Damia Page 15

  “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.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  “ALL 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.

  “However, it worries me some—what would have happened if your wife had not kept ‘touch’ with my ship?”

  Jeff? The touch of his mother’s mind distracted him as he prepared an answer.

  “Excuse me,” Jeff told the captain, closing his eyes to indicate that he was ’pathing to someone. I gather you heard it, too?

  The whole galaxy heard that shriek. What happened? Isthia asked as calm as ever. Jeff sketched her the complete details quickly. Afra pulled her off the ship? Isthia exclaimed as Jeff finished.

  What surprised me most was that he could! I don’t know whether or not it’s good that she obeyed our injunction that she doesn’t bother her mother in the Tower. This was the moment she should have.

  A two-year-old child, even your Damia, would not understand such distinctions, Isthia replied in a sad tone, then she continued more briskly. What is surprising is how Afra got all that power to make the save. You say he nearly knocked the ship out of Rowan’s hands?

  Jeff Raven frowned. I hadn’t thought of that. He brushed it aside. I’ve got to run, I’m busily unruffling the captain’s feathers. He wants to know what would have happened if the Rowan had lost her grasp on his ship.

  What will you tell him?

  The truth, of course, Jeff responded promptly.

  That his ship would have been lost in limbo for all time? I don’t think that’s something you want known.

  No, it’s not, Jeff said grimly. I’ll tell him that we would have gone looking for him instantly.

  That’s clever and very true! His mother’s tone became thoughtful. Should I come? Angharad seems unusually distraught, not that I don’t think I’d be in a similar situation. I’m forever thankful I had a planet on which to raise you lot.

  This pregnancy has got her down, Jeff said, allowing his mother to see the anxiety he took great pains to hide from everyone else. But not quite as much as Damia appealing to Afra in extremis . . .

  That’s not quite it, I think, Isthia remarked in an enigmatic fashion that Jeff did not have time to query, for beside him, the space captain coughed politely. We’ll take this up later. The feathers are hackling.

  Well, don’t you get upset, dear, Isthia said in farewell.

  “Staff interruption,” Jeff remarked by way of apology to the waiting captain. “As to your question: why, we’d have initiated a search immediately.”

  The captain heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s good to know.”

  “And remember that we’ve never lost a ship,” Ackerman added jovially. “You can’t say that about the old reaction-drive days when I dunno how many ships went missing. Never heard from again.”

  “No,” the captain responded, shaking his head, and glad he lived when ships could expect safe transfer, “I suppose you can’t.” He rose. “I’ve taken up too much of your valuable time.” He nodded at Raven and the others. “I don’t like interrupting a Tower’s busy schedule longer than necessary, but I had to clarify the problem in my own mind. The passengers, you know, will need reassurance.”

  “Of course they will,” Jeff said, rising
to grip the captain’s hand firmly, “and please to convey the Tower’s apologies for that minor glitch.”

  “Minor?” Ackerman muttered under his breath as the door closed behind the captain. “Minor? With one generator seized up and cargo to be cleared up all over the place?”

  “Be grateful the damage can be cleared up, Brian,” was Jeff’s last comment on the incident.

  Pleading extreme exhaustion, Afra took the rest of the day off. The curious chittering of Coonies greeted him as he entered his quarters. He smiled wanly at the anxious expressions on their masked faces as they pressed in on him. Had Damia sent them to him? No matter, he appreciated their company which, since Damia had monopolized them as playmates, he had little of.

  But he didn’t have the energy to respond to their overtures and dropped down onto the wide couch to stare unseeingly toward the fireplace. He was exhausted, but that was not why he needed time off. You could have killed her! He shouted at himself in white, hot rage. Do you realize the aweful risk you took, grabbing at her? And grabbing at a child instead of the ship, which was equally at risk?

  The door chimed. “Come in, Jeff,” Afra called, knowing beyond prescience whose hand was on the buzzer.

  Jeff Raven, slightly haggard underneath his outward diffidence, entered Afra’s apartment warily, noted the collection of Coonies and, receiving a gesture from the Capellan, took a seat in a chair opposite him.

  “I know why you’re here,” Afra said quietly. Without any regard for etiquette he summoned the nearest piece of paper to him—oddly it was a sheet of fine origami paper—and a pen. He scrawled a date, a short sentence, and signed it without any change in outward temperament. “Here.”

  Jeff raised an eyebrow, examined the message, balled the paper up, and threw it across the room. The Coonies took it as a toy and commenced to dribble it about the apartment.

  “I’ve had enough guff from a distraught wife and hysterical daughter. I’m not about to tolerate nonsense from you, too, Afra.”

  “But I broke the most important law of Tower protocol—I interrupted a thrust and nearly caused the loss of a passenger ship.”

  Jeff stopped him with a look. “Saving my daughter in the process.”

  “What if you hadn’t been able to retrieve the Altairian . . .” Afra persisted.

  “We did, but if you hadn’t hauled Damia, she would have been very dead.” Jeff shuddered uncontrollably at that thought and saw that Afra had blanched to a gray.

  “If I hadn’t encouraged her to use the Coonies and Rascal as playmates, she wouldn’t have taken to wandering about . . .”

  “So it’s the Coonies’ fault, too?” Jeff asked, amused.

  “No, I’m at fault,” Afra said, unwilling to unload responsibility.

  “Oh? And you led her to believe that the passenger capsule was a good place to play with the Coonies? C’mon, Afra, let’s permit a little common sense to infiltrate the breast beating.”

  “No matter,” and Afra dismissed his arguments with a chop of one hand, “the fact is that I broke the gestalt with the Rowan—I could have killed her and still not saved Damia!” Afra’s control broke with those last words, his voice rising in self-contempt and loathing.

  Jeff waited for the yellow-eyed Capellan to collect himself. “Have you thought to wonder where you got the strength to do what you did?”

  “Where?—What—?” Afra broke off, his eyes widening in surprise. He looked to Jeff, who nodded in slow affirmation.

  “Consider what would have happened if Damia had tried the jump blind without your aid.”

  Afra did and his skin blanched pure white.

  “I came here to thank you for saving my daughter’s life,” Jeff said slowly, “even if you had to get a two-year-old to help you save herself. And those bloody Coonies.” He paused, watching those same animals playing soccer with crumpled paper. He let the rest of his held-in anger vent. “I most certainly did not come here to listen to silly twaddle about who’s guilty for what and who’s responsible for everything else in this system!” He launched himself out of his chair suddenly, clasping Afra tightly by the shoulder, shaking him firmly in emphasis. “You’re family, man, right or wrong, up or down, in or out. Get it? Now, what have you got to drink? I’m parched,” Jeff grinned at him, “all that fast talking with Captain Leonhard.”

  Afra instantly rose. “I could make some tea or coffee?”

  Jeff cleared his throat noisily. “Surely you’ve something stronger, Afra? Or maybe I should start sending you a case or two the way Reidinger did for Brian. Though I’ve known a time or two when there’s been some pretty good rotgut available on this Station.”

  From the kitchen, Afra produced a clear bottle containing a clear liquid.

  “I use it for colds. It’s effective.”

  “Well, I felt damned near frozen today for a few seconds there,” Jeff remarked. He downed half a glass and his eyes bulged. “First class,” he managed to say on a forcefully expelled breath. He waggled the bottle at Afra. “You need some, too.”

  “No,” and Afra shook his head, making a cup of a soporific tea that had often soothed jangled nerves. The rotgut was too much of a stimulant in his present condition.

  They arranged themselves in the high chairs surrounding the bar-height kitchen table.

  “Have you eaten?” Afra asked as his manners continued to surface out of the reaction to the day’s trials.

  “No, have you?”

  Afra had to think for some moments before shaking his head.

  “Let me,” Jeff ordered, noting the other’s exhaustion, and added with a grin, “I’m not a bad cook!”

  “Chinese doesn’t take much time,” Afra suggested.

  “Rowan got you on that cuisine, too, huh?” Jeff said. Then he shook his head. “Actually, I think I’ll have dinner sent up, if you don’t mind.” Afra looked puzzled. “Luciano has obliged me on several occasions.”

  “He has?” Afra was surprised. “Though I wonder about rich food on my stomach . . . it hasn’t settled yet . . .”

  “I’ll advise Luciano to prepare something restorative for nerve and mind.” Jeff sent a quick mental cast to Gollee Gren back on Earth, who had the good sense to swallow his curiosity and promised to expedite the request.

  “While we’re waiting,” Jeff continued, “we can talk about our problem child.”

  “She didn’t mean to—”

  Jeff raised a hand. “I know that.” He sighed, an admiring look on his face. “She’s very much like her mother, you know.”

  “But different.”

  “The Rowan can’t handle her,” Jeff remarked almost rhetorically. “Nor can Tanya.”

  “Are you suggesting some hypnotics?” Afra wondered. They had used only the most subtle hypnotic suggestions to keep Damia from becoming completely unmanageable. Afra had instigated the first. This successful implant had been followed, always with Jeff Raven’s full knowledge and approval, by others, but only after certain restrictions became necessary. As today had proved, Damia appeared to be one jump ahead of everyone’s estimate of her capabilities. She was also growing increasingly resistant to the more “delicate” suggestions and, with the Rowan firmly opposed to “tinkering” with her children, stronger impositions would be noticeable.

  Jeff sensed Afra’s uneasiness and shook his head firmly. “No, I don’t think hypnotics are the solution.”

  Jeff? Isthia Raven’s “voice” distracted him.

  “Mother, I’m here with Afra,” Jeff responded, speaking aloud for Afra’s benefit and echoing telepathically.

  Hello, Afra, Isthia responded, widening her telepathic voice to include him. Are you recovering from that remarkable rescue?

  Somewhat, Afra replied. He had long since given up at pretense when dealing with the Raven matriarch.

  Except that he’s torturing himself with guilt in the process, Jeff added.

  Tut! Isthia chided. Guilt’s for small souls, Afra. Your immediate response was nothing shor
t of heroic, and I won’t allow you to escape that designation. I’m sure Jeff agrees.

  Oh, I do, but he won’t. He’s threatened to resign.

  Nonsense!

  You are not Tower, Isthia Raven, Afra replied, rousing from his lethargy. You cannot be expected to know that I broke one of the strongest rules of Tower procedure . . .

  Saving a child? Priorities always supersede mere procedure. There was such a trenchant criticism in her retort to bureaucracy that Afra had to grin. At least you heard the child.

  Damia did not call the Rowan, Afra replied glumly.

  And how is Angharad? As if in answer to Isthia’s question, the station’s generators screamed to full power, crescendoed, then rose again to another crescendo and another as cargoes were hurled rapid-fire to their destinations.

  I’d say she’s decided to work off fright and anger constructively, Jeff responded mildly. He winced at the shriek of the generators as they hit launch peak. Fortunately Ackerman’s giving her cargo. At that, some of the fragile goods are going to be worthless.

  Oh, dear! Isthia’s response included a soft caress of understanding. What do you plan to do?

  Afra and I were just discussing that, Jeff replied. We’ve ruled out more hypnotics.

  Good. I doubt they’ll work; the child’s too quick. Across the light years, Isthia frowned. What alternatives have you considered?

  None, yet, Jeff replied. We were going to try the full-stomach method of meditation. Then I’ll have to see what the Rowan wants.

  She may not want me, after this, Afra said dispiritedly.

  Stop it, Afra Lyon! Isthia shot back hotly. Mind you, not even Angharad will tolerate your wallowing in such a slough of self-recrimination. Isthia paused briefly. Well, now, maybe a good yell will shock you back into appropriate manners, you methody Capellans being so fierce about proper conduct. But then, Angharad’s not likely to consider protocol more important than her daughter’s life.

  Afra was dumbfounded. But I nearly lost that Altairian freighter. If Jeff hadn’t . . .

  Lord above! He’s really into this guilt trip, isn’t he? Jeff Raven demanded rhetorically. If it would make you feel any better, I’m perfectly willing, as head of FT&T, to dock your annual salary for whatever amount you feel will compensate us for your interference with the conduct of traffic on this route. But, as Earth Prime, I’m obliged to point out to you, Afra Lyon, that it’s highly unlikely that Angharad Gwyn-Raven will accept your resignation. Jeff paused to regard Afra’s unyielding expression and sighed in exasperation.