Damia

Book by McCaffrey Anne

CHAPTER ONE

AFRA felt his sister’s mental touch and told his mother that Goswina had returned to Capella. Cheswina regarded her six-year-old son with her ineffable serenity.

“Thank you, Afra. You always could hear farther, and Goswina better, than the rest of us. But don’t intrude,” his mother added, as Afra jiggled about in his eagerness to make contact with his beloved sister. “Capella Prime will wish to debrief her on her training at Altair Tower. You may continue with your exercises.”

But Goswina’s excited about something. Something that has to do with ME! Afra insisted, for he wanted to make sure that his mother heard him.

“Now, Afra,” and his mother waggled a stern finger at him, “you’ve got a tongue AND a voice. Use them. No one is to accuse this family of bringing up a discourteous and ill-mannered Talent. You have your lessons and you are not to ’path your sister until she comes in that door.”

Afra scowled because, when Goswina came in the door, he wouldn’t need to ’path her.

“You won’t ever be chosen for Tower duty if you cannot obey,” Cheswina went on. “Please assume a cheerful face.”

If Afra had heard those admonitions once, he had heard them several thousand times. But he stifled his vexation because what he wanted more than anything else in the world was to be in a Prime Tower, part of the vast FT&T network that handled communications and transportation between the star systems that comprised the Federation. His parents and his older brother and sisters were either part of or working toward being in that great network.

The family were also lucky enough to live in the Tower Complex. As a baby, he had been lulled to sleep by the throb of the enormous generators with which the Prime Talent made the gestalt to perform her miracles of transportation. His first mental effort at fourteen months had been a cheerful greeting to Capella’s Prime, who had taken the professional name of her posting. Although she had been addressing the Earth Prime with her “good morning,” Afra had heard her voice so clearly in his mind that he had responded. His parents had been shocked by his impudence.

“He was not impudent at all,” Capella had reassured them with one of her rare laughs. “It was really quite charming to be greeted by a sweet, chirping ‘good morning.’ Quite sweet. We will encourage such a strong young Talent. Though it would be as well if you can make him understand that he is not to interrupt me.”

Cheswina was a T-8 telepathic sender and her husband, Gos Lyon, a T-7 kinetic. Every one of their children had Talent, but Afra’s was not only apparent early but was also the strongest, possibly even a double—telepath and teleport. This did not keep his parents from being considerably embarrassed by their youngest son’s precocity. So they immediately initiated gentle methods of curbing him without inhibiting his potential Talent.

Either father, mother, or Goswina, the eldest sibling, had to be sure to awaken before Afra did and curb a repeat of that performance. For several months, this was a splendid new game for the toddler: to see if he could wake up first so he could chirp “good morning” to the velvet voice that invaded his mind . . . Capella. Whoever was minding him that morning had to engage his attention in an alternative occupation—like eating. For young Afra loved to eat.

Not that it showed. Like the rest of his family, he was a healthy but lean baby; ectomorphic with the sort of energy levels that burn up calories. Placing a rusk or a piece of fruit in his hand would instantly divert him. As most tots, he had a very short attention span, and these ploys worked until he was old enough to understand that his “good mornings” should be limited to his immediate family.

Goswina, a loving and caring sister, had not an ounce of meanness in her temperament and never found this duty a chore. She adored her clever brother, and he reciprocated so warmly that a strong tie was established between them. The mental exercises his Gossie used to divert her lively brother had a salutary effect on her own Talent and she was upgraded to a T-6 by the time she was sixteen. That made her eligible for the special training courses that Earth Prime Reidinger initiated on Altair.

This was a very mixed blessing, for sixteen-year-old Goswina had developed such a deep attachment for a T-5, Vessily Ogdon, that both families had earnestly discussed a possible alliance. However, Goswina was asked to put aside her personal plans for the chance to participate in the Altair course. Only Afra knew how painful that choice was for his sister. Once Gos Lyon invoked family honor, she had complied, demonstrating an obedience that seemed genuine—except to her brother who howled loudly at Goswina’s departure.

Afra missed his slender, gentle sister dreadfully. Altair was so very far away that he could not maintain the light mental touch that reassured him through his daily trials. Afra was not a natural conformist and trouble seemed to seek him out at school, and even at home. He was not as biddable as his brother and sisters had been, and his parents found his impetuosity and often “wild” or “aggressive” behavior a trial.

Aware of young Afra’s problems, the Capella stationmaster, Hasardar, tactfully had the boy doing small “jobs” for him, jobs which the worried parents could not take exception to as they were aimed at developing his potential. Afra willingly did the “errands,” delighted to be considered—for once—capable of doing something properly.

One of these errands took him to a large freighter with a packet, requested by the captain. Afra was agog with the prospect of actually meeting spacemen. He’d seen ships come and go from Capella all his short life but had never actually encountered off-worlders.

As he trotted up to the open hatch, he saw big burly space-tanned men lounging within. He also heard a babble of sound which made no sense at all to his ears. His mind, however, translated the meaning.

“This is no place for leave, boys. Straight as dies, these folk. Methody believers, and you know what that means.”

“Sure, chief, no hanky-panky, no funsies, no drink, no smokings. Hey, what’s coming here? A pint-size greenie! Don’t they grow ’em a decent size?”

“Ah, it’s a kid.” And one of the men swung down the ramp, grinning. “Good morning,” he said in good Basic.

Afra stared up at him.

“You got a package for the Captain, boy? Stationmaster said he’d have it hand-delivered.”

Afra continued to stare, extending the package with both hands, puzzled by the strange words and especially by the description of himself.

“What does ‘pint-sized greenie’ mean, please, sir?”

Afra flinched at the laughter from the lock and then from the angry glare the chief directed at his crewmen.

“Don’t be offended, laddie,” the chief said in a kind tone. “Some spacers have no manners. You understand more than Basic?”

Afra wasn’t sure what response to make. While he knew some people could not ’path, he didn’t know that there were many different forms of language in the galaxy. However, as his family would expect him to give a courteous answer to a friendly question, he gave a nod.

“I understand what you say,” Afra replied. “I don’t understand ‘pint-sized greenie.’”

The chief hunkered down, being conscious that it was wise not to offend locals, even a kid. And a kid would be more likely to repeat what had been said to the Stationmaster. It was also smart for freighter crew to be on the best possible terms with Tower Stationmasters.

“It’s like this, lad,” and he rolled back his sleeve, showing a brown-skinned arm, then he pointed to Afra’s hand. “My skin is brown, your skin is green. I’m a brownie,” and he ignored the hoots from his crew, “and you’re a greenie. Just a matter of what color we got born with. Now, ‘pint-sized’ means small, and I’d be gallon-sized, ’cause I’m much bigger. Get me?”

“More like barrel, Chief!” one of the crew chortled, again using the different sounds, though his mind made the comment clear to Afra.

Afra cocked his head at the chief, noticing other differences between himself, a Capellan, and these visitors. The man had brown skin, streaky gray hair, and brown eyes. He was the widest man Afra had ever seen, with forearms twice the size of his father’s, or even Stationmaster Hasardar’s.

“Thank you for explaining to me, Chief. It was kind of you,” Afra said, giving a respectful bow.

“No problem, lad. And here’s something for your trouble,” the chief said, reaching for Afra’s right hand and closing the fingers around a metallic object. “Put that by for a rainy day. If it rains on Capella.”

Afra looked at the round object, ’pathing from the chief that this was a half credit, a reward for delivering the package. He had never seen credit coins before, and he liked the feel of its edges in his palm. He gleaned from the chief that a “tip” was normal procedure, so he bowed again.

“Thank you, Chief. It was kind of you.”

“Tell you one thing, they teach manners on this planet,” the chief said in a loud voice, trying to overwhelm the rude comments his crewmen were making about Afra’s courtesies.

Afra didn’t catch the meanings behind some of the strange words.

“Off you go, lad, before you become contaminated by this sorry lot of spacers. Ain’t any of you guys got some couth? Back inside, the lot of you. You’ve had your smoking time.”

As Afra trotted across the plascrete back to the Stationmaster, he decided that he wouldn’t tell anyone about the coin. It had been given him in return for completing his errand. It was for him, not Stationmaster Hasardar who had said nothing to him about collecting any sort of payment or to expect a tip. If Goswina had been home, he would have confided in her as a matter of course, but his other sisters considered him a nuisance, and his brother, Chostel, felt that he was too old to associate with kids. So Afra decided he didn’t need to say anything about his coin. He would save it, but not for a rainy day. When it rained on Capella, no one went anywhere.

This was yet another occasion when Afra found himself deprived by Goswina’s absence. And why, now that she had returned to Capella, that he simply had to renew contact as soon as he could. So, despite his mother’s stricture, he reached out his mind to his sister in the main Tower building.

Not now, Afra, Capella said but not unkindly as his mind linked to Goswina’s in their conference mode.

Oh, mercy, Afra, not now, was the simultaneous message from a mortified Goswina.

Fearful that his parents might receive official reprimands from the Prime herself, Afra shrank away and coiled so tightly into his own mind that he genuinely didn’t “hear” Goswina until she opened the door of their quarters an hour later.

OH, GOSSIE, Afra cried, tears of joy streaming down his face, as he jumped into her arms.

Theirs was not a physically demonstrative family, as much because they enjoyed a sufficient mental rapport that touch was redundant as because tactile contact between Talents allowed deeper readings, sometimes an inadvertent invasion of the private mind.

Today, Goswina ignored such considerations as she hugged her young brother tightly. Through that close contact, she also managed to convey many things such a reserved girl would find difficult to say out loud. Afra caught rapid shifts through scenes of her landing on Altair, the forested mountains behind the Port City, the raw look of the Altairian Tower, the faces of her fellow students in a hectic montage, with one face dominating the group, rapidly scrolling through schoolroom sessions, meals, the room Goswina had shared with two girls, then pausing at a musical interlude which was abruptly deleted, overlaid with her excitement at returning to the home she had missed, and her Vessily.

I missed you terribly, Afra.

More than you missed Vessily?

As much, though not quite the same way, Afra, and Goswina’s gentle thought teased him. But it was a splendid trip. I met so many marvelous people. And oh, Afra, how you’ll love the Rowan when you meet her. She said that she would consider you when you have finished your training, because you are my brother and because we two knew our temperaments weren’t complementary. But I told her that you would be because you’re so clever and understanding. I missed you terribly, Afra. Just wait ’til you see the trees they have on Altair. Whole forests of trees, darling . . . big trees and small ones, different shades of green and blue and many different shapes of trunk, branch, and leaf. All of them fragrant. Altair’s not as large as Capella, but it is a good place. I did so well in my course that Capella said that she will definitely place me in this system, and, as she held Afra from her to peer into his face, “to work in a Capellan Tower.”

Did you . . .

“Aloud, please, Afra,” she said, hearing her mother come into the room.

“. . . know that Stationmaster Hasardar gave me some special training, after school hours? He said I had Tower potential, too!” He offered that praise as a homecoming present for her, but he didn’t mention the credit coin aloud. Or even in his mind.

“How very good of Hasardar. How clever of you, Afra dear,” she said, releasing him from her embrace and rising to greet her mother more formally. “Mother, Capella was very pleased both with my course of study on Altair and with the report Siglen of Altair sent her of me.”

Cheswina smoothed her daughter’s hair in a brief, loving gesture and smiled.

“You bring honor to our family.”

“Afra will bring more,” Goswina said, looking fondly down at him.

“That remains to be seen,” Cheswina said, her expression bordering on the severe, for she did not believe that it was right to praise a child for what he or she could be expected to do. Reward should never be a consideration of effort. However, Goswina did merit some special indulgence for having brought honor to the family, so her favorite dishes were served at dinner that evening and she’d be allowed a visit from Vessily Ogdon.

On returning from his Tower shift that evening, Gos Lyon smiled in benign approval at his daughter. When everyone had eaten a sufficiency of the excellent meal, he handed her an official note. He contained his pride as his overjoyed firstborn communicated to everyone at the table that Capella had appointed her to the staff of the southern Tower, one of the busier local FT&T facilities.

That means you’re going away again! Afra cried out in distress.

Silly! I won’t be so far that we can’t keep in touch all the time. “Forgive me, Father, Mother,” Goswina added hastily, blushing for such a gross social lapse, “but Afra was so disturbed . . .”

“Afra must learn to control his feelings,” Gos Lyon said, bending a stern gaze on his youngest. “Tower staff must always contain their emotions. To splash about personal reactions exhibits a woeful absence of discipline and an abysmal lack of courtesy and consideration. I’ll have no child of mine so ill-mannered. One can never learn respect too early in life.”

Later, dear. Goswina shot the very private thought tightly to her brother, so fast her parents would not have...