Damia (23 page)

“Uncle?” She wrinkled her nose in perplexity.

“Your uncle Ian. He’s seven.”

“He’s not my age, then. He’s older than Jeran.” She frowned suspiciously at him. “Who’s my age?”

Afra laughed because he hadn’t inquired about such details. “Well, there’re so many I quite forget who’s who and how old, but your grandmother will introduce you. She’s waiting for you, you know, on Deneb. Where your father lived as a child.”

“I’m staying here,” Damia declared stoutly, crossing her arms over her chest in bold emphasis.

“Which toys do you want to bring?” Afra asked, looking around at the pile.

“Why can’t I stay here?”

Afra considered his next argument. “Well, you know that your mother’s not well?” When Damia nodded, her little face assuming a solemn expression, he went on, “It’s because of your brother-to-be.”

“I’m going to have a brother?” Damia brightened considerably.

Afra nodded wisely. “Don’t tell your mother I said so, but yes.”

“Will he play with me?”

“I imagine so,” Afra returned. “Are you going to be nice to him?”

Damia did not commit herself immediately. “Will he play with me like Jeran plays with Cera?”

“That depends on you,” Afra replied, giving her a quizzical look. “If you love him like Jeran loves Cera, then he’ll play with you the same way.”

“I’ll love him!” Damia declared excitedly. “When am I going to see him?”

“Well, he hasn’t been born yet—”

“You mean he’s in Mommy’s belly?” Afra nodded. “And she’s got to get him out?” Afra nodded again. “Is that why we’re going to Gran?” Again Afra nodded. “Then why didn’t you say so?” Afra, who had already had experience with her precocity, wondered why he
had
tried the oblique approach with her.

“We started to play a game of Stations, remember?” he said, teasingly. “Let’s gather your toys.”

“Don’t my cousins have toys?”

“Yes, but surely you’ll want to share yours with them?”

“I guess so, if they’re going to play with me,” Damia replied cheerfully.

*   *   *

Damia’s mood changed perceptibly when it was time to strap down in the personal capsule. “I don’t want to
go
by myself,” she cried to Afra. Jeff Raven, lips drawn thin in tight control, stood close by. “Daddy, make Afra come with me?”

“No, honey,” Afra told her. “I’ve got to stay here with your mother.” He picked her up and set her beside her brother and sister, strapping her in against her squirming.

“I don’t want to go!” she declared.

What about your brother?
Afra asked her privately.

Don’t want a brother! I want you!
she shot back so strongly that Afra was startled by her vehemence.

The “noise” attracted the Rowan, who ’ported in the direction of her daughter’s “voice.”

“Damia? What’s wrong? What’s going on here?” she demanded. Her eyes widened as she took in the tableau. “Jeff! Not yet! It’s too soon!”

“Luv, you should be resting.”

“You weren’t going to let me say goodbye?” the Rowan cried.

Jeff took her hands in his, shaking his head. “You’re not saying goodbye. You’re saying
bon voyage.
The children will only be in Deneb. You can hear them, no problem.”

“Jeff!” she started, accusingly. She saw Afra. “You! You’re in it, too!”

“Rowan—” Afra started, stepping toward her, arm outstretched beseechingly.

“No!”

“Mommee!” Damia cried, struggling against her straps.

“Oh, Jeff, how could you?” the Rowan gasped.

And then Damia disappeared out of her straps and into Afra’s arms. The Rowan’s eyes widened in shock as she saw her youngest disappear, then her jaw dropped as she saw where she reappeared. She turned to Jeff, hurt amazement on her face.

“She’s got the hang of it, hasn’t she?” Jeff told her quietly. “What if she were to jump into the vacuum?”

The Rowan blinked, wetted her lips, and looked back to her daughter, speechless.

Say goodbye to your mother, Damia
, Afra said on the tightest mental band he could exercise, and with such authority that he felt her objections melting in the absence of any option. He took her to her parents.

And my brother?
Damia begged in what Afra knew was a last ditch delaying tactic.

Very
quietly
, he said, without letting up on his authority.

Damia stretched from his arms to wrap her own around her mother’s neck. “I’ll be good, Mommy,” she promised, planting a pair of wet lips firmly on her mother’s cheek. “For my brother.”

The Rowan hugged her back, suppressing the agony of
separation. Any weakness on her part would undo all the preparation Afra had managed. “I’m only just a thought away, Damia dear.”

“Even in the Tower?” Damia asked anxiously.

The Rowan closed her eyes briefly against that soft query.

“I promise, darling, that while you’re away—and, if you’re a good girl—you can even speak to me in the Tower.”

“Oh!” Damia’s voice was charged with relief and she smiled broadly. “Daddy, too?”

“If you remember that we might be too busy to talk long,” Jeff said, holding up a warning finger.

“Afra?”

“Well, minxlette, I’m not as good at long distance as your parents are, but I’ll listen real hard.”

“I’ll call real big.”

Then she squirmed to be released from Afra’s restraint. He sensed what she wanted to do and let her down. She put her hands on her mother’s abdomen and said with an amazingly narrow shaft of thought,
I’ll be the
best
sister anyone’s ever had.
Her face radiated a contentment that he had never seen on her face since her baby days.

To his intense surprise, Afra became aware that neither the Rowan nor Jeff had heard Damia’s promise. He was more relieved than ever that she’d be away from the hazards of a domed station.

“Now,” he said, taking charge of matters again, “let’s just get you settled,” and he picked her up and started to settle her back into the capsule.

“When can we
go
?” Jeran demanded with a flavor of impatience for all this delay. Cera glared briefly at Damia.

“As soon as I’m feeling better, your father and I will come visit . . .” the Rowan began, speaking to forestall tears, so she was grateful for the suggestion Afra ’pathed to her, “. . . and see you being the leader of all your new friends . . .” But she fully intended to tell him just what she thought of his part in this hasty exile of her children.

“Will you visit me, too, Afra?” Damia demanded.

“Of course,” he replied, “we’re to play Stations, aren’t we?”

As the capsule closed her submission vanished. “No! NO!” she shrieked, voice muffled inside the capsule.

Damia!
Jeff had been ready for such a reverse and he clamped such a hold on her mind that she was rendered powerless.

Afra! Afra! I want to stay! Please? I’ll be good.

Ready the generators
, Jeff ordered the Tower personnel.

Afra?

The generators rose in pitch.

Be good now, sweetheart!
Afra felt her fear, like an icicle against his heart, but he firmed his mind against her plea, trying to deny how treacherous she must perceive him.

Aaaffffrrra!
The squeal of the generators rose to a crescendo. The capsule disappeared. The generators wound back down.

They’re here!
the distant voice of Isthia informed them calmly.
My, can she scream!

Afra let out a long-held breath in a ragged sigh.

The Rowan threw herself into Jeff’s arms, weeping bitterly. “I feel the most complete traitor,” she cried.

“You’re not the only one,” Jeff replied, noticing the haggard look on Afra’s face. “But we had to. You know that.”

“I do, but oh, Jeff!” Suddenly the Rowan looked up, her expression radiant, despite the tear strains. “I can hear her! I can still hear her!”

Afra turned away. “I can’t!” And he ’ported himself back to his resoundingly lonely quarters, hearing Damia’s prattle echoing from every corner.

*   *   *

It had taken Deneb seven years to recover from the Beetle attack. City was a thriving center for the whole planet which now had two other metropolises: Riverside and Whitecliff. Both were seaports located close to extensive mining operations on the other continents. Roads were still mostly the illusion of roads elsewhere on Deneb. Seagoing
vessels plied a great trade on the high seas and railroads connected smaller villages along the coastline to the larger cities.

Deneb’s Tower was located at the same site the Rowan had renovated so many years ago and it was near here that Isthia and the Raven clan had their town dwelling. This was built around the original, smaller house that had partially survived the Beetle Bombardment. Wings had been added on as the Raven clan grew and expanded. These now enclosed a large central garden, perfect for a play area. The dwelling was on a large parcel of land, with hills rising through forest to one side, farm land and barns on another two, and the City skyline visible in the distance.

Many lessons had been learned since the Expansion from Earth. Denebians, indeed all colonists, had a greater feel of husbandry for the land than had early Earth dwellers. Forests had been marked off as reserves for oxygen generation, mines were always tunneled when bacteria-leeching techniques were not viable, and, most importantly, the clean, quiet flitter for medium and long distances had replaced noxious internal combustion-powered wheeled vehicles. Shorter trips made use of small, sturdy, and tractable ponies who thrived on the rough grazing and wandered unchecked in small herds.

Deneb, and all colony worlds, started life indebted by the large cost of the initial colonization of the planet. As such, all colony worlds sought rapidly to provide export goods, while at the same time limiting imports to the bare essentials. The best export items were those that commanded the greatest prices for the least effort to ship. Rare or high-quality finished goods,
objets d’art
, music, literature all fit the category perfectly. Knowledge and useful new engineering techniques, patentable to the planet of origin, were even more exportable but much rarer—the great engineering solution of one planet was often inapplicable on another. Raw materials, valuable but bulky, were a poor last choice of a cash-starved colony.

Talent, particularly those rare people who could hurl objects through the depths of space instantaneously, was the
greatest boon to a colony’s cash flow. Talent was in short supply everywhere and in every kind—the metal finder who could locate in scant seconds high-grade ore precisely and perform remote assays, which would cost a regular crew millions of credits and years of time. Or the electronic specialist who could detect faults in circuitry by its “feel.”

The Raven clan had produced a number of such Talents but, until the Penetration had tapped these hidden resources, such natural abilities had gone relatively untrained. The Rowan had identified some useful faculties besides the medical Talents of Asaph and Isthia’s sister, Rakella, when she’d had to rebuild the Tower in the days after Jeff’s accident. Sarjie had a metal affinity which she now used in the rich Benevolent Mines that supplied much of Deneb’s cash balance. Morfanu had been struggling to manage his kinetic Talent and had been tested as a T-3. He now handled most of the FT&T transfers to the planet, though he needed assistance. Besseva was telepathic but her range was limited.

Of the untrained Talent of Deneb, Isthia Raven was the strongest, but she knew herself that she dabbled in too many things to perfect one. So, to bring her grandchildren here in the safest possible fashion, she had assembled everyone on Deneb known to be Talented. She’d hovered so closely in Morfanu’s mind when he “caught” the capsule from Callisto, that he’d had to kick her shins to divert her.

It took no Talent at all to hear Damia bawling or the fierce remonstrations of her brother and sister.

“Why are you crying? You’re perfectly safe! And it’s your fault Mother and Father sent us away!”

IT’S NOT! IT’S NOT!
Damia was as loud mentally as physically.

No, it’s not, grandson Jeran. I, your grandmother, specifically invited Damia, and you and your sister, to come live with me on Deneb.
To Isthia’s relief, Damia’s howling abated.
I had to argue long and hard with your parents to allow this visit. Now, are we going to start off on the right
foot by being pleasant, or do I send away the ponies I brought for you to ride home on ?

Ponies?
Damia asked, now merely sniffling.

Ponies?
and Cera showed a glimmer of interest.
What kind of ponies? The kind Damia’s always playing with?
Her tone was scornful as well as skeptical, and her sudden, very private aside to her brother on this matter caused Isthia some concern. That bond she and Afra had initiated was far stronger than she’d been given to understand.

Why don’t you all put on your best faces and party manners, and we’ll see, shall we? Damia? I’ve told everyone about you and how wonderfully well-mannered you all are. Don’t disappoint me.
Isthia employed the same positive tone she had always found useful in dealing with her dozen children. These three, after all, were also Ravens.
Are you ready?

She motioned for her son, Ian, to stand beside her. He’d been jiggling with impatience to see his nieces and nephew. Being the youngest in his family, he envisioned the fun he’d have bossing someone around the way his older siblings had bossed him.

The capsule split, the top rising upwards to reveal the inside. Isthia was relieved to see that while not beaming, Damia was attempting a smile around her wide-eyed curiosity.

“Welcome to Deneb,” Ian piped up on cue. He looked to each one in turn. “Jeran, Cera, Damia. I’m Ian, your uncle.” He did not giggle but his eyes were bright with suppressed laughter. He swept an arm back to his mother in continuation of his carefully rehearsed greeting. “And that’s Morfanu who ’ported you here, and your great-aunt Rakella, and . . .”

“Ponies?” Cera said, looking accusingly at Isthia, “You promised ponies . . .”