Damia (19 page)

“It’s been what? Two months? It shows,” Jeff returned. He stepped forward, laid a hand on her belly. “How did you do it?”

The Rowan dipped her head. “A lady must keep some secrets. It’s a boy, you know.”

“To give Damia someone to care for.”

“Besides Afra,” the Rowan added.

“Her affection for him is natural. He’s family.”

“But she called
him
, not me.”

Jeff perceived her conflict. “And how many times have you impressed upon the children that they are
not
to call you when you’re in the Tower?”

The Rowan slumped disconsolately. “But I
have
to make them understand that.”

“I agree. So Afra becomes the next best person to turn to. Let us be thankful that he is also willing and extremely able. We might even get him to like the feel of trusting young arms about his neck enough to do something about starting his own family.”

“Your last effort at matchmaking did not work?” The Rowan was secretly pleased. “You should leave matchmaking to the women of your family, love.”

“I don’t recall any efforts on your part.”

“I’ve yet to meet a woman good enough,” the Rowan said brusquely. When Jeff raised an eyebrow in turn, she added, “Afra should have someone really special. I owe so much of my happiness to him.”

*   *   *

Her pregnancy was not going well. She had managed to endure three months of morning sickness, clinging to the consolation that those symptoms would gradually ease. But they persisted; her waspishness grew to uncontrollable proportions, her ankles hurt abominably, and she was absolutely convinced that the gravity in Callisto Station was set too high. She blamed everyone in sight for her condition, including Brian Ackerman, who defused it with his best “would that it were true” look, but especially Damia for her requirement of a little brother and Jeff for not stopping her in her willful theft of his sperm.

Her condition established a vicious cycle where her temper would set off the children and depress the station staff such that her mood would get worse and so the effect
would escalate. By the sixth month of her pregnancy, the staff was completely gaunt-faced and jittery.

What she absolutely hated, and could not admit to herself, was the fact that Afra would
not
get irritated with her no matter how irascible she became. She longed for the chance to rant at him so desperately that she knew it was completely irrational. He was nearly obsequious in his genuine concern for her and always caringly thoughtful of her needs and condition.

In her pregnancy with Damia and Cera before her, Afra had always been willing to take the children off her hands so that she might rest as best she could in her condition. This time, however, she was unwilling to let Damia out of her sight, letting, instead, the elder two stay with “Uncle Afra.”

Afra took the whole situation phlegmatically, which irritated the Rowan because it did
not
irritate him. He even went to the extreme of getting Damia’s solemn promise to be extra careful of her mother in her gravid state, a promise which the child carried out faithfully until the Rowan shrieked at her one day as she attempted to serve breakfast in bed. After that Damia became a sullen, dispirited child prone to unprovoked fits of crying.

But a prolonged sulk was not in Damia’s nature. Heartened by the solicitous nature of the Coonies and by Rascal’s steadfast loyalty, she took to exploring the nooks and crannies of Callisto Station escorted only by the felines. She was not “heard” by anyone as she traipsed about on her great adventures because she had learned of necessity to shield herself from the Rowan, projecting a totally false image of her surroundings: generally her own room.

So while her ailing mother thought her safely playing at home, she conducted her personal rebellion. She loved the personal-safety pods the most. These lined the corridors and subterranean ways of Callisto Station, provided against catastrophic pressure loss. Gaining entrance was easy: she merely walked up to one and the translucent panel slid open. Inside there were marvelous accoutrements: a plush seat with all sorts of computer controls
adorning a keypad, a computer ready to aid her in any emergency, and room enough for her coven of Coonies. Best of all, the computer would carefully and patiently explain every aspect of the capsule until she had it memorized. She would play in these for hours; Damia Queen of Space, Damia Space Police, Damia Rescue Run.

At the end of every game, where Coonies played medics, pirates, injured, and police at her whim, Damia would carefully peer outside her capsule and, the coast clear, quietly exit it, carefully closing the door and observing the green “A-OK” light. Then, depending on the hour and her hunger, she would either return to the Rowan’s quarters or traipse on to the next capsule and the next game.

Her discovery of the cargo cradles at the base of the Tower was an eye-popping revelation. She scrunched herself tight up against the corridor wall, watching in awe as the cradles magically filled and emptied again as cargo was shunted back and forth to the large composite ships waiting patiently in orbit above for their cargo to be marshaled and the Rowan to push the result off to its destination planet.

Cargo capsules were long and box-like, exactly the same as those used on ships and trains for surface transport on worlds. Passenger capsules were different and came in many shapes and sizes. All had airlocks at various strategic locations and most had view panels. But most intriguing to Damia were the personal-safety pods, which blistered the sides of the larger passenger transporters.

She was sufficiently sensitive psychically to know that the capsules were being manipulated by various Talents in the Tower. Once, with a thrill of recognition, she felt Afra’s sure mental touch as a string of passenger capsules were separated and landed in individual cradles. Small domes enclosed them and soon maintenance personnel were busy, working around them.

“That Altairian freighter’s late!” the Rowan snapped at Afra up in her Tower. The expedient of reducing the gravity on Callisto had eased the weight on her swollen feet but did nothing to alleviate her temper. Afra turned carefully
to face her, eyes showing the strain of his mental manipulations.

“There’s a problem in the life-support system of the passenger and crew quarters,” he explained. He closed his eyes in concentration, something he normally did not require, and looked back up at her. “Powers is handling it.”

“We’re going to blow the whole day’s schedule!” the Rowan replied in what was nearly a wail. She directed her frustration solidly at Afra.

“No, we’re not,” Brian Ackerman returned steadily, relieving Afra of the brunt of the Rowan’s ill-will. “I’ve already worked around the problem. I’ve got a fifteen-minute window before things start piling up.”

Afra considered that and nodded. “Should be about right.” He sent a thought to Powers. “Bill says it’ll be tight but he’ll push for it.”

“In the meantime, Rowan, while it’s not normally your task, if you could pull apart that Procyon composite, that’ll keep Afra free to stitch together the Altairian.”

The Rowan started to protest, but Ackerman gave her such a pleading look that she relented. “Where’re the sheets?”

“On two.”

The Rowan turned to her second console and, referring to it, commenced to pull the capsules off the Procyon ship
Lysis.

The passenger capsules called to Damia. They screamed of adventure of far-off places of Damia StarGuard. She glanced backwards at the cats for support, ignored Rascal’s counsel of caution, and proceeded boldly forward toward the tunnel leading to the first passenger capsule.

Bill, Bill, she’ll blow a fuse if it’s not ready!
Ackerman sent privately to the Assistant Supercargo.

Power’s response was laced with strain.
We’re pushing it now, Brian.

In the Tower, unseen, Ackerman nodded approvingly.
Just keep it up.

Damia marched unconcerned by techs and maintenance personnel on her way to the passenger capsule. The cats
followed her at a discreet distance, blending into the landscape in the way of all cats.

One of the shipboard personnel looked at her and mistook her for a passenger.

“You’d best get back aboard, little lady,” he told her politely.

“I don’t know how,” Damia replied.

The technician took pity on her, no matter that the station personnel were throwing a fit, and led her aboard the passenger capsule.

“You know your way from here?” he asked, worried that he would lose too much time if he had to search out her parents.

“Oh, yes!” Damia responded, eyeing one of the safety capsules eagerly. Damia StarGuard on a real spaceship!

“Have a good journey!” the tech called as he left.

“Thank you, I will!” Damia said as she had heard Tower personnel do so many times. The tech left, shaking his head at the excellent manners of the child.

Quickly, Damia scampered into a personal capsule, holding the door open long enough for all her feline entourage to enter. When the door closed, the capsule activated.

“Wie kann ich Dir helfen?” the computer asked politely.

“What?” Damia had never encountered any language other than Basic.

“How may I help you?” the computer replied, shifting languages.

“Oh, I know what to do.”

The response fell into one of many distressed voice ranges the computer was programmed to detect. It set its System Alert flag. Had the passenger capsule been attached to the composite ship, a ship-wide alarm would have been sounded. As it was, the circuit was broken and would remain so until the capsule was connected with the ship.

Hurry, Bill, hurry!
Ackerman called urgently. Afra must have picked up a bit of spill from his message, for the Capellan raised an eyebrow.
She’s got that ship all put
back together again and she’s looking for something else to throw!

Done!
Powers said proudly. Beside Afra the display board chirped, red lights turned green.

“The Altairian’s ready, Rowan,” Afra informed her, mentally casting a call to the generator technicians to prepare for the load. He glanced at a clock; Powers had left five seconds to spare.

“About bloody time!” the Rowan snarled. “Wait a minute, the ship’s not together yet!”

I’m taking care of that now
, Afra responded calmly. Privately, however, he was irritated that the Rowan would choose to misinterpret his statement. She knew that he still had to stitch the ship together. He lifted the first capsule from its cradle but paused; there was something
familiar
about it.

I’ll do it!
the Rowan snapped waspishly, snatching the capsule brutally from his mental “hands.”

“Bumpy ride, Captain,” Ackerman warned on his comm link.

All three capsules were slapped on the stern of the Altairian freighter at once by the Rowan in her temper.

“Ready for boost,” the Rowan announced.

“Red light! Red light!” the Captain shouted over his comm link. But it was too late; the generators rose to a shriek and suddenly—

Afra!
A terrified voice cried from the void.

Damia!
Afra’s response was immediate. With a speed he had never needed before, he lurched for the fleeting child, twisting the Rowan’s thrust and snatching Damia from the pod.

“Emergency!” Ackerman snapped. “Kill the generators!”

Get that ship back!
the Rowan cried, flailing to maintain her grasp on the massive freighter.

Afra!
Damia wailed.

I’m here!
Afra called.
Come here, baby.
And there she was, falling into his arms. He grabbed her, clutched her fiercely.

“Afra!” Ackerman shouted, pointing to the Rowan. The Rowan was slumped, knuckles white as she strained by sheer power of will to hold the hurtling ship. With a cry of fear, Afra launched every ounce of his mental powers to one mind:
Jeff, help!

And then he was there, a reassuring presence surrounding them all, body almost visible in the room.

Damia’s safe! Help the Rowan!
Afra cried, sagging to the floor, his arms lapping Damia’s fright-stiffened body.

I’m here, luv. Let me in to help!
Jeff called from across the void to Earth.

Ackerman watched amazed as near-visible forces flickered through the Rowan and once again she and Jeff Raven joined souls.

“Gods above!” A voice crackled hoarsely through the comm link. “In-again-out-again-gone-again Finnegan! What did you do with us?”

Ackerman looked out above the tower and saw the Altairian hovering in view. He let out a deep, ragged sigh.

“A
LL I can say is that I’m glad it worked out all right,” Captain Leonhard of the Altairian freighter said as the situation was explained to him. “As far as my passengers know, we had a shipboard malfunction.”

“You’re very kind, Captain,” Jeff Raven replied with sincere gratitude. They were in a shielded conference room in the bowels of Callisto Tower. Ackerman and Afra were also seated around the table. The Rowan and Damia were at home, both recovering from the traumatic incident.