Damia (15 page)

There was a tremendous amount of raw power coursing through the Rowan’s mind, strong as that is
, Elizara said thoughtfully.
After all, I was part of it. I didn’t think of such a side-effect, but there certainly could be a leakage into the physical. An unborn child would assuredly be vulnerable in this trimester and could become charged.

Isthia’s tone reflected her concern.
I feel that Afra’s suggestion should be implemented as soon as possible, and preferably without Angharad’s knowledge.

Indeed, especially without her awareness
, Elizara agreed.

“It might not be a bad time for an official acknowledgment of your union,” Afra suggested subtly.

“Official?” Jeff made a face.

Yes, Jeff Raven! Marry the girl!
Isthia shot back across the stars.

It hardly seems necessary to go through an official acknowledgment at this late date, mother!

To you, but not to her.
The force of Isthia’s reply rocked Jeff back in his seat. He turned to Afra, a slow grin forming. “Still willing to be best man?”

*   *   *

Jeff wanted Deneb, Reidinger wanted Earth, and the Rowan got Callisto as the site of the wedding. Jeff had to give in to the political overtones of this, the first union of two Primes. “Much though I hate it, it’s a great chance to cement certain alliances firmly with the Gwyn-Raven dynasty.”

Reidinger had fought bitterly to have the brief ceremony held on Earth. And, indeed, the Rowan was sorely tempted. But that would have allowed FT&T too free a hand with invitations, whereas limiting guests to space available in the Tower Compound restricted the numbers
to a manageable quantity. She also didn’t want just anyone ’porting in on them on what ought to be a private and personal occasion. Fortunately, Rowan had more cooperation than she expected. It took the best efforts of Jeff, Isthia, Afra, and Elizara to soothe Reidinger’s vociferous protests. Elizara might have had a private word with her greatgrandfather because suddenly he subsided in his efforts to get the Rowan to Earth. Afra told the Rowan that it was only because he had promised Reidinger that every angle of the ceremony would be taped.

“I know it doesn’t matter on Earth,” Isthia had said as a final argument, “but some purists might fault a bride who is not only pregnant but has a child old enough to be ring bearer.”

Afra instantly assumed the task of instructing the “ring bearer.” With a gentle but firm mental pressure, he also told Jeran that he could reassure his sister on how to send such a mental message.

“You tell her that she’s quite safe now, and that you’ll protect her, too.”

With brows knitted in concentration, Jeran repeated that message, taking some comfort in it himself.

Like I take care of the origami?
he asked. Afra had hunkered down to his level so child and man were nearly on the same level.

“As gently as you take care of the origami,” Afra said, and reinforced that message mentally. Jeran’s brow cleared and he beamed at Afra, his mind as tranquil as it was determined to perform his two tasks perfectly.

The ceremony was simple but poignant. Because the “old man”—Reidinger—could not be present to give her away, Gollee Gren, as his representative, lent his physical presence while Reidinger did the talking.

“As usual,” Gollee had said with a malicious smile. Reidinger might not have been there in person but his inescapable mental presence was felt by all who were.

Mauli, Elizara, Rakella, Besseva, Torshan, and Captain Lodjyn of the scout that had carried Jeff on his close reconnoiter of the Leviathan, all were happy to be the Rowan’s
attendant-witnesses. Afra felt quite nervous in his place of honor as groom’s man and he had a right to be. He had assiduously studied and performed all the traditional duties of best man, relieving the bride and groom of most worries in preparing for the event. Ackerman headed the groom’s men, who included Bill Powers, Chief Medic Asaph, and Admiral Tomiakin.

Jeff paused dramatically when it came time to say “I do,” a twinkle in his eyes until he had the Rowan glaring fiercely at him in alarm.

Reidinger broke the tableau, swearing
sotto voce
, “It’s a bit late now for cold feet! If you don’t marry her, I will!”

Jeff paused long enough to give the old Earth Prime a hefty mental buffet, then turned back to the Rowan. The adjudicator coughed delicately, repeating, “Do you wish to form a permanent union with this woman?”

“I most certainly do!” Jeff said in a clear, firm voice that carried throughout the dome.

“And you, Angharad Gwyn, do you wish to form a permanent union with this man?”

The Rowan cocked a head at Jeff but could not bring herself to drag the scene out. “With all my heart, I do.”

Just at that moment, as Jeff and Angharad bent to seal the ceremony with a kiss, Jeran slipped from Isthia’s loose hand and rushed to cling to his mother, hand upraised.

Good boy!
Isthia sent to the youngster in a tight shield.
Talk to her, say hello to your sister!

Elizara gave an approving wink, then cocked her head as if listening. Eyes widening in astonishment, she nodded. She caught Afra’s rapt expression, traced it to the eldest Rowan child, and raised her eyebrow provocatively at him. Afra acknowledged it with the merest flick of an eyebrow.

Jeff and Angharad, locked in a kiss made more special by the moment, knew nothing of the tight psychic interchange.

The Navy had a special surprise as they made their way to the reception, a double line of uniformed men forming a bridge of steel with their archaic, polished swords.

Elizara caught up with Afra at the reception. “It worked, you know.”

“Yes, I thought I felt her accept Jeran.”

“Nevertheless an
in utero
link is most remarkable. It’s been just a concept.”

“’Til now.” Afra grinned. “My sister tried some sort of pre-natal reassurance, but she would never admit to me just how successful she was. Do you think it will comfort the child now?”

“I felt her relax,” Elizara said, smiling tenderly, then added more briskly, “Let’s hope the Rowan never realizes how dangerous that Merge might have been for her daughter. She’d never forgive herself. At least,” and Elizara’s smile turned mischievous, “at least today she had her mind on other matters and may never realize what was achieved.” She gave a girlish giggle which surprised Afra, who had always found the practitioner the model of decorum. Then a thought distracted her. “Now all we have to worry about is the effect on the two children!”

“They’ll surely be closer than usual,” Afra replied.

“Which will please the Rowan, I know, but what about future siblings? We can’t be sure we can mind-bond every child the Rowan has.”

“Why would we need to? The circumstances are unlikely to be repeated,” Afra said blithely, and gave a diffident shrug.

*   *   *

One final surprise crowned the event, at least from the Rowan’s viewpoint. The liner which had brought so many notables to Callisto for the ceremony had been the same one which had transported her from Altair to Jupiter’s moon. It wasn’t until Jeff had carried his officially acknowledged mate back to their quarters that the significance became apparent.

“WHAT is that?” Jeff demanded, pointing to a large, spotted, furry lump in the middle of their bed.

The lump stirred, extended limbs, yawned widely, showing long white fangs, and then deigned to regard the intruders with vivid eyes.

“Rascal? Rascal!” the Rowan cried, her voice incredulous, her expression joyful.

“It’s some rascal all right,” Jeff replied tartly, “and it’ll get out of my bed immediately. I have other plans . . .”

“You don’t understand, Jeff, it’s Rascal, my barque cat!” And the Rowan plunked herself down, reaching out to tickle the chin of the beautiful beast. “Oh, Rascal, you’ve come back to me.”

“Mmmmrrrow!” said Rascal conversationally. He then graciously accepted her homage.

“Come, Jeff, pet him. Make him feel welcome.”

“Frankly, I don’t wish to make . . .”

“Jeff Raven!” And the Rowan gave him a thoroughly indignant glance. “Barque cats are special. We’re honored by his presence.”

“We are?”

To keep peace on such an important night, Jeff did as the Rowan asked. Then she did as he asked and Rascal learned to find somewhere else, safer, to spend his nights.

H
ER face displaying a look of surprise and disappointment, Damia’s baby legs gave out from underneath her and she
plopped
onto her dry-padded bottom. For a moment she considered crying, but the disdainful look from Rascal assured her that he would provide no sympathy. Now why had she been standing, anyway, she mused. Year-old Damia’s thoughts were not coherent for any great length of time and she often found herself wondering what she had been thinking of moments before. Missing. Something was missing. A faint shadow of the frown she had seen her mother use so effectively—her mother! That was it! No mother nearby!

Damia pushed off the ground and stood, wobbling, to survey her realm. She tottered slightly as she turned her head. Aside from the towering form of Rascal, Damia sighted no other living form. No ankles or warm kneecaps entered her view. Determinedly she raised a foot to step forward only to lose her balance with an inelegant wobble and return unceremoniously to the floor.

Well!
She had the Rowan’s indignant tone down pat but
still hadn’t managed to convince her mouth to form more than “gah.” On all fours she crawled toward the doorway.

Rascal deftly interposed his elegantly marked body, whiskered nose stopping just short of her own. Had she been older she would have recognized the barque cat’s expression as identical to the old British Bobby’s: “’Ello, ’ello, ’ello! Where do we think we’re going then?” However, it was obvious that the cat stood between her and her objective. She backpedaled and worked her way around the cat only to have it deftly interpose itself between her and the door
again.
Damia gave a squeal of indignation, dropped her head, and butted against the barque cat. The cat out-massed her; she wound up slipping on the carpet. Damia continued pushing for several seconds before she realized that she was making no progress.

She backed up and took stock of the situation. She determined to stand up in the hopes of outrunning Rascal, especially as the barque cat stood conveniently close to provide a prop to raise herself up. Pleased with her solution, she reached forward for the cat, but Rascal refused to cooperate, sagging out from under her hand.

It was too much. Damia adjusted her squeal of rage upward into an interminable bawl. Her aggravation was such that she failed to notice the approach of ankles.

“Damia?” a tenor voice murmured. “Shh! Your mother’s having a nap!” A mental image brushed her mind of her mother curled up on the bed, covered by a blanket much like the one that usually covered her.

Nap? Mothers no nap! Damia does!
she thought.

Astonishment rippled at her, followed closely by sardonic humour.
Tired mothers nap.

Damia not nap now. Damia play now.
The other mind registered reluctance. Damia persisted.
Please?

Not so loud, child
, the other mind chided gently.
You’ll wake your mother up.
There was a gentle concern in the other’s voice.

Who you?

Afra.

A face descended into view. Damia squiggled backwards
on her bottom and regarded it. Blond hair, blond eyebrows, green skin, yellow eyes blinked at her, lips upturned in a smile. Afra, she thought to herself, fixing the face and the name together in her mind, adding them to the others she knew: mother, father, jer, cer, tanya, grandmother.

Afra sensed curiosity from the baby. At her age, coherent thought was intermittent and, as she had yet to talk, not vocalized, but he “touched” more in her mind than he expected.

“It’s been a rough day at work for your mother and me,” Afra told her soothingly. “We ran extra shifts to get the local defense net into place. Your father’s stuck down on Earth tonight.” He laughed. “So I came over to see if I could lend a helping hand.”

A light tan Coonie with dark brown face markings crossed in between them, casting a critical eye toward Damia. Haughtily it decided that Damia was neither threat nor food and turned to Afra with a chatter of sound. Afra reached down and gave it a friendly pet. Damia absorbed this and reached a hand out. Unlike the rascally Rascal, this large furry thing bent into her feeble efforts. Encouraged, Damia continued as the Coonie swaggered back and forth, demandingly. The first raccoon-type beast had been a gift from Kama to Afra, to give him something to care for on Callisto. Others had admired the creature and, obtaining permission from Rowan to import “a few” more, several families in the compound now enjoyed their endearing antics. Rascal condescendingly tolerated their presence in his established haunts, like the Gwyn-Raven house.

“Ringle likes you,” Afra told her, then sighed. “Now what should I do with you, minxlette? Your mother really needs the rest.” He turned his head toward the doorway. He looked back to her again with a smile. “How about you and I play together for a bit?”