her swift mind caught a wisp. So! Prime Reidinger could be read. He wasn't used to the shielding needed in the presence of another mind as strong as his own. To distract him she brought over the most comfortable of the few chairs in the big room and arranged herself languidly on it. A Prime need not stand about shifting from foot to foot like a lackey.

"His injuries are healing well but he doesn't have much stamina yet, no matter what he thinks! I set up a fairly decent Tower facility, and he did a rather nice job of fine tuning the components. Deneb's effectively back in full contact." Reidinger waggled a finger at her. "Deneb's also broke and Central Worlds has no intention of planting a Prime Station there no matter how many Talents you discovered out there in the boonies." "They concur completely, Peter," and she smiled when her use of his first name caught him off guard.

"Is everyone and his brother awed by Earth Prime Reidinger? Surely your wife…"

"If you don't get personal, neither will I, you white-haired scut…" He scowled, his eyes glittering.

She laughed. "In fact, it was all I could do to muster the Talent I needed," she added which was true enough, "to repair the Tower for my uses."

"Speaking of use, you've exhausted all your private funds. "And borrowed as much as I could," she added, airily.

"In an excellent cause. You may not have bothered to find out," and then she realized that Reidinger had been well briefed, "that that aborted invasion cost Deneb three-fifths of its population and every single installation." Reidinger shrugged. "Colonists know the risks. They get what they can pay for. And you…" he shook his finger in her face again.

"Don't tell me what I can or cannot do," Reidinger, she darted at him before he continued. "Nor would I humiliate such valiant people with spurious assistance. They'll do fine on their own…"

"Great! Because you'll be too busy at Altair Station from now on, and that man of yours is going to learn about contractual obligations." "He'll honor them," the Rowan began, incensed by the slur implied.

Now Reidinger laughed. "And he'll learn how to function as a Prime." "He already does!" "No Station discipline. You," and Reidinger picked up a jade statuette and began toying with it, "will go to Altair and he will work Callisto, right where I can keep track of him." The Rowan deflected the quick lance of Reidinger's querying shaft so that he wouldn't see her delight. She couldn't have wished for a better situation. Reidinger would soon learn more about Jeff Raven than he wished.

"Callisto?" She kept her voice neutral, with just a tinge of surprise and consternation in her mind. "How are you going to get those naval units back from Deneb then? He's good but even I can't reach that far from Callisto. Nor you!" "Torshan and Saggoner managed quite well at Callisto in your unavoidable absence." Reidinger made no attempt to disguise how much that absence had rankled. "You say you made a working facility there? That'll be sufficient for the naval displacement. Then Deneb will just have to rely on its natural resources." And he dismissed that battered planet from further FT amp;T considerations.

Very privately the Rowan thought that Torshan and Saggoner would do very nicely to carry on the training she had started. Or was Reidinger better briefed about Denebian Talent potential than she could discern?

"You'll have to 'port out to Altair… you are able for distance now, I believe," Reidinger continued to poke subtly at her mind.

"Home the Conquering Hero comes!" she replied flippantly. Then abruptly altered her tone. "There isn't any chance that she'll recover?" She owed Siglen some compassion.

"None!" Reidinger interrupted her harshly. "We owe her surcease now, Rowan," he added in a kinder but still gruff tone. Then, for the first time, he really looked at her, his eyes falling to the security badge. "Angharad Gwyn?" The Rowan chuckled for his surprise was genuine. "My true name." For the first time, Reidinger's expression was respectful. "You let him read that deeply?" "Of course." She did not bother to mention the circumstances. "Dai Gwyn, a mining supervisor, was my father, and my mother was Marie Evans Gwyn, one of the camp's teachers. I had an older brother, Ian. You may wish to correct the records." "Why?" And Reidinger was his truculent self again.

"Everyone knows you as the Rowan. You won't ever turn into an Angharad Gwyn at this late date. Now, finish the inbound stuff at Callisto. I've already called that impudent manipulative Denebian in. But, if you hang about to have a snuggle on Prime time, I'll blast the pair of you so hard where it'll hurt, you'll neither of you want to sleep together for a month. I've allowed you two far more leeway than you deserve."

"I wonder I don't see it that way," she said with a laugh, "considering all that our association has achieved." Reidinger probed swiftly and she countered, laughing. "Don't bother to see me out." She could afford to be gracious. "I know the way." She put herself back into the reception area to find Gollee Gren in a heated argument with five angry men in Security garb.

"I completed my errand, Talent Gren," she said, interrupting the dressing down he was getting. She lifted enough shielding for every one of them to realize who she was. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble but I considered it necessary to speak with Earth Prime as quickly as possible." "Couldn't you have done it the normal way?" asked Gren, understandably aggrieved.

"No," she replied without remorse. "But don't fault Afra. He could only comply with my wishes. You were most helpful and courteous." Gren gave an audible groan of resignation. Then she smiled winningly at the Security team who were considerably less forgiving.

"There really is no way to keep one Prime from seeing another, you know, though the heat sensors relayed my presence. I promise that the next time I call in, I'll do so strictly by protocol. Come, Gollee, escort me back to my carrier."