The Rowan

PART FOUR. ALTAIR AND CALLISTO

For the Rowan to return to Altair Prime Station under her own power was cause for considerable surprise, elation, and pride. The hastily assembled reception committee included many people known to her; among them her foster brother and sister whom she was very pleased to see again. She suppressed a surge of pain that Lusena was not alive to see this day. Nor Siglen, for between her interview with Reidinger and her departure from Callisto at the end of the working day, the old Prime had, mercifully, died.

Foremost of the welcoming committee was the Secretary of Interior, who abandoned protocol to embrace the Rowan, crying happy tears.

"Oh my dear child, it is such a blessing to have you back with us!" Holding the Rowan away from her, she gave her a quick, satisfied appraisal, and then hugged her again.

The Rowan returned the embrace willingly, warmed by the Secretary's spontaneity. The woman had perceptibly aged in face and form but her mind was as lucid, open, and kind as ever, her touch a cheerful bright green. In that contact, the Rowan understood even more: that Secretary of the Interior Camella had hated turning the Rowan, as a child, over to Siglen's cheerless establishment; that she had often felt guilty that she hadn't been able to keep a closer personal contact with the orphaned child. The Rowan was also aware of the Secretary's enormous pride and relief that the Rowan had returned to Altair as their Prime.

"And I wish I could have returned in less urgent circumstances," the Rowan said, replying to the spoken welcome.

Dismay colored the Secretary's face briefly. "Oh, poor Siglen. At least she was spared undue pain and never knew the ignominy of her condition. It's such a relief to have you: so fitting that Altair's native Prime should take over." The Mayor and Governor were introduced, both new to their offices, though the Rowan recognized their faces from earlier service in less exalted roles. They observed scrupulous protocol with respectful bows. Gerolaman came forward then, beaming with pride. For such a splendid occasion, he had dressed in the formal deepgreen FT amp;T uniform. He then introduced to her the four Talents new since her time there. The rest of the station staff she greeted by name, feeling this odd sensation that she hadn't been ten years gone from Altair.

Bralla? she asked Gerolaman privately when she noticed another missing face.

She had to retire from active service last year, Gerolaman replied testily, which suggested to the Rowan that he felt Siglen might still be alive if Bralla had been on duty. And she deeply mourns Siglen's death.

"We've arranged a proper reception for you later, Rowan," the Secretary of the Interior said, and then added hesitantly, "that is, if you wouldn't mind attending." Siglen had rarely responded to invitations. Nor allowed the Rowan to.

The Rowan laughed. "I'd love to come. I've been mewed up in the Callisto Dome quite long enough. It'll be a real treat to have a planet to range." "When work's over," Gerolaman said with a discreet cough.

"Oh, dear, yes," and the Secretary was briefly dismayed.

"It seems so uncharitable to shove you into the Tower as soon as you've arrived. Stationmaster and the others have done a magnificent job coping…" "I can see the loaded cradles, Secretary," the Rowan said, grinning. "It won't take me long to shift it all." The Secretary's dismay melted into a relieved smile.

"Then just send word when you're free, Rowan… or should I call you Prime now?" "My name is Angharad Gwyn," the Rowan said, grinning impudently and enjoying the shock on the Secretary's face. "I prefer being the Rowan. I'll send word," she added and walked briskly into the Tower.

Towers followed the same basic design throughout the Central Worlds' sphere of influence but the Rowan quickly noticed both subtle and obvious differences in the Altair Tower since she had last occupied it. The new generating system was three times as powerful now. The console had been updated, quite likely to compensate for Siglen's depleting energies. She noticed the overrides in every system and realized that Gerolaman and the T-2s, Bastian and Maharanjani, had discreetly monitored the old Prime.

Briefly glancing through the stack of manifests to check for priorities, the Rowan settled in the chair and ordered the generators powered up.

This is a grand new system you've got, Gerolaman, she said appreciatively for the warm-up was accomplished in seconds. That blasted Reidinger gave me substandard junk to use on Callisto.

Gerolaman's chuckle echoed in her head. You didn't recognize them? The old Altairian system was sent to run Callisto!

I don't know why I work for this cheap outfit.

Only one in the Galaxy.

The Rowan smiled to herself and, deep in her mind, heard Jeff Raven's chuckle. Then, picking up the power of the generators, she sent cargo spinning out of their cradles in a steady stream.

I taught you well, Gerolaman remarked smugly and settled in to work.

Later the Rowan teamed up with Bastian and Maharanjani to get accustomed to their minds and methods. Both she was touched to learn that Gerolaman had saved were capable, if at first very formal with her, but they relaxed as the day progressed. It was an advantage that they'd all been taught by the same Prime.

That first six days were occasionally upset by minor adjustments which the Rowan would have solved much differently at Callisto, and in the days before she had met Jeff Raven.

You've had a soothing effect on me, love, she told him in one of their conferences. Late night Altair was often early morning on Callisto and she easily pictured him in her bed, hands clasped behind his head, blankets pulled up to his chin.

One day, he began, his mind tone deep and sensual, I might be able to enumerate the colossal alterations you've effected on this poor ill boonie boy. What mischief have you been up to today?

Mischief? When was I ever allowed to get into mischief?

But I did clear all of Siglen's junk and got the bedroom repainted. So tonight I'll have no more nightmares about those ghastly vines and flowers trying to eat me alive.

The Rowan had not wanted to take the Prime's accommodations. Not after her first horrified look at the main lounge. Siglen's bazaar tastes had never improved and the Rowan wondered how the crippled, obese old woman had managed to move about without knocking things off tables. Shuddering at the clashing colors and hoarded junk, the Rowan had closed the door, whooshing some of the heavy musky scent Siglen had been fond of into the hall. She would have preferred to move back into her old accommodation, now occupied by Bastian, Maharanjani, and their two children. But Siglen's quarters had to be redone for the Rowan to feel comfortable in them. At that, about all she could afford was to strip off the ghastly wallpaper and paint the rooms. She had spent well into next year's salary on Deneb's needs.

Those furnishings she had not had sent on to Callisto.

Despite fresh paint and sparsely furnished rooms, the Rowan spent a few uneasy nights before she settled in.

You're sure you don't want anything from here? Jeff asked.

I can ship you anything you want.

I'd rather see you enjoying them, Jeff, she said in a wistful tone.

Oh, I do! Though it's your Station equipment that I really covet!

He imagined himself, rubbing his hands, a caricature of a greedy expression and an unctuous grin.

Don't bother. Covet Altair when you get here. Though anything would be an improvement on what you made do with on Deneb. HOW you managed so much with that one puny little generator, I'll never know.

Reidinger doesn't realize just how powerful you are!

Me? There was such genuine surprise in Jeff's tone that the Rowan stifled a flash of envy. Her lover really didn't appreciate his unique strength.

The way Reidinger referred to Jeff in such uncomplimentary tones, the old man evidently hadn't realized Jeff's full potential. Odd that Reidinger, usually so quick in matters of Talent, should have missed it. He'd been in the mind merge, too. Or had he simply assumed that the merge had made Jeff Raven so omnipotent?

Yes, you, love. You're a Prime and a half I realize it: if no one else does. But don't let any one else realize it. Not yet, at any rate.

Which reminds me: it's a good thing I've got Afra and Brian coaching me on all that FT amp;T protocol nonsense… The Rowan grinned at his disgust: Jeff found those nuances and niceties the hardest part of his new duties. Deneb was too young, raw, and struggling a colony to waste time on conventions or unnecessary priorities of rank and precedence. Otherwise I'd have made a right drone-brain of myself!

May I live to see the day you're really droned! The Rowan knew from a chance comment of Afra's that the Callisto crew found him a lot easier to work with than she. He had assimilated procedures and the subtleties of dealing with freight and passenger captains as if he'd been trained as Prime since his early teens. He was adapting more easily to Callisto than she was to the greater responsibilities of Altair. But then that ineffable Raven charm was a considerable asset.

Are you coming home this weekend?

I really shouldn't. I'm still settling in. The Rowan remembered with a twinge of conscience the bruising schedule that Siglen had maintained.

That got her dead, didn't it? Jeff remarked, reading easily into the more private areas of her mind. Come to think of it, it would be more educational for me to visit Altair. Reidinger is so hot on extending my abilities and horizons, and Jeff chuckled with pure malice, I'm only too willing to oblige.

Besides, this weekend, I have a whole big thirty hours to "rest" unless I've misread Callisto's orbit.

He hadn't and she told Gerolaman to turn off the generators. He did a repeat of his act at Callisto Station, only this time the Rowan listened in. Just to see how he managed to charm so many people so completely in so short a time. He imaged her as a tiny mascot tucked over his ear as he talked Gerolaman into a buoyant mood.

He was nearly as fast charming both Bastian and Maharanjani, despite the fact that they had recognized him as heavy Talent and suspected his true identity.

When she heard him meekly admit that the Altairian Prime had sent for him, she responded with a mocking laugh that preceded her into the main office.

"And if you believe everything a Denebian tells you," she said as she entered, "I'm thankful there's only one in FT amp;T."

When she saw Maharanjani blush furiously, she knew the woman had caught some of the very vivid, naughty imagery which was Jeff's response to that insult.

"So you're Deneb's Prime?" Gerolaman asked, too bemused by the Raven charisma to take offense at the little charade.

"Callisto's," Jeff said with a little bow. "I take whatever leavings that drop from this one's fair hands." His blue eyes were glinting with such mischief that the stationmaster chuckled. "Can I help you clear up any last little chores, Rowan?" he asked, all politeness as he gathered her proprietarially under his arm.

"I do believe," and she announced magnanimously, "that our work day is finished. Altair will resume operations in thirty-two hours. Enjoy your respite." They exited, leaving the Station crew bemused by their vivid delight in each other.

Halfway through the next day, the Rowan asked Jeff to accompany her. He knew instantly where she meant to go and kissed her gently on the cheek, compassionately supporting her.

At their destination, the smell of the minta, heavy in the air, made the Rowan shudder with memory.

"Rather a remarkable odor. Hard to forget." Jeff's nostrils flared at the reek.

In the quarter of a century that had passed since the devastating mudslide, minta had grown to formidable size on the mud-filled valley that had once been the site of the Rowan Mining camp. She found nothing to recall here, yet somewhere, fifty meters below where they stood, Angharad Gwyn had lived for three years. Though Jeff had fractured the mind block, she remembered little more than her name and an impression of faces peering down at her, no sharp details at all, though she knew some of the faces had to be her mother, father, and brother. She remembered the rag rug on which she had often played in front of a screened fireplace. And the permeating stench of minta.

"Not much truly memorable happens to a child of three." "Unless she gets very unlucky," Jeff said gently. "Where did they finally locate you?" Jeff asked, knowing this return had to be played out in its entirety.

She took him down to the Oshoni valley, to the ledge where her rescuers had landed. The little hopper had long gone to scrap. The tongue of mud had dried in the ensuing years and was much eroded by rain, sun, and wind. She had a more vivid, if brief, memory of her release from the little broached hopper.

"There should be something more than this," she murmured, unable to express her unease on any level. "I don't even remember more of that awful journey than the rolling and bumping and then I was knocked unconscious.

"You were lucky in that," Jeff said, trying to fathom the nebulous disquiet which she could not express. "Coming to, with mud oozing in on you, scared, cold, hungry, and thirsty and no-one to reassure you was surely the ultimate horror for a three-year-old child. But that's over and done with. Long done with," and he put his arms around her, resting his chin on her silvery hair. "I don't know what you were hoping to see, or find here, love," he added in a caressing tone, his mind soothing against her frustration.

"The miracle is that you emerged alive and had a future which no-one else in the Rowan Mining camp did. Don't keep looking at the past: that can't be changed." "I checked with Immigration, you know," she said, still depressed. "There were three families with the same surname, an older couple and their two sons and wives, so I still have a choice. The Rowan Mining Company was only too willing to open up their records for the Prime," and she muttered bleakly. "I could be the daughter of Ewain and Morag Gwyn or Matt and Ann Gwyn. Both Ewain and Matt were mining engineers and the occupations of their wives was not given. So, although I do remember that my mother was a teacher, I still don't know if she was Ann or Morag.

"Does it matter very much, love?" Jeff tipped her head up to gaze with the intense fondness that his blue eyes could reflect.

"I don't know why it should since I know a lot more about my background now than I ever have, but it does. Especially when I see - and envy - your big family." Jeff threw back his head and laughed aloud, the sound spun away on the wind that soughed down the valley.

"Didn't a large family put you off back on Deneb?" "You Ravens take getting used to," she admitted, burrowing into his shoulder. "I want as many children as I can have." "That's one way of redressing the balance," he said with a chuckle.

"I also want them to know as much about my side of the family as they do about yours."

"Don't tell me you intend waiting until you do?" Jeff pretended dismay.

"I can't." And she opened her mind to reveal what she was only beginning to suspect.

"Rowan!" Then he whirled her about, his mind reverberating with his elation.

Easy on me! I'm having enough trouble with vertigo without you spinning me about like a wheel. But she clung to him and grinned at the effect of her marvelous secret.

When he deposited her gently to the ground again, he pressed her as close to him as possible, and she could feel his mind trying to reach the new life in her womb.

"Not yet, dear," she said in gentle amusement. "At a bare three weeks, it's no better than a tadpole.

He held her from him with mock dismay. "My son, the tadpole." "We don't know "son" yet awhile. Be patient!" "I don't feel like being patient." "Mankind's been able to do a lot of things, but no Talent has ever been able to speed up gestation." "My son," Jeff insisted, his eyes shining as he looked to the future, "the new Deneb Prime!" "Give the child a break!" Rowan protested.

"How else are we going to get a Prime on Deneb unless we produce one between us!" The Rowan's mood altered abruptly and she said in a querulous voice, "That's exactly what Reidinger's been counting on. Damn him. I hate to find myself doing exactly what he wants." "Aren't you happy for yourself, love?" And Jeff turned her face up to his. "I am!" "Yes, I am." But in the deepest part of her, something was not so certain.

"Your own mother says that she never heard of a kinetic having trouble during pregnancy," the Rowan said heatedly, trying not to let her anger get out of hand. Jeff didn't deserve her temper, even if his attitude was infuriating her. "She says that you're behaving exactly the way your father did for your oldest brother, proprietary, protective, paternal and a pain in the neck!" "And I shouldn't be worried about you?" Jeff demanded, pacing her room in Altair Tower.

"You're rail thin, you work long, hard hours, and you don't really feel comfortable taking a day off to get the rest and relaxation you need right now." "You saw the food I put away at dinner? You know I've always done just fine on four hours' sleep. And I do take a whole day off… you won't let me do anything else." Jeff halted midstride, fists planted against his hips: he cocked his head and that sudden marvelous smile of his erased the glower. Why on earth are we fighting with each other? And he held out his arms.

"I don't know," and she gratefully entered his embrace, laying her cheek against his chest. As he usually did, he tucked her head under his chin, one hand gently ruffling her hair. "Except you suddenly won't let me go on as usual just because I'm five months' pregnant. And the baby tells me he's fine." "You're both precious to me, you see," he said, his intense feelings vibrating through her mind. "I'm new at this fatherhood game." "With your mother, aunts and sisters shelling babies like peas?" This time it's my heart's darling who's gestating and that adds a totally new perspective. D'you know they're taking bets on the date Reidinger finds out?

"Who's doing a thing like that?" The Rowan was outraged. "How did they find out?" Jeff threw his head back, laughing uninhibitedly. "My darling, you haven't really looked at yourself in a mirror, have you? You positively glow. And besides, that baby's loud. Maharanjani heard him, I'm sure, which means Bastian does, too. Gerolaman smiles fondly at you when you don't notice it. Most of the other Tower staff have suspicions, especially the way you're eating. And Afra asked me point-blank when you're due." The Rowan made a face. "Trust Afra to know."

"Are you certain he's only a T-4? And were you aware that he has always loved you?" "Yes," she said with a deep sigh. "I'm very fond of Afra: I trust him at the deepest level but…" She fell silent for a long moment. "If you hadn't made yourself known…"

"My timing has always been superb," Jeff replied in a tone of ineffable superiority which dissolved into one of his infectious chuckles. "You could have done a lot worse than Afra." His embrace assured her that Afra had never had a chance.

"Do let me come to Callisto next week. I haven't been back since you took over.

"You don't trust me with your ratty old dome?" "You're dodging, Raven," she said with some heat, trying to wriggle free of his grasp.

"It's my body that's pregnant, not my head - if I may hand your own words back to you - and my head is what gets me from Altair to Callisto. It took me long enough to know I could travel: don't restrict me." "Our child is very precious to me, Rowan," Jeff said firmly. "How can you risk him?" "I don't see any risk involved! Oh, you can be infuriating." "I'll make one more point, dear heart. On Altair, Reidinger rarely needs to contact you. On Callisto, he will certainly exchange courtesies…" "How will he know I'm there if we don't tell him?" Jeff cleared his throat, amused. "I remember once suggesting that I could manage Reidinger. I take that back. To the ninth power. That man knows everything about everyone connected to FT amp;T. He'll know you're there and once he establishes contact, he'll know you're pregnant. When he knows that, he's not going to let you go anywhere." "Nonsense!" "So be it!" And it was. Within an hour of her arrival at Callisto, Reidinger was in touch with her.

"Now, listen here, Rowan, it's one thing for that ass-eared Denebian to ricochet about the stars like a…"

Aware of the contact, Jeff had covered his face to conceal his "I told you so" grin. As Reidinger's voice broke off, Jeff raised his hand and began ticking off seconds with his fingers. He had just added the fourth when Reidinger came back.

YOU'RE PREGNANT? And you RISKED yourself 'porting from Altair?

Shock, horror, and fury reverberated so violently in her mind that the Rowan exclaimed.

Reidinger! Jeff's stern voice cut through even as he jumped from his chair to put protective arms about his shivering mate. Ease up!

BY ALL THE HOLIES, RAVEN, I thought you'd have more sense! How COULD you permit such a risk?

No risk was involved, Reidinger, the Rowan snapped, furious that Reidinger could startle her so badly. I'm quite capable… CAPABLE?

You're no more capable… That is quite enough of that, Reidinger, Jeff intervened in a tone that halted the Earth Prime mid-fume. The Rowan's in excellent health and the pregnancy is proceeding normally.

Not that that is YOUR business.

It is MY business if a Prime jeopardizes herself… Especially one who can breed for you and FT amp;T! the Rowan angrily shot back at him. Well, I'm NOT breeding for you and FT amp;T. This is between Jeff Raven and me.

There's nothing in my contract that says FT amp;T controls the produce of my womb! Get that straight, Reidinger. My son is not automatically indentured to FT amp;T.

A long pause. A son? You know that already? Something akin to awe replaced the bluster. It wasn't just that Reidinger had abruptly discarded anger as a useless tool against the partners he was trying to dominate. It was something more but what eluded the Rowan.

Yes, and the Rowan, too, reduced her tone to the conversational.

She didn't really want Reidinger angry with her. Or with Jeff.

You're in contact with him? The need to know came across as a painful urgency.

Jeff raised his eyebrows in surprise at the near plea.

Five months into the pregnancy, we both are, Jeff answered when he felt the Rowan was spinning out the silence too long.

Why did you tell him that? she said in a private shaft at him.

He doesn't deserve it.

We've had our fun with him, Rowan. I've been listening on another level. Reidinger's a tired, worried old man and you've just given him something to hope for at a time when he needs it.

What does he need hope for?

I don't know, and Jeff was baffled. To Reidinger he said, It's a nebulous contact, of course, at this stage of fetal development… And what do you know of fetal development? the Rowan asked again on the private level.

Jeff grinned at her. I didn't have six sisters without picking up some dribs and drabs of obstetrics!

Suddenly both realized that Reidinger had broken off contact during their swift mental exchanges.

"Well, that was sudden!" the Rowan said, piqued.

Jeff chuckled. "We gave the old boy something to mull over." The Rowan let out a long sigh then. "I'm glad it was a short inquisition. Now, whose turn is it to cook?" "Ah-ha, I decided neither of us would waste time on mundane chores so scan the list of viands made ready for your arrival!" He tapped up a menu which used such an elegant archaic script that the Rowan had trouble deciphering it.

"I could probably eat all of it!" "And grow to Siglen's size over the next few months? I won't permit it," and with the foolery that followed, it was nearly an hour before they returned to the menu again.

They were sitting in front of the artificial fire which was, as Jeff reluctantly admitted, a very good simulation, when the comunit gave a discreet burp and tripped the green flash all over the house.

Raising her eyebrows in surprise at such a discreet summons - both she and Jeff were accustomed to a direct mental inquiry - she opened the channel.

"Prime Rowan?" asked an unfamiliar feminine voice, a warm and kind voice. "I am Elizara Matheson, T-1, Medic/Oh. With all due respect, I request an interview." "Not on my day off!" The Rowan's finger was halfway to the disengage when Jeff caught her wrist. "Damn Reidinger! How dare he presume!" "What harm does it do?" Jeff asked at his most disarming. "You're going to need a T-1 during the delivery of a Talent. They can be most obstreperous about leaving their safe haven. At least Reidinger cares enough to send the very best." When the Rowan regarded him with amazement, he grinned. "I don't think you accessed the right prenatal information. And if that lad of ours is half as stubborn as either of his parents, you may need all the persuasion you can muster." He leaned across her. "By all means, Medic Elizara. Please proceed to the residence." Every now and then the Rowan came smartly up against the realization that she couldn't argue with or wheedle her way around Jeff Raven. He was steadily becoming stronger and stronger in all areas of his Talent. If sometimes a part of her resented that strength, at others she felt tremendously comforted and protected. Or, as right now, in complete rebellion. But she rebelled right now, not against his common sense, but against an intrusion of the short hours when they could share each other on the deepest possible levels, physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual.

But she acquiesced. You give me no option, do you? she shot at him as they waited for the unsolicited visitor.

I'm far more careful of you than Reidinger gives me credit.

There was no flexibility in his gaze, or mind. You are not the obstetrician's ideal proportions for easy birthing, you know.

Let's take every precauflon.

Medic Elizara's personal appearance was a surprise to them both as she was a slender woman, no taller than the Rowan, and looked far younger. Her smile as she felt their astonishment was vastly pleased with her effect on them.

"I have heard so much about you, Prime Rowan," she said with irrepressible mischief in her wide-spaced, lightgreen eyes, "that I elbowed my way right past everyone with far more seniority than I have. Then, too, your reputation…" and her marvelous smile deprecated the Rowan's reputed temper, "made others demur. Gollee Gren solemnly warned me that you're more devious than Reidinger." At that remark, the last of the Rowan's resentment evaporated. "Gollee warned you, did he?" Reidinger's positively Machiavellian, isn't he? Jeff said to her privately. What a choice!

Oh, no, came from Elizara, the choice was mine, though when Earth Prime interviewed me, I could tell he thought that I would suit. "I shan't take more than a few moments of your time right now, Prime, but I need to update the Altairian report." "Not a moment has been wasted," the Rowan remarked sardonically.

"No!" And Elizara's eyes twinkled.

She did not indeed take more than a few moments. The Rowan had never met a T-1 in another field and was very much reassured by her competencee and deftness.

"The pregnancy is proceeding nicely. I have nothing further to add to what the Altairian medics told you," Elizara said in conclusion.

"The boy child is not far enough along for us to make a worthwhile contact. That's when my particular Talent becomes useful and I can assist you both in the preparations." "My mother had no trouble with any of us," Jeff said, and the Rowan heard the first tinge of uncertainty before he could dampen it.

"True enough," Elizara admitted, "probably because her mother was her constant companion during the final month." "How on earth did you know that?" Jeff asked, surprised but he found out before Elizara could prevent him.

"Reidinger has been very busy, has he not?" "I think you both must appreciate why and allow him his prerogatives," Elizara said with gentle dignity and a hint of reproach.

"This is our child, not Reidinger's. And he's no relation to be prying into…" Easy, love, Jeff said, reaching with hand and mind to soothe her.

The fetus will react, you know, Elizara said mildly. The calmer you remain, the easier it will be for you both! The stronger a bond of trust you make right now, the easier the birth will be. The child will need to trust you then. "But the main reason I was acceptable to the Prime, and you may find this so, too, was that I had easy births with my own two Talented children." That reassured the Rowan more than anything else about Elizara, though at that moment, she did not want to feel calm, even to reassure her unborn child, but she could not evade Jeff as easily as she could Elizara. Nor could she evade, or disobey, any of Reidinger's subsequent safeguards which she found intrusive, impudent, arrogant, unnecessarily restrictive, and too authoritarian by far.

Unfortunately, Jeff Raven was in total agreement with the Earth Prime. She was never sure if Elizara truly disagreed with the two men on the subject of her return to Altair or was "humoring the pregnant woman". The upshot was that the Rowan was not permitted to return to Altair and was reinstalled as Callisto Prime. Jeff went off to Altair until two appropriate T-2s could be found and integrated with Maharanjani and Bastian at Altair. When that task was completed, what Jeff termed his galactic peregrination began.

Reidinger sent him to each of the other Prime Stations on various errands of high security importance.

"I don't know what could be more secure than a mind to-mind contact or why he has to shoot you all over the place." "Oh, I find it incredibly fascinating, love. I've met all the Primes, now, and I really did pick the best of the lot of you," he said with an outrageous glint in his eye. "That Capella!" He raised eyes and hands in such comic dismay over that confrontation that he made her laugh.

While the Rowan could appreciate just how valuable Jeff was to FT amp;T as the only peripatetic Prime, she resented his absences even though Jeff always took several days rest on Callisto between jaunts.

On the other hand, Jeff returned, stimulated, excited, and highly pleased by his reception at every tower. She did like listening to him discuss his perceptions of the other Primes, the diversity of the planets linked in the Central Worlds: once she would have envied him his fearless ability to transverse those immense distances, but she formed a secret intention, when her pregnancy was over, to join him in these tours. But the traveling, despite Jeff's innate strength, took a noticeable toil of his energy. She worried about the alarming signs of deep fatigue which he dismissed lightly.

"Sure it takes effort, love," Jeff told her as they sprawled together in their favorite spot in the lounge before the artificial fire. For the Rowan, being close to him physically was in many ways far more satisfying than the more intimate mental contact. As much, she thought, because she had had so few physical relationships that she found their intimacies especially rewarding. "And it's tiring, but a few days with you and I'm rarin' to go again. This galactic touring's quite an eyeopener for this poor little ole Denebian farmboy." "Don't you say that about yourself!" The Rowan bridled at his phrase, punching his upper arm to emphasize her annoyance.

"Darling, I am poor," he reminded her. "Mind you, the bonuses I've been extorting from Reidinger for doing these leapfroggings is bringing me out of debt much faster than if I just drew stationary Tower pay." "Nor are you little…" The Rowan was not letting him belittle himself in any way.

Jeff let out a hoot of laughter. "Honey, I love your sense of loyalty but have you seen the guys they grow on Procyon? And Betelgeuse?" He shot her a glance for comparison's sake and she saw that he had felt dwarfed in their presence. "And I AM a Denebian farmboy." He grinned in his roguish way. "Keeps me from getting above myself." "Oh, was David being difficult again?" Jeff ran a few scenes of the Betelgeuse Talent's arrogance through her mind and she was both appalled and amused.

"If I'd ever met Siglen, I'd've had a few cogent remarks to make to her about her notions of "training" Talent," he said, serious for a moment. "And Primes are unquestionably the vital links between Central Worlds, but there are T-1 ratings in every other Talent that make some of us stevedores look rather limited. Still," and he sighed for he was at heart a generous and forgiving person, "she got the basics right but we'll train our own kids the way they ought to go." "Indeed we will!" Jeff tightened his arms about her, kissing the side of her neck tenderly. "And none of our kids will need a Purza." "Was the pukha on my mind again?" "She keeps lurking there, where you can't see her." "I can't imagine why. Not after I've been back to Altair, and the Rowan mining campsite. Not with you doing far more for me than any construct could ever do." "I can't read why she keeps surfacing, love, except that Purza was the most important thing in your young life. I'm not exactly sure I like competing with a…" No way! Then Rowan let out an exaggerated sigh and then a self-deprecating chuckle. "But for ages there, that pukha was the only thing in the world that truly understood the young Rowan child… or so she thought." She paused, frowning. "You know it's very odd, your mother asked me who Purza was, too. That caught me off-balance." "I think we ought to get Mother to train her mind." "Oh, she wasn't being intrusive. It's as you said, she has a long ear. I've never met anyone quite like her before. She was so calm and reassuring, even when…"

"When everyone thought I was dying?" "You were never dying…" But a shiver caught the Rowan even as she repudiated the mention.

Jeff cocked his right eyebrow, a droll expression on his face.

"Not the way Asaph and Rakella tell it, my love. Well, I suppose Purza would surface at a time like that. When you need support the most." The Rowan nodded, nestling as close to him as her altered shape permitted.

"I think we, all of us, have someone," Jeff went on, "or some place, we retreat to in times of stress: a known comforter, adviser, confidante, who never fails us." "You never needed one." Rowan was beginning to wonder about the odd resurgences of Purza. She felt the unexpected embarrassment in Jeff's mind.

"I haven't got you fooled, too, have I, love?" And Jeff gave her a quick hug, laughing. "Believe me, dear heart, the only advantage I have over others is that I learned to read minds quick enough to correct my follies before they got out of hand. That's all." "But did you?" She needed to delve into that curious embarrassment, so unusual in her self-possessed and reliant love.

"Yes, I did," and he gave a funny chuckle. "Your Purza was at least a visible creature, properly programmed to respond to certain infant and pre-adolescent needs…" "What's wrong with an invisible friend?" The Rowan now plucked that easily from his mind.

"Nothing. Until your younger sister fends out about it and the whole family gives you an unmerciful ragging." Does your friend have a name?

Jeff stroked her head. Bagheera.

Oh?

It's been so long, love, but you know, it's rather odd that he was also a feline, like your Purza. Big, black, powerful, he loved to lie on branches high up in trees which was not surprising as I was always climbing trees myself, or lurk on sunny rock ledges because I used to hide from chores on such places, and he hated water! Which I did not, actually. I loved to swim but I could never get him to join me. He had yellow eyes - like Afra… Jeff's tone was amused/amazed that he had found one point of resemblance with anyone of his acquaintance.

We spent a lot of time discovering unexpected treasures in caverns and mines and other unlikely places. He was good protection against all the terrors of wild, raw Deneb.

And we'd make fortunes for our planet and bring it in to the Central Worlds Autonomy faster than any world had ever been admitted.

Jeff chuckled. "You know, I haven't thought of Bagheera for years! He was, I think, a character in a children's story. I preempted him for my own special use. He was invincible." Hey, are you falling asleep on me again?

"Not really," and yet a massive yawn caught her. "We don't need to move from here, do we?" She snuggled up against him, fending the right hollow in his shoulder for her head. He brought a warm blanket from their bed to cover them so there was no need to rearrange themselves.

Despite what the Rowan saw as Reidinger's intrusiveness, she looked forward to Elizara's visits. Gradually the T-1 Medic appeared on Callisto twice a month and then weekly. At the beginning of the last semester of the pregnancy, Elizara came to stay until the delivery.

"But I'm fine, and the baby is developing perfectly," the Rowan protested, "or so you've told me." Elizara grinned. "You know it to be so yourself, Rowan. Call it an old man's foibles. A young man's too, considering Jeff's state of mind." The Rowan grunted and felt her baby react. To save herself violent convulsions of her womb, she had learned to restrain untoward responses to each new imposition.

"Jeff knows how much family means to you," Elizara said.

"Family?" The Rowan found the wording odd. Jeff never referred to their unborn as "family": usually it was "his" or "their" son, or Jeran when they finally decided on a name for him. But the child's arrival would indeed make them a family!

"There was once a time," Elizara went on in her lilting voice, "when the mother and father of a newborn were totally unprepared for it, or the effect it would have on them and their own relationship. Of course, parenting has become so much a part of early education, that many of the iniquities of earlier centuries can no longer be perpetrated on young, unformed minds. But the highpotential Talent child needs special care and handling, especially at birth and in the first three months." "I know that. I know that! I've been made aware of that by just about everyone in the whole damned Central Worlds. The only one who hasn't alluded to this is Capella and right now I could almost trade places with that dried up old virgin!" "Rowan! If she should hear you!" "She is," the Rowan acidly replied, "probably the only Talent in the entire FT amp;T network who doesn't contact me half a hundred times a day to ensure I'm still all right and the child is alive and kicking! Which he is right now!" "Then calm down!" Elizara exuded an authority that the Rowan found as impossible to evade as Jeff"s. So she found herself initiating meditation in obedient response. Elizara's inner serenity extended itself to the Rowan and the flare of anger and frustration was soothed away.

"Oh, by the way," Elizara said when the Rowan was tranquil again, "I took another liberty on your behalf." She hesitated.

"Why not?" Elizra touched her hand in gentle rebuke. "I've managed to trace the Gwyn family. Just in case there might be some genetic flaws that we should know about in advance." "You did?" the Rowan exclaimed. "But I tried…" "Yes, you tried from Altair," and Elizara gave a little smile, "but not from Earth. And not consulting the original immigration files, only the Altair entries." "They were useless. And?" "Genetics prints were made of all outgoing settlers; genotypes and blood profiles. You could only be the child of Ewain and Morag Gwyn." Shyly Elizara slipped two small holograms from her pouch to the table. "As you'll notice, the tendency to premature silver hair affected both parents." With a reverence akin to awe, the Rowan looked down at the two faces: Despite the fact that her father could have been no more than thirty, his hair was silver while eyebrows and mustache were as black as coal. He had a strong face, and his brows were drawn in a faint scowl. Her mother's hair had silver streaks from a center parting: she looked more worried than anxious, but she had bequeathed her gray eyes to her daughter and the narrow face.

Elizara, if you knew what this gift means - Ah, love, I do! And Elizara laid her hand gently on the Rowan's bowed head.

What's wrong? was Jeff s sudden demand. He was never out of touch with her and he was as grateful to Elizara as she was. That girl's a wonder! Give her a hug for me! I don't dare do it myself or I'll have you to answer to!

I'm much too happy at this moment we knew that, my love!

In her mind was a fiendish chuckle. Warn her!

The Rowan didn't, but smiled happily to herself, her eyes resting on the two holograms until they were indelibly imprinted in her mind.

She had parents now: and it was enough to know that she had had a brother. She could console herself wondering whether he had resembled father or mother more. Maybe Mauli, who was deft with pencil and paint, would draw her a likeness of what her brother might have been.

On one count did the Rowan prevail against Reidinger's over protectiveness: she was allowed to continue working Callisto Station.

Torshan and Saggoner were needed on another colonial outpost, and Elizara, backed by all other medical consultants, reassured Reidinger that the Rowan's mental abilities were in no way affected by the pregnancy.

Nor was her normal occupation affecting her unborn child. The Rowan proved that more conclusively by a suspension of the pyrotechnics which had often disturbed the Station personnel during her moody periods. For this everyone on the Station was grateful.

As soon as her pregnancy became common knowledge, Brian Ackerman had braced Afra, wanting to know if the Rowan would be "OK". "If by OK you mean is she likely to be as difficult as she was before Jeff arrived," Afra replied in a droll tone, his yellow eyes reflecting considerable amusement at the question, "I'm told that pregnant women are often more quiescent and docile." "The Rowan docile? I'd find that hard to believe," was Brian's reply. "But that Elizara's sure a nice person. Does the Rowan like her?" "I believe they are compatible personalities. Elizara is an extremely gifted practitioner. If I were having a baby, I'd like her beside me." Brian regarded the Capellan with a startled glance.

"You're no mutant!" "No, and I'm as male as you are!" Afra stared back at Ackerman.

"I didn't mean… I mean, I know you… Oh, hell. I figured you were gone on the Rowan. Elizara's pretty, young, and…" "I'll make my own match, if you don't mind, Brian, but I appreciate the concern." And Afra retired to his own quarters, leaving Brian wondering if he had mortally offended him and wishing he'd never started the conversation in the first place.

As the delivery date approached, the Rowan spent a lot of time in the Dome's pool. It was the only place she did not feel awkward and unwieldy. She had even discussed a water delivery with Elizara.

"Wherever and however you feel comfortable," the Medic replied.

"This isn't going to be a huge production, is it? I'm not going to have Reidinger shooting more experts up the moment I go into labor?" "Whenever, however, and whoever you need to make birth easy for you and the young Raven," Elizara assured her so firmly that the Rowan let herself be convinced. She appreciated the irony of Reidinger's ban on any travel that precluded her having the child in one of the highly specialized clinics on Earth.

She was aware of all the discreet monitoring devices that had been installed; in her couch in the Tower, her quarters, lining her bed, the pool, the rocking chair which Jeff had made for her with his own hands, the couch in front of the fire, even in the food preparation area.

That was quite enough surveillance but having a baby should be a private affair, not a matter of interest to the inhabited galaxy.

The Rowan suddenly knew of one other presence she wanted very much to have with her: Isthia Raven, with her deep r and her loud voice. The notion surprised her and yet it had a calming effect on her. A matter of con…

"Whoever you need," Elizara repeated, tactfully advising the Rowan that her thoughts were clear.

"But would she come?" The Rowan was inhibited by an odd reticence.

Isthia Raven would be harvesting Deneb's first post ET crop on the family's holdings.

Ask her, Jeff advised when the Rowan timidly tested the notion on him. She'd be honored, and she'd be helpful. She's been taking instruction on that metamorphic treatment that worked so well on me.

Does that stuff help in childbirth?

Would you ask her for me?

What? The redoubtable Rowan is afraid of her mother-in-law?

Well, you are!

Not often. Not since I met you. There was a snide chuckle at the end of that thought.

I don't know why I put up with you!

Because you adore me, of course! Which is reciprocal. The chuckle was replaced by a vision of him as a callow mooncalf.

Isthia Raven was flattered by the Rowan's request and exchanged considerable information with Elizara. She had been rather worried about the Rowan who was, to her mind, not the optimum shape for easy childbearing. She said that she would come as soon as she was needed.

You're needed now, Jeff told his mother. By me, if no one else.

I thought it was the Rowan who wanted me, she replied teasingly.

You know perfectly well that she and your son will be all right.

How many clairvoyant Talents have you asked already?

I see no reason not to avail myself of professional courtesies, Jeff said in a testy tone.

Isthia chuckled and changed the subject, arranging with him to bring her to Callisto a few days before the Rowan's due date. Her own worries ceased the moment she saw the mother to be, radiant and, as the Rowan put it, bulging in all forward directions at this late stage of pregnancy. Isthia sincerely admired their living quarters, remarking drily that she had never expected dome living to be quite so spacious.

She paid very close attention when the Rowan and Jeff explained all the safety features, and held a drill for her.

"Planets at least give you lots of places to hide," she remarked in her droll fashion. "Could be awkward if there was an emergency just when Jeran chooses to arrive," she added, as she peered into one of the safety chambers. She made a pantomime of the Rowan attempting to fit inside.

"The house has triple seals," Jeff remarked. "The Prime cannot be risked." "I'll stay very close to you then, daughter," Isthia said.

"But you certainly have an elegant residence. Ah, well, we'll soon set matters right on Deneb." "Doesn't that ever bother you, Rowan?" she asked after dinner when Jupiter rose, filling the skyview.

She eyed the massive planet warily.

"What? Him? I'm accustomed to it now," the Rowan replied, trying to settle herself on the comfortable couch in front of the fire.

"Levitation?" Isthia suggested, glancing at Elizara for her opinion.

"We've tried that, too," Jeff answered with a rueful grin for the Rowan's dilemma. "Not much longer, love." The Rowan gave a skeptical grunt.

"Elizara, if you're a T-1 Medical, can't you establish a time, or at least a day?" Isthia asked.

"We have been able to improve prenatal care to insure almost one-hundred per cent normal healthy babies," Elizara said with a slight smile, "and we can induce labor if the term runs over a normal gestation, but we're still unable to dictate the ETA." "I wish this one would consider an early appearance," the Rowan remarked wearily.

"It's your first," Isthia said in a dry tone. "The way out is not so obvious." "I've told him and told him," the Rowan replied, "to get…" "Had any effect?" Isthia asked, amused.

"He responds with sentiments of complete satisfaction in his present environment and sees no need to make any alteration." "In that many words?" The Rowan laughed, delighted to have startled Isthia.

"Hardly. I just get an impression of complete contentment." Isthia turned to Elizara. "What about a hands-on? Of course, Rowan isn't overdue…"

Elizara smiled gently. "We wait. Time enough for hands-on if labor stops and we sense a complete reluctance to leave the womb." Then, abruptly, Isthia sat straight up in the lounger which hastily rearranged itself to her change of position.

She cocked her head, listening.

"What's the matter? What do you hear?" The Rowan asked. "Ian?" They might tease Isthia for her "long ear" from time to time but it was always respectful.

"I thought I…" Isthia faltered and looked keenly at Elizara.

"Did you catch anything?" Elizara frowned but she was patently sharpening her senses, listening with that other sensitivity which all three women had in generous measure.

There! Isthia said.

The Rowan had felt something, just at the very edge of her own deep range. Too distant. Anger! Pain!

Whose? Isthia added in a very thoughtful tone. The source defeats me. I don't think it was human!

Elizara regarded her with surprise. How could you hear it, then?

"I heard it, too," the Rowan reminded the medic. She grimaced.

"None of our kin at least," she added to reassure Isthia. Or shall I give a shout and be sure for you?

Slowly Isthia shook her head, frowning with puzzlement. Then, shaking off the brief thrall determinedly, she smiled at the other two.

"If it had been you, Rowan, we could put it down to prenatal nerves."

The Rowan sighed with deep exasperation, and stroked her extended abdomen. "C'mon, now, son, get in to position and let's end this waiting. You're old enough to be born now."

Two days later, as splendid Jupiter rose to obscure deep space from those in the Callisto dome, Jeran Raven decided to take his mother's advice. The baby dropped his head into the birth canal, precipitating the breaking of the Rowan's waters, and almost before Elizara could help the Rowan block the pain, long and intense contractions began.

Just off duty from the Tower, Jeff arrived as Isthia and Elizara were making the Rowan as comfortable as possible.

"Now is the time for hands-on," Elizara told him, "to reassure your son. This is the difficult part for him and he must not draw back or resist." It comforted the Rowan tremendously to have Jeff's strong body supporting her, his hands stroking her; to join mental forces in urging their son to endure this brief discomfort and be made welcome in the world of the living.

Isn't it a shade hypocritical of us, the Rowan said very privately to Jeff, to require him to leave the safety of the womb, for how can we promise him safety when we've never known it?

So you want to stay pregnant for the rest of your life? Was Jeff's reply as he smoothed back silver hair already damp with sweat.

NO!

Then push! Elizara urged. Take Isthia's hands!

Isthia's strong hands anchored her through the massive contractions that followed: hands that also soothed and eased the involuntary spasms.

"Those contractions are fierce," Isthia remarked.

"Not unusually so," Elizara replied, "and at five minute intervals." "Is he resisting or is it me?" The Rowan asked, panting with relief as a particularly severe contraction ended.

"A little of both," Elizara replied, and the Rowan could find no qualification in the Talent's mind. I never lie to my patients!

Not to this one, you couldn't!

Nor in the present company she's keeping, Elizara added, her tone amused. "All right, now, here comes another one." They all sensed the child's sudden reluctance as the pressures of his mother's womb caught him in an inexorable rhythum. He disliked the sensation: it frightened him. He was instantly reassured of warmth and love and comfort if he did not falter. He did not like this experience at all.

I'm not much enjoying it right now myself, my son, the Rowan told him and then could not even think as a particularly hard contraction seized her. She clasped Isthia's hands in a grip that she feared would bruise the flesh.

Hold hard!

To the Rowan, caught by the inexorable process of birthing, the struggle with her son seemed to go on interminably. The contractions came more frequently, lasted longer and but for the nerve blocks she would have been in some agony. As it was, the muscular strain wearied her.

Please, Jeran, please! she cried, wondering how much more of this she could endure.

Gripped by yet another massive contraction, she felt Elizara and Isthia place hands on her heaving abdomen, and this contraction seemed to be abetted by their minds, overruling Jeran's resistance. As the boy's head passed out of the birth canal, he gave a terrible cry, mental and physical, of protest, of resentment, of fear.

"You are born, my son," the Rowan cried with mind and mouth as she opened her eyes to see Elizara receive the baby's wet and wriggling body in her hands.

Jeran wailed again, a confused and angry cry at the difference of environment, the noise, the cold, the disorientation.

There, there! three adult minds consoled him. There, there. You are loved, you are wanted. Here, now, you will be warm. You will be comforted.

Elizara deposited the baby on his mother's newly deflated belly while she performed the necessary post natal offices.

"Even upside down, you're beautiful," the Rowan told Jeran, intercepting one of his violently waving hands as he continued to complain on several levels about the brutal treatment he had just been through. He's so strong!

So angry! and Jeff's tone was immediately proud and relieved.

Now, now, my beautiful boy! Its all over.

Lord no, it's just starting, Isthia replied. "Good lungs on him," she added approvingly.

He has obviously inherited your voice, mother, Jeff said.

That birth shout was loud enough to reach Deneb!

And you're son-spoken? Isthia teased back, beaming with joy, at the successful birth.

"Just over four kilos," Elizara said, pleased. "You wouldn't want any heavier a child, Rowan. And no worse for the passage. Now we will all soothe him on the most primitive levels.

Ganging up on my poor son? asked Jeff, fatuously smiling down at Jeran.

Soothing your not at all poor son, Elizara rebuked him.

This is the most important part for a child as obviously Talented as Jeran is. Hands-on! Isthia, begin on the metamorphic levels.

Rowan won't want him operating on a psionic high over the next few months.

As Isthia stroked the sturdy little feet, she began to croon softly. Elizara and Jeff sponged him clean, all the time soothing him with touch, mind and voice. Soon he was yawning and quite willing to drift off into sleep.

When the afterbirth was delivered and the Rowan made comfortable again in her bed, the sleeping child was placed in her arms and Jeff stretched out beside them both, his eyes dark and brimming with love.

I never thought I would feel quite this intensely about a baby who will shortly drive us both demented with infantile needs, Jeff said.

On his forefinger, he tipped up Jeran's little hand which opened to curl about it. I'll be the most impossible father in the galaxy.

Jeran IS quite the most marvelous baby, the Rowan agreed, as fatuous with pride as he was. "What… on earth?" At her altered tone, Jeff followed her startled gaze and saw containers and arrangements of flowers of every variation imaginable appear and settle themselves on whatever surface was available until the room was almost filled with them.

"What is going on?" Jeff scrambled to his feet though what harm could masses of blossoms cause.

That young 'un has so loud a voice I knew before Elizara told me! said the familiar voice of Reidinger in an unfamiliar whisper.

Thank you!

Jeff and the Rowan stared at each other for the uncharacteristic savility in Earth Prime's tone.

Rowan? Jeff? Isthia's voice, too, was hesitant but there was such an underlying throb of excitement that they both asked what was wrong. Nothing except there can't be any flowers left on Earth for the masses that just appeared all over the dome!

"You should see our room," Jeff called aloud. "Come on in, and where's Elizara?" "In the pool - if there's room for her to swim among the water lilies I saw heading in that direction," Isthia said in quiet mirth as she opened the door. She halted, staring around her in amazement. "Who on earth…"

"Reidinger!" the Rowan and Jeff said in unison.

They heard a distant exclamation, and a much more audible. Grandfather, haven't you got a wit left in your head?

So much floral perfume and pollens are not good for a baby!

"Grandfather?" Now Isthia joined Rowan and Jeff in chorus.

Oh, bugger, I blew it! Elizara sounded disgusted. Just let me dress and I'll come clean.

Come clean first, dress is optional, Jeff replied, doubling up in a paroxysm of laughter.

Don't laugh, Jeff. The Rowan said, wrapping both hands around her much abused abdominal muscles. Please don't make me laugh, Jeff!

Please!

Isthia came to the Rowan's assistance with strong hands on her belly, trying hard to scowl at Jeff but grinning broadly at the same time. Then Elizara appeared, her hair still wet, swathed in a big towel, and looking chagrined.

"Reidinger's your grandfather?" The Rowan asked, wondering how she could have missed the relationship.

"Actually my great-grandfather, but that's a mouthful and makes him feel ancient. I buried that fact behind a shield before I came here. Grandfather impressed on me that you might resent my help if you discovered the relationship. But I'm also the best qualified person for such an important accouchement. And what I told you in our first interview was true: I offered to come but he was so dreadfully relieved that I had. He may holler and rant at you, Rowan, but, believe me, that indicated just how much he cares about you. And about Jeff. And now Jeran is added to his most special list." The Rowan closed her arm protectively about Jeran and glared at Elizara. "I'm NOT breeding for FT amp;T." "No more am I," Elizara replied with a laugh, "but children are part of being a woman. Can you deny that you feel more feminine at this moment than at any other time in your whole life?" The Rowan considered this and had to agree. "In fact, now I've done it, I won't mind being pregnant often." She shot a sly glance at Jeff. "Only Reidinger must know it's because we want more children, Talented or not." "I won't for a moment deny that my grandfather lives and breathes for the efficiency and continued success and expansion of FT amp;T." Elizara's eyes twinkled. "He was massively disappointed that I went medical but that's where my Talent lay. In fact the poor dear," and she grinned as she caught the surprise in their minds at her loving reference, "has been continually disappointed in his seven children and their progeny unto the third generation. He's the third Reidinger to be Earth Prime, you see.

Not always consecutive. The Talent sometimes skipped one generation. He did so want to train up a fourth. That's one reason for his bad temper. He feels he's been let down by genetics. Oh, most of us have valid Talents but none of us are Prime candidates. It is the rarest combination of Talent, you know. And you both are, and so is young Jeran." "Reidinger has an odd way of displaying concern," the Rowan replied testily. "When I think of the blastings I've received…"

"Come now, Rowan," and Elizara's tone altered, "surely you, of all the Primes, appreciate loneliness!" She paused while the Rowan did indeed feel the pinch of that accusation. "Grandfather cannot let personal feelings interfere with his professional responsibilities. Much as it might surprise you," and the gentle Elizara spoke with an edge to her voice, "he feels very deeply. He just hides it better than anyone else." My apologies, the Rowan said meekly. I know I'm selfcentered. "Primes tend to be," Elizara said more mildly, "it's a hazard of the profession. And you mustn't change your responses to him. He'd be annoyed with me for even suggesting that there were chinks in his shield. But I'm a match for him. As you two are. And you, Isthia, are far stronger than I first thought." Isthia had been watching Elizara's face intently. Now she shrugged noncommittally.

"Deneb is my future. But I am interested in these insights on the formidable Earth Prime." Her voice ended on an upward note.

Elizara gave a brief warning frick of her hand. "Enough of banter. Let's move some of these flowers out of this room. Too many is just too many for newborn lungs." "Not to mention the air conditioning units in this part of the dome," Jeff said.

"You know, it was really rather sweet of him," the Rowan murmured sleepily. And by the time the transfer was finished, she was fast asleep, one arm curled protectively about her son.

"He's rather a good baby, as babies are," Isthia remarked several days later when she was making her farewells. "I didn't think I'd miss Ian, but I do. And I've wallowed in luxury far too long." She ignored her son's snicker and laid her hand on her sleeping grandson's forehead. "He'll be a handful, Rowan, but you've started out right." "Thanks to you, Isthia," and the Rowan's voice and mind were deep with gratitude.

Isthia gave her an understanding smile. "I stood in loco parentis, my dear, and we both know it. Nonetheless I was flattered.

She bent over and kissed the Rowan's cheek.

"Such a bit of a thing!" And quickly left the room.

The Rowan's farewell wishes followed her personal capsule all the way back to Deneb. Elizara stayed on another few days, to be sure the Rowan had completely recovered physically as the delivery had been strenuous despite its brevity.

"I'm telling Reidinger in no uncertain terms," Elizara said as she, too, prepared to leave the new family, "that you are to be on maternity leave until I approve your return to work. He'll growl and rage but I won't budge an inch. He loves it when someone stands up to him. You don't know how delighted he was when you popped in on him." "I'd never have known," the Rowan replied drolly.

"Besides, he's not about to risk his pet Prime." "I dislike being considered a "pet" anything," the Rowan responded tartly. She was nursing Jeran and her expression was singularly at odds with her voice.

"I'll remind him," Elizara replied mildly. "You're a good mother, too," she added. "That will please him more," and she grinned as that brought a sharp glare from the Rowan.

"You are, you know. It comes naturally." Then she frowned slightly. "Who is Purza? Your mother?" The Rowan stared at her.

"Will she never stop haunting me?" "She wasn't haunting," Elizara replied, pausing to consider her next words. "She's far too happy." "Purza," the Rowan said with some asperity, "was what I called the pukha they gave me on Altair." Elizara raised her eyebrows slightly.

"She's been more than that, Rowan." She smiled gently. "And right now, she's proud and happy for you, that alter ego of yours. As you are proud and happy after a very long road to find such emotions." "My alter ego is a pukha?" "Why not?" Again that slightly mischievous grin curved Elizara's lips. "It was very cleverly and ingeniously programmed, you know." She laid a reassuring hand on the Rowan's shoulder and with the tactile contact more of Elizara's professional approval flowed through to the Rowan's mind. "Purza's physical form was destroyed by that arrogant little bouzma but you never really lost her." She gathered up her things. "Remember now, I'm only a thought away and I will be open to you at any time." With parents so closely in contact with Jeran's needs, he made excellent progress and was rarely troublesome without an easily discernible reason. The children in Callisto Dome were as entranced with him as the adults.

The Rowan recovered her energy while Jeff twitted her about her "maternal" curves.

When Elizara arrived back at Callisto Dome for the six weeks' postnatal check, she pronounced both mother and son in excellent health.

However, no sooner was the Rowan back in the Tower, Jeran in a carrier by her couch, than Reidinger sent for Jeff.

"That's mean!" the Rowan complained, pacing up and down. "Your son needs your presence. I need your presence. I don't care what Elizara said, he's got no right to break up our family unit." "Sweetheart, we don't know that that's his intention," Jeff replied.

She caught his not quite suppressed thought. "You! You like whizzing about, oozing charm over everyone! Traipsing about the galaxy like a… a…" "Trapeze artist?" Jeff suggested mildly, not the least bit ashamed of his inclinations. "And you can't fool me that you like someone else, even me, managing your Tower."

"Callisto is your bailiwick: it works more efficiently with your mindset than anyone else's." She eyed him. "Now, wait a minute, Jeff Raven, don't try those tactics on me!" "The last person in the world I can fool," and he held out his arms to her. We don't stay angry with each other, love.

We know each other far too well. He fitted his body to hers, her head under his chin and reassured her with every fiber of his being.

"Besides, I'm curious as to what Reidinger has in mind for me now. I've been everywhere else and even I know that Central Worlds isn't planning to install a new Tower any time soon." Faced with the inevitable, she lifted his capsule and thrust it efficiently toward Earth and, with a sigh, went back to work.

Jeff was absolutely correct about Callisto being her Tower. Being Altairian Prime had been a subtle victory and she had enjoyed working with old friends, and using her new awareness to facilitate a blending of the Talent required to operate such a major way point. But Callisto was hers, her home, where she had met and loved Jeff, and where their son had been born. The Tower personnel were an integrated team that had survived all her early foolishness and she now realized they had become the family she had lost. Afra was more younger brother than colleague. He honestly found Jeran an enchanting child which only reinforced her good opinion of him.

Live stuff coming in, Afra's thought broke through her musing and instantly she caught the large personnel carrier as it arced up from Earth Prime.

Hi, honey, and Jeff's mind, the initiating kinetic, met hers.

Breeding animals for Deneb! We got a bonus: maternity and paternity.

FT amp;T policy, so don't raise your hackles. I just blew all mine to restock the farm. I'll be home tonight.

She could hear that he had something of momentous proportions to tell her. It was a long day for her, part of it waiting, part of it attending to Jeran's needs, but most of it wondering what sort of an assignment Reidinger was now laying on Jeff. She'd be willing even to leave Callisto but she had to be with Jeff.

You will be, love! His quick thought answered her. His mind resounded with elation.

The Rowan was nursing Jeran when Jeff arrived back so surreptitiously that she didn't hear him until she felt his presence behind her. Jeran let out a frightened squeak.

Then Jeff opened up the blaze of his exultation and his son's eyes grew as round as his mother's as the import of Jeff's news clarified.

"Earth Prime!" "Shhh! Everyone'll hear you," Jeff said, sliding on to the bed beside her and kissing her neck.

"You mean, everyone'll hear you!" Then she absorbed the implications. "Earth Prime? Reidinger's Earth Prime." Sadness tinged Jeff's face and mind. "Mother caught it from Elizara. We were too involved with Jeran here to notice. Did you realize that Reidinger is old?" "Oh!" Jeff nodded. "Precisely!" And he opened his mind to all that had occurred during that momentous interview in Reidinger's spacious hidden office in the FT amp;T Cube.

How desperately Reidinger yearned to retire and enjoy a few years free of the stresses of such high position: a desire made more urgent after Siglen's demise for Reidinger was very much aware that his mind faltered from time to time out of sheer fatigue and the debilities of his advanced age.

Yet he could not relinquish command to an unsuitable personality. It would have been me? The Rowan said, shrinking from the very notion of such onerous responsibility. Patently Jeff regarded it as a magnificent challenge.

Sorry to do you out of it, love… He grinned, knowing the depths of her relief. Idly he reached out to let Jeran's fist curl around his fingers, his expression dotingly tender for an omnipotent Prime-elect. Up until my call for help, you were being subtly groomed for the job. David certainly wasn't capable, much less Capella. When I think what I can now do for Deneb.

"For Deneb?" the Rowan echoed, startled. Then she began to laugh, loving him more devotedly than ever for that altruistic consideration.

Small wonder he had become Reidinger's choice.

Jeff nodded, his brilliant blue eyes twinkling with delight in her appreciation. It simply isn't on for Earth Prime's native world to be second-rate, now is it?

You demanded a Denebian Tower as a condition?

Lover, and Jeff stretched out on the bed, punched a pillow comfortably behind his head, I could have demanded the moons of the solar system on a diamond chain and had them. As you well understand, Central Worlds has to have the best Talent as its Prime. His grin was particularly arch. I don't think I was greedy or particularly difficult. But Deneb will have a Tower. You cobbled together the basic facilities: we'll improve them and send in teachers and assessors.

Rakella's oldest boy bids fair to develop into a reasonable Prime.

That is, until Jeran here is old enough to take over.

The Rowan curled her arms protectively about her son.

"My baby's not going to be marooned on Deneb! You said you wouldn't let him be indentured to FT amp;T." Jeff flipped over on his side, stroking her cheek to reduce her wrath, grinning in a fashion that she could never resist.

"Love, the whole game plan just changed, in our favor. It'll be quite another matter if our children end up running FT amp;T, now won't it? We'll raise 'em the way Primes should be reared, in a large and loving family. None of them will have to make do with a pukha. Not while we live! We're a team, love, with strengths and resources not given to many. We'll make the best possible use of our Talents." His expression was both entreating and serious.

"On that score, let us have a meeting of minds." Loving him as she did, that is exactly what they had.

Jeran was a hearty six months old when the Rowan conceived again.

She was amazed to be roundly scolded by everyone.

"It's my body!" was her response. "I feel fine so stop fussing at me." Despite his increasing frailty, Reidinger's voice was not off a decibel in full bellow as he let her know in no uncertain terms that he considered she was putting both herself and the new child at risk by becoming pregnant so soon.

Reidinger, you will butt out of my private life. You are the last person who should have objections! she responded in icy tones. You made it abundantly clear to Jeff by the tonne on the hoof how much you appreciated Jeran. What's your gripe?

I will not have my best Prime… The Rowan laughed heartily and without a tinge of jealousy. Do get your facts straight, old dear.

You told Jeff that HE was your best Prime.

DON'T YOU DARE INTERRUPT ME…No, I shouldn't, should I? the Rowan replied meekly. It's Sooooo bad for your blood pressure or heart or lungs or cranium or whatever. So you be a good boy and take some of that tonic and mind your Tower. While you still can… She felt him gathering himself for another blast and then suddenly, he was silent.

For a heart-stopping moment, the Rowan wondered if she had gone too far.

No, I told him it was our business, Jeff reassured her, and then went on in another mental tone entirely, but even Mother gave herself a year between pregnancies.

The Rowan, rather too sweetly: I thought you wanted to come home tonight to your loving wife and adoring son?

There was another pause. I will be home and I will discuss it with you.

Another of those times, the Rowan thought to herself testily, when a man thinks he knows more about maternity than someone who has borne a child. So she decided just how to handle him this evening before he could handle her.

She hadn't meant to get pregnant again so soon, but Reidinger dispatched Jeff to check on this or that Terran installation, or to the Moon, and then the big Mars substation, and the more important Asteroid Wheels. Jeff had to be introduced to all the Governors as well as the more important members of the Nine-Star League.

Consequently, when he was on Callisto, they tended to make up for opportunities lost.

"I've had to sit through some of the dreariest meetings," he told her wearily. "It ought to be a prerequisite to high government office that the incumbent be at least a T-4.

That would halve the time spent in politicking and correctly aligning power balances." "I didn't realize that Reidinger had to deal with that kind of administrative nonsense," the Rowan said. "No wonder the man is aged before his time." "Oh, that isn't part of the FT amp;T Prime's function but as their apparent, I have to be displayed to all those who worry about leaving FT amp;T autonomous. I've got to be shown to be the right sort of stuff and all that. As it is, not all the League Ambassadors are convinced that an ex-colonist is the "right sort of person" to be entrusted with such grave responsibilities."

Jeff's mobile face ran a gamut of the lugubrious, skeptical, or censorious expressions of his various detractors and had the Rowan in whoops.

"Be glad you're stationed on Callisto," he assured her and then turned his attention to more pressing matters: such as showing her how much he had missed her.

Which was why she was pregnant now despite the fact that a Talent of her scope and strength was able to affect certain bodily functions.

She had forgotten - well, neglected - to affect the possible outcome of the evening's pleasures. The two children - this one, by the Rowan's choice, was female - would be close in age, yes, but the Rowan and Jeff would make certain that they were close in affection as well: another fringe benefit of strong Talent when properly directed.

Rowan! Jeff's urgent call reached her as she was feeding Jeran his supper. Even her name was colored with excitement - and more.

Mother wants me to come out to Deneb.

Something's troubling her. She said you and Elizara had a hint of it, too, just before Jeran was born. Do you remember?

Suddenly the Rowan did, though she had given the incident no further thought, being involved in maternal duties.

Elizara felt something but couldn't define it. Any more than I could beyond anger and pain. At the time, Isthia thought it wasn't even human.

I'd better go and see what I can hear.

The Rowan gave a mental snort which Jeran picked up, regarding his mother with rounded eyes and a certain babyish pout of anxiety. She soothed him on one level and responded to Jeff on another. Your mother's got the "long ear". Which, in her son, has been considerably refined, sharpened, strengthened, horned, and is completely operational.

Maybe now is the time to pester Isthia to train early.

Jeff returned to Callisto the following morning, arriving by his own gestalt with the first batch of inbound drones.

Hi, darling. Where've you stashed our son? Ah, with you.

Look, I'm going to bathe and eat, then I'll join you. I'm twelve hours behind Callisto's day. His buoyant mental tone reassured her that whatever Isthia had heard could not be of an urgency. Jeran was asleep when Jeff reached the Tower. She continued her grab and thrust, keeping the generators at a high peak. He waited to join her until she had handled the outward bound freight. He brought up cups of the sweetened drink she liked, handing her one, kissing her forehead, before pausing to stare down at their sleeping son, a doting expression on his face.

"He doesn't look like anyone in my family," he remarked and not for the first time.

"He looks like himself, Jeran Gwyn-Raven. Well?" She regarded him over the rim of her cup.

"Well, I don't know what upset my mother," and he perched on the console, one arm across his chest, the other supporting his cup. "I didn't hear a blessed thing. But Rakella said she did, too, and Besseva Eagle, who's been ninety-eight per cent accurate in all her precogs, thinks there is trouble on its way to us." He made an immense circle with his free arm. "Immense trouble." "The beetles wouldn't come back for more. Would they?" That would account for the anger and pain I felt.

"Beetle anger? Beetle pain?" Jeff was close to laughter at the suggestion. "Though they might well have been annoyed at the loss of two advance assault vessels. However, from what the specialists have deduced to date, they had a hivelike societal structure - our merge saw eggs in the ship, remember, and we found hundreds in the space debris - at various stages of larval development for different types of beetles. Hive societies don't tend to emotions: workers, drones, queens, whatever, do exactly what they were bred to do." "Yes, but there was sentience of some sort directing the three vessels that attacked Deneb. That oversized beetle we saw in the protected inner chamber of the ship? The queen. Could it have been intelligent enough to direct the others?" "Hmm. Tactics did change," was Jeff's grudging admission.

"Beetles tend to be tenacious," the Rowan added, though "tenacity" was certainly more of a trait than an emotion.

Jeff shrugged. "They can come back, angry, hurt, or merely tenacious, any time they care to have more of the same. And when they get anywhere near the perimeter of League Space, alarms will ring all over our sphere of influence." "I'd've chalked it up to prenatal nerves," the Rowan went on, still trying to analyze the faint emotions she had perceived, "except that Isthia heard it, too." "Isthia's maternal sensitivity is exceedingly acute," Jeff agreed but his tone also assured the Rowan that he was not going to make the mistake of dismissing the incident.

Rowan? It was Isthia's tone, stronger than her usual mental voice, have I caught you at a bad time?

Jeran and I are having a swim, the Rowan replied, not slow to catch the anxious undertones to that deceptive query. What's wrong?

Whatever IT is is getting stronger and more aminous. Her worry was deep. Rakella and Besseva concur, and eve'y woman with any modicum of Talent on this planet is beginning to display anxiety symptoms.

You'd think the planet was populated by viragoes the way tempers are flaring for no reason at all. Rakella and Besseva are merged with me to make this contact!

And here I thought you'd yielded and taken some training!

The Rowan deliberately spoke in a light vein.

Now I wish I had. I shan't be so perverse if we get out of this!

Even as she spoke to Isthia, the Rowan had risen from the pool and thrown towels around her son's wriggling body and her own.

I take it no masculine minds have been touched by this phenomenon? the Rowan asked, deftly inserting Jeran into his padded pants.

She also assembled some travel requirements for them both.

That's it precisely. Isthia's reply was grim. The male minds don't hear a twitch. Not that they won't listen to those of us who do!

Callisto is occluded right now so I'll call a day of rest. I think I'll bring Mauli with me. She's a keen echo finder even Mick isn't present. Jeff's on Procyon. Be with you soon.

The Rowan did not find Afra or Ackerman as cooperative about what they termed a "rash and impulsive venture". "Mauli will do anything you ask," Ackerman said testily, "but I'm damned if Afra and I will take the responsibility for you two, and Jeran, baring off to Deneb without at least checking with Jeff." "I can't disturb Jeff in that meeting on Procyon right now. And if I have to, Brian, I can also launch myself and Mauli without a gestalt," the Rowan replied, gesturing for Mauli to settle herself in the double capsule. She handed Jeran over and faced her critics. "Now, will you stop being overprotective and run up the generators? You both know that Isthia wouldn't put me, or Jeran, in jeopardy but if she wants me on Deneb, she's earned the right to my assistance at any time. Hasn't she?" "At least clear it with Jeff," Ackerman replied in a request that was nearly a plea.

Jeff, Isthia wants me on Deneb. The situation is hotting up.

Really? Should I come? She could sense that he was only half-listening to her. He was at a meeting but not bored.

I'm taking Jeran and Mauli.

He's old enough for a long 'port.

Afra and Ackerman had to accede to her orders then, but she knew both were uneasy. But then, they always were when she wanted to 'port anywhere: even when she was now undisturbed by the process.

Call this an inspection tour by the Denebian Prime-to-be, Afra, and don't worry, dear friend, the Rowan said, lightly touching Afra's forearm so she could impose assurance on him.

He gave a shrug and a wry smile, then helped her into the double carrier beside Mauli. Brian's scowl did not abate as the canopy locked shut. Then he turned on his heel and returned to the Tower, Afra following him.

Though this would not be Jeran's first 'port, for Jeff had taken him out beyond Jupiter on several occasions to accustom his son to the sensations, it would be his longest.

He spent the transfer gurgling and enthusiastically waving his arms. He registered Isthia's welcoming mind-touch with an extra chirrup. He liked his grandmother and his mind associated her with soothing sounds and contacts.

Did you catch that, Mauli? the Rowan asked, sometimes unable to restrain her pride in Jeran's obvious Talent.

Mauli's smile broadened into a laugh.

Isthia brought them with no more than a light bump into the cradle at the fine new Tower, bathed in spotlights at this time of Deneb's night, its big, new generators humming idly. The Rowan had a nostalgic moment for what she had contrapted out of sheer necessity but then Isthia, Rakella, and a third woman whom the Rowan identified by mind-touch as Besseva emerged from the facility. Besseva reminded the Rowan so forcefully of Lusena, physically and mentally, that she experienced a brief jolt at the contact.

I am then doubly honored, Besseva said, inclining her head slightly toward the Callisto Prime.

"And no problems with this fellow in a long 'port, I gather," said Isthia, taking her grandson from his mother and settling him on her hip as she had her own children. "I am truly grateful to you, Rowan, and to you as well, Mauli, for humoring me."

"Humoring you? Spare me that, Isthia!" The Rowan let her exasperation color her mind as well as her voice. "Since you've obviously left the generators on, let's see what we can plumb out there. I brought Mauli for that echo effect she has." "Night is the best time to sense the presence," Isthia said.

"And we have!" Besseva stated firmly, and Rakella gave a single emphatic nod of her head.

All three Denebians emanated a tenseness, a barely controlled fear that bordered on terror. The Rowan was seized with an urgent need to either deny or confirm it.

The Tower had been enlarged as well as modernized and, judging by the blank west wall, clearly the architect intended to expand in that direction when the time came for Deneb to have a full Prime Station.

"That's right, Jeran, look about you! This may one day be your domain," the Rowan said, grinning archly at Isthia, trying to neutralize their fears so she could be objective. They felt so strongly that it was, for once, difficult for the Rowan to maintain her integrity.

"Poor baby! What a fate!" Isthia stroked his cheek and then placed him in one of the spare couches, lightly strapping him safely in. "He shouldn't be bothered there." She gestured for the others to take the conformable seating grouped at the main console. Then she courteously gestured for the Rowan to initiate the gestalt.

As the Rowan felt the ready response of the bank of generators, she grinned again at the change from that poor wheeze of an affair.

Isthia had been practicing, for her mind smoothly blended with hers: then Rakella, Besseva, and a little timidly, Mauli merged.

Where? the Rowan asked.

Isthia pointed to her right, slightly west of true north, at one of the more brilliant constellations in the Denebian skies. The Rowan didn't know its astronomical designation for she was more familiar with the patterns in Altairian or Callistan skies.

Though I don't think that star system is where it originates, Isthia added. But it is coming from that general area of space.

The Rowan let her augmented mind range beyond Deneb's night horizon, beyond its moons, far, far out, past Deneb's heliopause, into the blackness of space. This merge was vastly different to the one she had led to Deneb's help nearly two years ago. This time she was the focus. Suddenly Yegrani's Sight came back to her, and the Rowan wondered if perhaps she had erred in believing that the Sight had been fulfilled with Deneb's trouble and Jeff's arrival.

You have not yet been the focus of which Yegrani spoke, said the quiet voice of Besseva, nor was she ambiguous.

Deneb's danger was not yours. This is!

What the Rowan felt then was not prompted by Besseva's voice or words. There was inarguably something dangerously evil inexorably heading toward Deneb's system.

No, not evil! Determined! And determined in a sense that gives new potency to such a mind-set. The thian section of the mind merge qualified the emanation.

Rowan: The emanation has no pain now. No anger.

Besseva: In time all pain heals and the anger has been sublimated into purpose.

Rowan: What IS it? Though she could discern intense and unrelenting mental activity, she could "see" or "read" nothing: she could detect no string of thoughts being processed, only the moil of determination.

Rakella: "It" is not single!

Mauli, in a surprised tone: "It" is a many. And they frighten me!

They are… oily.

Isthia, bleakly: This "many" exudes a purpose of destruction.

Enough to agitate even an insensitive mind.

Rowan, recalling vividly that earlier merge: The survivor was sent off in that general direction!

Isthia: The merge didn't follow it to its destination?

Rowan, with a sigh for that error: At the time our actions seemed sufficiently punitive.

Isthia: All should have been destroyed.

Rowan: Hmm, yes, a bad judgment error. We didn't succeed in scaring them off. We should have plunged all into the sun and saved a lot of cleaning up. Were you in that merge, Isthia?

Isthia: No, and there was a thread of droll amusement in her tone.

I was otherwise occupied. This time we will see the threat removed completely.

Rowan: We will not err this time. Only what will be a sufficient deterrent?

Besseva: I respectfully suggest total annihilation.

Rowan: That notion will be totally unacceptable to the League Councillors. Even the aliens are nonviolent.

Isthia: Drastic measures must be considered. The hive mentality obviously didn't respond to a fear stimulus. Just what sort of intelligence guides this second assault?

Mauli: Would it be wrong to assume that, as in other insect colonies, the female, or egglaying gender, is the guiding force?

Ensuring the perpetuation of the species?

Isthia: A logical assumption since we apparently sense what the masculine mind does not.

Rowan: I resent reacting to a beetle.

Isthia, drolly: Did you see the reconstruction the specialists made of one of those "beetles"? BIG! Even one of the smaller types would be a formidable opponent! Don't think of them as beetles. Think of them as BIG, dangerous animosities. I should not like to have to defend myself against them on Deneb's surface.

Besseva, in a dry voice: Especially as Deneb has little in the way of defensive weaponry. Hunting anns wouldn't even dint their body covering. If we can assume that we are dealing with a hive society Isthia: I think we can. Remember the eggs among the debris of the ships that were destroyed.

Besseva: And with a species that will pour huge numbers of determined troops into a surface assault, they must be halted before they reach the planet! Or we'd better think of evacuating Deneb right now.

Isthia, in unalterable defiance: We are NOT abandoning Deneb.

Mauli: I sense something so massive… and broke off, tucking her fear as far away from consideration as she could.

Rowan: That has not escaped any of us, Mauli.

Isthia, wryly: D'you think we'll get the Fleet this time without a lengthy argument, Rowan?

Rowan: You better believe it! Even if I have to 'port every unit myself…

Besseva: Be a little more subtle, Rowan. Just tell Earth Prime that you refuse to leave Deneb until naval reinforcements arrive!

Isthia, laughing: Reidinger won't risk you!

Mauli: Shouldn't we withdraw? They might sense us.

Rowan: I doubt it, Mauli. There is no sense of awareness of anything other than their purpose. Deneb. And that's the reason we sense them: their purpose is aimed at us! Single mindedness has certain disadvantages. I just wish I could perceive more details, unravel the mechanics of their thought processes. The Fleet will want details.

Isthia: So will Reidinger and Jeff. But there are none.

They will have to trust our perceptions. She sounded dubious.

Rowan: Oh, they'll believe us! Why have a dog and bark yourself?

Isthia: Say what?

Rowan, chuckling: One of Siglen's little sayings.

The Rowan began to relax the focus of the merge and was astonished to see daylight flooding through the Tower windows. Jeran was sound asleep, his right thumb pulling down his lower lip. A quick glimpse reassured the Rowan that his mind held no trace of any neglect, that he had fallen asleep unfelled.

"I hadn't realized we'd be gone so long," Isthia said with apology, looking at the station timer. "Five hours! You took us farther than we'd been able to reach.

The Rowan stretched, easing stiff muscles as she swung her legs off the conformer. The others were doing the same.

Rowan! Jeff's tone bordered the peremptory. Where have you been?

I couldn't reach you at all!

Well, have a good look then, my love, because Deneb's the target once again. Only this time we won't stop with half measures, the Rowan replied and opened her mind to him.

That's fascinating! Jeff replied when he had absorbed the total report. Nor can anyone ignore this as a case of mass hysteria if you and my mother are involved. And Besseva, he added hastily, with a mental grin of apology. These days I know why Reidinger couldn't just call up the Fleet when I wanted him to during the last invasion. But I also know which panic buttons to press to initiate a Red Alert.

Isthia, at her drollest: If what we sense about the incoming vessel is even marginally accurate, the Fleet wouldn't be of any use.

Except psychologically.

Jeff: Mother! You'll crush their fragile egos! Surely they're good for something!

Isthia: Well, they might be able to spot the thing when it gets closer but, to be perfectly candid, I don't want that thing to get much nearer! It's causing sufficient havoc as far out as it is and I dread what it'll do up close.

Jeff: It would be wisest to nip its pretensions as soon as possible.

Isthia, patiently: It's not an "it", Jeff. It's a "many", a feminine "many" Jeff. Then we are in trouble! And he was only half-joking.

Are you staying on there, Rowan? His thought was only for her and its wistfulness made her smile.

Rowan, with a quick look at Isthia: No, I should return to Callisto. I can nag people just as easily from there. I'll leave Mauli to help keep in touch. But I assure you, if we don't get immediate action, I'll come right back here so the League will be forced to take this seriously. These creatures may be heading for Deneb, but to have such animosities anywhere in the League's sphere of influence endangers ALL!

Isthia: It's proceeding at a frightening rate of speed.

Jeff: I know. I'll persuade Admiral Tomiakin to lend me a fast scout ship for reconnaissance.

Rowan: With you on it?

Jeff: Who better? A grin tickled the edges of her mind. I didn't call wolf the first time so they'll listen to me.

Isthia said aloud and screening her thought: "Men! They have to have their place in the scheme, don't they?" Rowan: You'd better be sure there's a large female complement on that scout. Or better still, take Mauli with you.

She knows what to listen for.

Jeff: Your wish is my command!

"I think everyone is going to have to be in on this defensive action," the Rowan said soberly, "or that thing is going to land on Deneb. And all too soon." The Rowan knew she had only put into words what the others thought but saying it out loud did nothing to relieve the tension.

"I will arrange a watch rota," Isthia said. "There are enough of us to do that. And Rakella, you can see about some sort of medication to dampen the reaction." "Not every woman is experiencing it," Rakella remarked.

Isthia grinned in sudden humor. "So we find out just how much of Deneb's female population have traces of Talent. "'Tis an ill wind that blows no-one good." Rowan, very privately: You're amazing!

Isthia, equally private: Take the good with the bad.

Then Jeran awoke to be fed, so Isthia hustled mother and son back to the rebuilt Raven Farmhouse, where the stock purchased by Jeff's paternity bonus grazed on the lush hybrid grass that had thrived in Denebian soil. What surprised the Rowan about the new residence was that most of it was built underground.

"Once bitten, twice shy," Isthia replied with a shrug and a grin, "as well as being sound home-engineering: energy efficient, cooler in the summer and warmer in the winter. And I feel a lot safer. Doesn't mess up the landscape either. You'll find more of Deneb City underground. We'll overfly it on our way back to the Tower. Now, let's feed this hungry young'un. And us! Those long night watches make me ravenous." Once back on Callisto, the Rowan allowed Reidinger to scan her memories of the merge. That he was seriously disturbed was obvious by the fact that he hadn't so much as roared over her abrupt departure.

When she mentioned Yegrani's Sight as verification, he became testy.

You were the merge, he said. You saved Deneb and you've traveled.

I was NOT the focus at Deneb. Jeff was.

Reidinger made a rude noise. Damned clairvoyants are so clever with their ambiguities.

REIDINGER, you are not ignoring this! It was her turn to bellow.

Fat chance I'd have of that when that aggressive Denebian husband of yours is agitating Fleet High Command as well as everyone he's ever met on the League Administrative Panel.

Reidinger sounded disgusted yet there was a hint of pride in his voice, which made the Rowan grin. Should never have introduced him so universally. He's got Fleet in a flap but the units that were stationed around Deneb are insisting that they get the chance to reconnoiter.

Rowan: Jeff said he'd be leading the way.

Reidinger was silent for a moment. He hasn't wasted an ounce of that ingratiating charm of his over the last six months.

He smothered exactly the right egos with it. Consequently he can manipulate the various authorities and agencies that would be involved in an operation of this magnitude. And cut through delays.

The Rowan grinned to herself at Reidinger's grudging admission.

She had learned a thing or two from Jeff about dealing with bureaucracy. More importantly, he could manipulate at a high level.

With Deneb the ostensible target for this new assault, he had every reason to marshal his Talent.

Jeff was very effective: he managed a squadron to reconnoiter.

And, obeying his wife's advice, specified a high complement of female crews on two of the ships.

Damnedest thing I ever heard of, Reidinger complained to the Rowan, Jeff's the most perceptive, and certainly the strongest Talent I've ever encountered - and he had to go some to exceed you, Angharad. Reidinger had taken to calling her by her real name since Jeran's birth because "Angharad" sounded more feminine than a tree name - so he's got xenobiologists from all parts of the League screaming for details about these feminine menaces oil yours.

The female of the species has always been more deadly than the male, Reidinger, the Rowan replied, though she couldn't remember where she'd heard that maxim. It didn't have the same ring as one of Siglen's.

Defending its young. I suppose even beetles can have maternal imperatives! If it IS the same blasted beetles. His grumbling tone faded from her mind.

As the Rowan turned back to some minor domestic chores 'porting fresh water from a Welsh artesian well for the Callisto cisterns, the weekly supply of comestibles and special household orders of those who lived on the Station - she waited with half a mind open for Jeff's progress report.

We're beyond Deneb's heliapause by two AUs, he said. I brought the squadron out myself. Fine Captain, excellent crew, he added with a mental picture of the ZAMBIA's bridge and the exceedingly handsome woman occupying the Captain's chair. The officers seated at consoles were all reasonably young and attractive, too. Picked less for pulchritude and more for vestiges of Talent. You have no competition, my love!

I won't daign: that with a reply.

Then shall I be magnanimous and say they confirm your perceptions about the approaching vesseL Not all the crew's female but those who are have exhibited the same symptoms Isthia reports en masse on Deneb.

I'm feeling distinctly left out of all this and I'm supposed to be highly perceptive!

Be glad you don't pick up on the aura, Jeff. You can really call it evil, or even truly malicious, but it emanates an intensity - an anticipation of destruction - that is frightening. If I were a barquecat, every hair on my body would be standing stark out. And don't call the phenomenon "it". Mauli echoed a "many" - a many which will not be diverted from their purpose.

Exactly how Captain Lodjyn summed up her impression of the intent of this Many. And they're unequivocably headed toward Deneb. I may be slightly paranoid about what happens to my planet, but I really can't quite make myself believe the vessel is going through Denebian space for a shortcut when Deneb VIII will just happen to be in their way.

What I can't understand is how they will avoid impaction at the speed they're going. It takes time to decelerate from the speed at which they're now traveling. Or maybe beetles stand multigravities better than us fleshy sorts?

Rowan, sensing suspicious peripherals from Jeff s mind: Just what are you doing right now?

Taking a look. Too much "noise" on the ZAMBIA.

She didn't like the thought of him in a vulnerable personal capsule, far from the nebulous safety of a multiweaponed scout vessel.

You should have taken the Captain with you. You won't hear a thing.

I did and Mauli's along. And we're in the Captain's gig.

I've some sense for a mere man, my love.

You reassure me no end!

Jeff's tone turned wry. I thought this would, cariad.

Mauli's echo is going to come in real useful.

Like never before!

He was silent though his mind kept contact. So, putting everyone on the Station on a Yellow Alert status, she left the Tower, with Afra, Mick, and Ackerman in charge, to attend to her son. It was soothing to feed Jeran his lunch before settling him down for a nap. Most of the time she did not have to reinforce his natural rhythm with a mental suggestion, but he had been a little off normal schedule since the Deneb 'portation so she gave him a nudge. She gazed down at him for a long moment - he was endlessly enchanting. Then she stretched out on her bed, one arm flung across the side which Jeff usually occupied, and relaxed, clearing her mind.

WOW! The awe in Jeff's voice was sufficient to rouse her totally from the light doze she had entered.

Mauli's reaction was less awed and considerably more fearful.

Jeff: We seem to have a lumpy-surfaced oval planetoid rolling towards us at speeds which make even gestalt assisted movements seem crawler-paced. It is currently twenty AUs out but closing fast enough I like. That defense ring which Fleet is so proud of is going to be no use against a vessel this size. More like a flea trying to swat one of those large men Proceyon breeds. Easy, Mauli. I don't care what instrumentation it might have, it can't see us. We're less than a mote. You may feel it, but if it had sensed us, we'd really be motes.

The Rowan, briefly touching Mauli's panicked mind to reassure the girl, heard Jeff's chuckle.

This may only be a captain's gig but its scanner's the best so Fleet'll have the printout as confirmation. I'm getting no readings on mass or composition. Scanner says "no accurate assessment possible at this distance". That's a lot of comfort.

Tut-tut! And it's running dark. Ignoring the basic laws of spaceman ship! That seems to be upsetting the Fleet more than its size.

No, that's a cover for the pure funk even admirals are feeling over my evaluation. They're making contradictory preliminary assessments, demanding that I increase the resolution. I did: it's on the max right now. What do they think I've got on this skiff? A portable sun for illumination?

The Rowan refined the contact with Jeff sufficiently to see, through his optics, what he and Mauli were viewing on the skiff's scanners: a darkness that flowed across the backdrop of stars. Quite a Leviathan, isn't it? I understand why adrenaline is pumping through your veins Leviathan? An interesting choice of phrase, my love.

Jeff Raven, if you go in any closer to that… that menace, I'll kill you, she added, abruptly seized by a gut-generated terror.

Jeff chuckled. That'll teach me a lesson. Rest easy, cariad, I'm as close as I care to get, and closer than Mauli or the good Captain Lodjyn think wise.

Do they hear anything useful?

Well, Mauli does and she doesn't. She's let me merge and I can sense great industry and bustle, orderly activity, and some areas with no sound at all. I think the damned planetoid was once just that and has been hollowed out for its travels. Mauli's picking up a lot more than I am: six or more different mental entities. His tone became attenuated as he spoke to her privately. Mauli's in a muck sweat of terror from the level of "dedication"… purpose is too weak a word… that she perceives. I'm taking us back before the poor kid dissolves.

Even the Captain's sweating and throwing out fear phenomes.

Rowan: When Deneb was attacked, the merge didn't sense any great dedication, purpose, or intelligence from the occupants of those vessels.

Jeff: You're assuming that the ship we deported from our system went scimming back to this big Mama?

Rowan: Why not? You thought then that they were softening Deneb up for an invasion. Why couldn't they have been preparing the planet for the arrival of what's bearing down on Deneb now?

Jeff: And the "mother" ship is why only females sense its intent?

Rowan: Don't you dare snicker!

Jeff: Believe me, dear heart, whatever reservations I might have privately entertained at the outset are null and void. We are in big trouble and I thank all the Powers of Balance for my mother's long ear!

As it is, we're going to have to plan our campaign against that Leviathan very carefully. That's the hard place, and Deneb's the rock and we - Mankind - are between it. There was a brief pause. And so I've just informed Earth Prime! This time he also has no reservations.

In the second pause, Jeff chuckled wryly. However the League may well just argue us all to our deaths. Would you believe it? They are now debating the ethical point of whether we have the right to interfere with the approaching vessel simply on the grounds that it might - get that, might - have hostile intentions?

Rowan, aghast: You can't mean it?

Jeff, sardonically: Now just how do we prove hostile intent? They haven't launched any missiles - yet - that I can lob at Earth and scare the doubters.

Afra: You said Leviathan is clearly on a course to Deneb, did you not?

Jeff: Yes, Afra, I did and the squadron's computer all confirm that. Unless this Leviathan decelerates when it reaches Deneb's system, present calculations confirm that it will smash right into Deneb VIII. Captain Lodjyn is extrapolating the repercussions of such a collision.

Reidinger: It will NOT come to that! Talent does not bust its balls for the Nine-Star League to have them disregard a considered warning of imminent invasion of a possibly hostile force of unknown potential.

Jeff: And what have you in mind, Earth Prime?

Reidinger: I am in conference with the Nine-star League Councillors and you may rest assured that they will be persuaded to act, not argue.

Ah, good! My first order from the Councillors is to dispatch the flagship Beijing to the Denebian system. It will deploy one-half. All beyond Deneb's helipause, the Welcome and Identity modules which were so successful with the Antarians sentients not dissimilar to the beetle-type species of the first assault.

Rowan, exasperated: Of all the stupid face-saving ploys!

Haven't we TOLD you that the main sentience of this vessel is motivated by destruction, the annihilation of Deneb VIII?

Reidinger: Oh, I agree with your evaluation, Angharad. I am further ordered to dispatch the Moscow, the London, and the Newyork to redeploy defensive mines one-half inside the heliopause.

Jeff: Bluebells all in a row?

Reidinger: Under the premise that a warning shot across the bows ought to be universally understood.

The Rowan snorted.

Jeff: Remind the captains of those vessels to get the hell out of the way before that thing gets within fifty-thousand klicks of the space mines.

Reidinger: Now we wait!

Rowan and Jeff in simultaneously expressed disgust: Wait?

Reidinger: Wait! That's the trouble with you youngsters.

You don't know when to bide your time.

Jeff: Not when it's my planet that's the target.

Reidinger: It was before and you were rescued. However, in addition to my official instructions, and Reidinger paused significantly, I have sent out a discreet alert to all Primes and Talent above grade 4, regardless of their discipline. Does that precaution reassure you?

Jeff, diffidently: Not exactly, for I fail to see what Talent will be able to do against that Leviathan!

Rowan: Able for what action?

Reidinger, malicious chuckle: I thought you'd grasp the essentials more quickly. Mull it all over, will you, while we're waiting. And, in this interval, Jeff, I want you to proceed to Deneb. Angharad, please join him there but I would request that your son remains on Callisto.

Jeff: Now, wait a minute Rowan, beginning to catch a glimmer of what Reidinger held so tightly in his most private mind: No, Jeff I should be on Deneb to augment Isthia. Then as soon as we know and Jeran is safer away from the furor. It could overload him.

And Reidinger most certainly doesn't want that, do you, Peter?

Reidinger in a growl: No!

The Rowan did not like leaving Jeran behind: She would miss him keenly but, between the other women on the Station and Afra, he would be lovingly supervised. So she settled in her capsule and calmly waited for the generators to hit the proper revolutions before she, with Afra and Mick assisting, 'ported to Deneb. When she entered the Denebian Tower, she noticed the signs of stress in the faces of those who had maintained the Watch.

"If we swallow any more sedatives, we won't be able to hear a damned thing," Isthia said bleakly. However, as she gave the Rowan a quick embrace of welcome, her incredible energy seemed undiminished, bright red and tangy. "There's a bottom to the well and a long dry period if I dip in too often. But those things will NOT have my planet." The red of her deepened.

"What does Besseva say now?" the Rowan asked, missing the clairvoyant from those on duty.

Isthia gave a diffident shrug. "She's gone into a deep trance, trying to penetrate the shell of that - what did Jeff say you named it? Leviathan…" she went on when the Rowan put the word in her mind, "to see what's inside. It's damnably frustrating to have an unknown assailant." "The Councillors wish to believe that they may not be hostile," the Rowan said in a saccharine tone of voice.

Isthia was not the only one in the Tower to have a poor opinion of that belief. Then the Rowan took a spare couch and joined the minds merged on the approaching vessel. It had shortened the distance to heliopause considerably. Jeff: Get set to catch me, will you, loves?

Isthia, privately: He must be tired if he's asking us for help.

Rowan: All right, then, my fine lad, into the cradle you go!

Jeff's step had none of its usual spring as he entered the Tower and dropped into the nearest chair. Before Isthia could motion to one of the girls, the Rowan had obtained a glass of stimulant and, placing it in his hand, laid both of hers on his temples, transferring energy to him. Closing his eyes, he accepted her gift, a loving smile turning up the corners of his mouth. You always know what I need, dear heart!

My profound gratitude. I'll return the gift on demand.

"How long before we get some action?" Isthia asked in a gruff voice.

Jeff shrugged. "The Fleet wants to make its war-game moves. They believe in their invincibility. I do not." Rowan: Could a focus protect them? Leviathan may have weaponary we can't perceive.

Jeff: Not over the area of space where they've deployed, and it'd be damned bad tactics to group them together where we might possibly be able to shield them. He gave a mirthless laugh. The Councillors are certain that Leviathan will respond reasonably to the Welcome and identify modules.

The Fleet are not so naive as to consider that likely.

However, the good Admirals are confident that Leviathan will react to the presence of the mines. Once Leviathan has demonstrated its weaponary against the mines, they will know how to defend us against it.

Rowan: There are women Councillors…

Jeff: None with much more than an empathetical Talent and your report has frightened them from even the most discreet of direct contact. The W amp; I modules were only deployed to pacify the non-aggressive element in the Council.

Rowan: What if Leviathan is duplicitous?

Jeff laughed. What? Do you mean they'd respond sweetly to the Welcome and Ident: and then launch missiles once we let them advance "in peace?" Isthia, considering: The Many is definitely not as devious as that. Single-minded is what those things are! The Many all thinking along the same line. Destroying what is in the way of their objective.

The other women in the Watch concurred immediately.

Isthia: And where is Mauli?

Jeff: Resting. Which she needed, and an example that I should follow. Now, while I have the time.

Jeff was back in the Tower when the first Welcome message was ignored. There were ten in the string, each comprising sounds, signals, and signs that were thought to have universal significance.

He hauled Rowan and Isthia away from what he called "their compulsive watching". He made them both sleep in the way that they had once forced him to rest and ignored their protests when they awoke.

"My squadron has taken up positions behind Deneb's moons," he told his mother and his wife as he watched them consume the hearty meal he had prepared for them.

"It gives them a psychological sense of security!" He grinned.

"Even the male complement on board all three destroyers are believers now! And Leviathan has passed into the Denebian system proper, closing fast on the minefield." He rubbed his hands together, his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Isthia regarded the Rowan drolly. "They're all alike!" "I beg to differ, Isthia," the Rowan replied with great dignity, "this one has a few redeeming features." "Yes, he has learned a thing or two from us, hasn't he? And I don't mean cooking." "Why didn't you think to arrange a sleeping facility here, Mother?" Jeff asked as they 'ported back to the Tower. The watch was just changing, but the outgoing crew showed no signs of dispersing to their homes.

Besseva: What is really needed is enough seating for those who don't wish to miss the action shortly to begin.

Isthia: Oh, is that all? Stacked metal chairs arrived on the landing. Need more?

Rakella answered this time: About a dozen more, cups, and say a case of a caffeine beverage and several of fruit juices. It's going to be exciting and we'll need to keep blood sugar levels up.

As well, the Rowan thought, entering the building, that the west section was empty of equipment for it shortly became a spectators' gallery. They were quiet and their presence supportive. Jeff sat at the console where screens linked up the three reconnaissance ships and two of the closer dreadnoughts, the Moscow and the London.

Once she was settled in her couch, the Rowan nodded to Isthia and the two women, their minds strengthened by the gestalt, reached out into space. Unerringly now they perceived the intruder. It had reached the last of the Welcome devices.

Isthia: Well, that's that.

Rakella, tentatively: Maybe they just didn't understand any of the programs.

Isthia: That's immaterial. A pointed attempt to make communications deserves the courtesy of some response.

Rowan: So much for the pacifist Councillors' good intentions.

Reidinger, gently insinuating an ironic voice in both minds: It was worth a try, wasn't it?

Isthia, giving a mental shudder: I suppose it salves conscience and looks good on the record.

Reidinger: There was rather a large segment of our populations that bet that the intruder would shoot the devices up.

Jeff: Thereby establishing a clearly hostile intent!

Isthia: I keep telling you that hostile intent has already been unequivocably established! Those beings are really alien.

Jeff: Who's taking bets about their firing on the mines?

Whoops! I never laid any credit on that bet!

In the next few moments the screens were hectic with reports from the dreadnoughts and the smaller courier ships. The seeded mines were being demolished but not by Leviathan. Scanners now registered the appearance of mobile units, originating from Leviathan and speeding toward the mines.

The Rowan and Jeff simultaneously: Same sort of craft we destroyed two years ago!

Reidinger: Score a point for Talent! Fleet took nine seconds longer to identify. ZAMBIA and her sister ships are demanding the chance to retaliate!

The Rowan and Isthia: Do NOT permit them to engage!

The Rowan: We'll need their minds!

Reidinger: You figured it out then, Angharad?

The Rowan: I did indeed! But Leviathan must get close enough to hit the gravity well before it can be swung away from Deneb VIII.

Jeff, grimly: And we wait?

Reidinger, equally as grim but with such a strong vein of assurance that the Rowan could feel Jeff relax: We wait for the right moment!

Jeff composed a graphic display, the Fleet deployment and the Leviathan's mobile units, added the now measurable speed, mass, and composition of the invader, and grunted when the projection appeared.

"Closing too bloody damned fast. And if this master strategy of yours doesn't work?" Reidinger: Fleet elements have already destroyed or disabled seven of the fifteen destroyers Leviathan sent out.

We've sustained some casualties.

When he paused for too long, Jeff asked sharply: And they're beetles, aren't they? More of those damned beetles!

Reidinger: So the initial unconfirmed reports suggest.

Jeff let out a wild yell, startling everyone in the Tower.

"They'll be making statues to your long ear, Mother," he cried, hauling her into his arms and whirling her about.

Isthia swatted futilely at him but his ebullience did much to lighten the tension in the Tower. "Silly boy! Hearing was the easy part!" She pulled herself out of his arms, but not before giving his face an affectionate caress.

The eyes of everyone in the Tower turned to the graph and the inexorable progress of the Leviathan past the cold and sterile outer planets of the Denebian system.

Reidinger, righteous but sad: Two of our destroyers were wiped out. Got too close to the Leviathan when they chased its defenders back. Then it sent seeking missiles in the direction of the dreadnoughts. All sustained damage, fortunately none have been crippled.

Jeff: Does the Fleet still believe in the potency of its weaponry?

Reidinger with a snort: Moscow and London are bracketing the intruder and have launched their first salvos.

Isthia: They have to be seen to try, Jeff. Stop that pacing. My nerves are bad enough without you clamping about like that.

The Rowan: Save your energy, love. Talent has the big guns and you're the bombardier!

Jeff's eyes sparkled and his grin was pure malice. I figured it out. A bit slow, perhaps, but this local yokel finally caught on.

I think, and the Rowan paused dramatically, you got past Reidinger's shield and sneaked a peek.

Jeff, wearing an innocent expression: I? Invade our Master's privacy? I'm good but I'm not that good!

The Rowan laughed aloud. "I think you're better than good, love. If you'd waited, you'd've figured out what Reidinger has in mind." It wasn't easy for anyone in the Tower to wait, watching the invader making its way deeper and deeper into Denebian space, knowing that the intersection of the planet's orbit and Leviathan's path was steadily approaching. Isthia sent people home to rest, ordered food brought in, revised the Watch rota, sent Jeff and the Rowan to the Farm to sleep.

She arrived at the Farm and sent them back to assume command.

Additional squadrons were dispatched to harry Leviathan. Though many strikes were made on the surface of the planetoid, the hits had no discernible effect on its inexorable path.

The Rowan, on a thin band to Isthia: Those mothers must feel pretty invincible by now.

Isthia: I sense that they are aware of the attacks.

The Rowan: And smug! I dislike that attitude.

Besseva: It will suit our purpose.

The hours dragged and the Rowan began to realize subjectively how Jeff must have felt during that first contact.

Jeff: Bloody useless is how I felt.

The Rowan: That's not how you came across to me.

Jeff, giving her his special smile as he swiveled his chair around to her: And how did I come across to you?

The Rowan regarded him for a long moment, smiling tantalizingly.

Busy. Preoccupied. Annoyed with bureaucratic inefficiency.

Jeff said aloud, fidgeting, "I wish I was busy right now! Even a little bureaucratic inefficiency to maul would be a relief!" He sat bolt upright when he glanced at the monitor. "Hey, that thing has slowed. It's going to go into orbit around us!" "Why?" Isthia wanted to know. "I will not believe its intentions are pacific!" Jeff was busily adding equations to the graph. "No, not in that orbit. Just far enough away for its missiles to be effective and too far for any retaliation from the ground if we had any missiles of any kind. Ruddy bitches are going to pound hell out of us again!" No, they're not! Reidinger's mental alert was almost anticlimactic when it echoed through the minds of everyone in the Tower. Angharad Gwin-Raven, the A focus is yours. Gather it! Jeff Raven, collect the B focus, Prepare!

With a single look of exchanged love, the Rowan and Jeff lay supine on their conformable couches and relaxed their bodies. They didn't notice Rakella motioning for medical orderlies to attend them.

Capella came querulously into the Rowan's mind first: This is becoming a habit: twice in as many years. Really! I do trust that we can dispose of this intrusive type for once and all.

The Rowan: That is the intention! The Rowan also read how nervous Capella was under the guise of complaint.

She felt vulnerable, a sensation which the Talented rarely entertained. To herself, the Rowan realized how much she had learned of herself, and others, in the two years since the first merge.

With Capella came the surge of all the female Talents of her system. Then the T-2 Jedizaira at the Betelgeuse Station added her strength; Maharanjani from Altair and, among those who joined from her native planet, the Rowan felt the touch of her stepsister and welcomed her.

Earth's Talents, Elizara leading as she was familiar with the Rowan's mind, swelled the force greater. Procyon sort of stumbled into the focus, apologizing but Piastera was a T-3 and, with Guzman as Prime, had had little chance to do much merging off-planet.

Other minds joined in large and small groupings, led by T-2s or T-4s, tentatively at first, then melding in more comfort as they were integrated into the whole of female Talent throughout the Nine-Star League. Their determination to halt the invaders vibrated more fiercely than the force that opposed them. The Denebians came in last, Isthia, Rakella, and Besseva down to young Sarjie, thrilled to be admitted into this experience. Then all were swallowed up in the final consolidation of the Rowan merge.

Reidinger, and his voice seemed nearly a whisper to the totality that the Rowan had become: Now, Angharad, now!

The Raven merge is available!

Blazoned in the mass mind was the graph on the Tower's screen and steadily the Rowan merge moved out toward the invader. Like a laser stabbing through space, the Rowan-mind gathered speed and reached the planetoid. Various elements of the Rowan-mind noted composition, mass, confirmed that Leviathan had been made from a dead world, now a darkness reverberating with noisy machinery and the scuttling of myriad creatures, whose minimal understanding responded to commands directed at them from the central point in the cavernous vessel.

The Rowan-mind: The "Many" are sixteen but some do not emanate much strength. We interrupt and distract the "Many" NOW!

There could be no defense against such a shaft of pure mental energy and the "Many" struggled briefly, withered and collapsed into mindlessness under the intensity of the force directed against them.

The Jeff-focus shouted: NOW! And every kinetic male Talent was joined with full gestalt from all available generators to divert Leviathan on to its final trajectory straight toward Deneb's primary.

Later, in the many years of discussion provoked by an event which lasted six hours, it would be seen as the most perfect example of mind over matter: ineluctably simple when compared to weapon technology or the complexity of spaceship drives. Once the Rowan-mind merge distracted and destroyed the minds of the huge, female reproducers, Leviathan lost its directive force: the diverse subordinates aimlessly continued in the routines for which they had been genetically designed, movements that had become pointless.

Then the Jeff-mind merge exerted the kinetic energy to deflect Leviathan from its intended orbit above Deneb VIII. Together both mind merges concentrated on speeding Leviathan on its new course. When the gravitic pull of Deneb's sun caught the planetoid, the mind merges released it.

Leviathan's plunge into the solar incandescence created a brief flare in the corona, recorded as the finale to this astounding exercise.

The Raven-merge: That's what we should have done with the first attackers.

The Rowan-merge: We did warn them!

Slowly the individual minds retreated from their focus slowly because the mass elation of success had bordered on exquisite ecstasy, too sweet not to savor; slowly because the communion of so many minds was in itself a rare and unique experience. Thanks were given and received.

Farewells were tender between those who had just met; reluctant between old friends, united once again. The last withdrawals were almost painful and the Rowan felt totally drained, her mind barren and echoing after such a surfeit.

"Easy, Rowan," said Rakella in a muted voice. Even so the Rowan winced weakly. "Just drift. Jeff's fine. Dean's with him. You'll both recover after a good, long sleep." I'm here," Jeff said and although he was still on the couch not a scant half meter from her, his tone was a whisper.

This was a much longer affair than the first one. Sleep! I'll love you later.

"I want the pair of you asleep by the time I count three," Isthia said, her doughty self.

That's not fair, the Rowan thought despite a hideous pounding in her reverberatingly empty head.

Why's fair?! One, two, three!

When the Rowan woke much later, revived and refreshed, she found she was alone in the bed at the Raven farm.

Jeff was called back to Earth, Isthia said.

Reidinger? The Rowan shot straight up in bed in her anxiety. Back in form, aren't you, "but don't you dare reach for him!" Isthia added in a bellow from the kitchen area. The man's all right. I can't lie to you. And she couldn't so the Rowan knew that Reidinger had collapsed. He is very much alive and kicking! Or so Elizara says, and she should know.

But his efforts to move dreadnoughts and who knows what else out to Deneb at the last moment were too much for a man his age. He, and Isthia's tone became scathing, had to do it himself to be sure all was set up for you and Jeff. Elizara has him in hand and she said that you must rest today, too. You've the baby to consider. But you may rise and dress.

"You need food first, talk later," Isthia said, when the Rowan managed a slow and slightly unsteady entrance, "but you'll be happy to know that one of the beetle attack ships was captured intact. When the boarding party cracked the main air lock, they found the creatures in some sort of stasis, frozen in position. Xenobiologists are of the opinion that they couldn't even perform routine tasks without ongoing contact with Leviathan. The biologists are ecstatic: they can study the species with impunity. The Fleet has a complete ship to disassemble and all that technology to dismantle. When I think that Jeff nearly died trying to collect just bits and pieces, I could spit acid!" As the Rowan listened to Isthia, she ate ravenously and with a single-mindedness that appalled her. It was a trifle unnerving when she recalled a similar trait in the beetle "Many". Not that there was even the faintest possibility of contamination or even a transfer of mentality, the Rowan thought as she devoured the very excellent meal Isthia had prepared. Not between such disparate thing mechanisms, despite that brief but devastating period of contact.

She was just very, very hungry after yesterday's exertions.

Isthia: Of course you are. Nothing more. Don't even think about it! "You were splendid, by the way. In case none thinks to tell you!" Then she touched the Rowan lightly on her shoulder. "That was two days ago, by the way." "Two days?" The Rowan dropped her utensils and stared at Isthia.

"You're pregnant. You needed more rest. But I saw to it that Jeff slept a full twenty-four before I let them ship him back to Earth. He deserved that much!" "He deserves a lot more than twenty-four hours' sleep!" The Rowan glared at Isthia and wished there was someone she could really tell off!

I'm that person, then, cariad! And Jeff's chuckle sounded in her mind, soothing her, caressing her as only he could.

Your part of the merge was the difficult one. I only had to push!

"Yegrani was right," Isthia went on, "you were the focus that saved us all. The Leviathan "Many" had to be immobilized first." Suddenly the Rowan had had quite enough of Yegrani's Sight. "I suppose I should feel relieved that I've fulfilled it." Fulfillment for you has only begun, was Jeff's fervent reply, suffusing her mind and body with his love - and his yearning. Get yourself down to Earth as soon as you can, cariad. And his bawdy chuckle gave her fair warning of his intentions.

This is the beginning of the Gwin-Raven Dynasty: you, me, ours, us!