Damia. Part 9

The ceremony was simple but poignant. Because the 'old man' Reidinger - could not be present to give her away, Gollee Gren, as his representative, lent his physical presence while Reidinger did the talking.

'As usual,' Gollee had said with a malicious smile.

Reidinger might not have been there in person but his inescapable mental presence was felt by all who were.

Mauli, Elizara, Rakella, Besseva, Torshan and Captain Lodjyn of the scout that had carried Jeff on his close reconnoitre of the Leviathan, all were happy to be the Rowan '5 attendant-witnesses. Afra felt quite nervous in his place of honour as groom's man and he had a right to be. He had a.s.siduously studied and performed all the traditional duties of best man, relieving the bride and groom of most worries in preparing for the event.

Ackerman headed the groom's men who included Bill Powers, Chief Medic Asaph and Admiral Tomiakin.

Jeff paused dramatically when it came time to say 'I do', a twinkle in his eyes until he had the Rowan glaring fiercely at him in alarm.

Reidinger broke the tableau, swearing sotto voce 'It's a bit late now for cold feet! If you don't marry her, I will!' Jeff paused long enough to give the old Earth Prime a hefty mental buffet, then turned back to the Rowan. The adjudicator coughed delicately, repeating 'Do you wish to form a permanent union with this woman?' 'I most certainly do!' Jeff said in a clear firm voice that carried throughout the dome.

'And you, Angharad Gwyn, do you wish to form a permanent union with this man?' The Rowan c.o.c.ked a head at Jeff but could not bring herself to drag the scene out. 'With all my heart, I do.' Just at that moment, as Jeff and Angharad bent to seal the ceremony with a kiss, Jeran slipped from Isthia's loose hand and rushed to cling to his mother, hand upraised.

Good boy! Isthia sent to the youngster in a tight shield.

Talk to her, say h.e.l.lo to your sister!

Elizara gave an approving wink, then c.o.c.ked her head as if listening. Eyes widening in astonishment, she nodded. She caught Afra's rapt expression, traced it to the eldest Rowan child and raised her eyebrow provocatively at him. Afra acknowledged it with the merest flick of an eyebrow.

Jeff and Angharad, locked in a kiss made more special by the moment, knew nothing of the tight psychic interchange.

The navy had a special surprise as they made their way to the reception, a double line of uniformed men forming a bridge of steel with their archaic, polished swords.

Elizara caught up with Afra at the reception. 'It worked, you know.' 'Yes, I thought I felt her accept Jeran.

'Nevertheless an in utero link is most remarkable. It's been just a concept.

'Till now.' Afra grinned. 'My sister tried some sort of pre-natal rea.s.surance but she would never admit to me just how successful she was. Do you think it will comfort the child now?' 'I felt her relax,' Elizara said, smiling tenderly, then added more briskly, 'Let's hope the Rowan never realizes how dangerous that merge might have been for her daughter. She'd never forgive herself. At least,' and Elizara's smile turned mischievous. 'At least today she had her mind on other matters and may never realize what was achieved.' She gave a girlish giggle which surprised Afra who had always found the pract.i.tioner the model of decorum. Then a thought distracted her. 'Now all we have to worry about is the effect on the two children!' 'They'll surely be closer than usual,' Afra replied.

'Which will please the Rowan, I know, but what about future siblings? We can't be sure we can mind-bond every child the Rowan has.' 'Why would we need to? The circ.u.mstances are unlikely to be repeated,' Afra said blithely and gave a diffident shrug.

One final surprise crowned the event, at least from the Rowan's viewpoint. The liner which had brought so many notables to Callisto for the ceremony had been the same one which had transported her from Altair to Jupiter's moon. It wasn't until Jeff had carried his officially acknowledged mate back to their quarters, that the significance became apparent.

'WHAT is that?' Jeff demanded, pointing to a large spotted furry lump in the middle of their bed.

The lump stirred, extended limbs, yawned widely, showing long white fangs, and then deigned to regard the intruders with vivid eyes.

'Rascal? Rascal!' the Rowan cried, her voice incredulous, her expression joyful.

'It's some rascal all right,' Jeff replied tartly, 'and it'll get out of my bed immediately. I have other plans 'You don't understand, Jeff, it's Rascal, my barque cat!' And the Rowan plunked herself down, reaching out to tickle the chin of the beautiful beast. 'Oh, Rascal, you've come back to me.' 'Mmmmrrrow!' said Rascal conversationally. He then graciously accepted her homage.

'Come, Jeff, pet him. Make him feel welcome.' 'Frankly, I don't wish to make-' 'Jeff Raven!' And the Rowan gave him a thoroughly indignant glance. 'Barque cats are special. We're honoured -by his presence.

'We are?' To keep peace on such an important night, Jeff did as the Rowan asked. Then she did as he asked and Rascal learned to find somewhere else, safer, to spend his nights.

Her face displaying a look of surprise and disappointment, Damia's baby legs gave out from underneath her and she plopped on to her dry-padded bottom. For a moment she considered crying but the disdainful look from Rascal a.s.sured her that he would provide no sympathy. Now why had she been standing, anyway? she mused. Year-old Damia's thoughts were not coherent for any great length of time and she often found herself wondering what she had been thinking of moments before. Missing. Something was missing. A faint shadow of the frown she had seen her mother use so effectively - her mother! That was it!

No mother nearby!

Damia pushed off the ground and stood, wobbling to survey her realm. She tottered slightly as she turned her head. Aside from the towering form of Rascal, Damia sighted no other living form. No ankles or warm kneecaps --entered her view. Determinedly she raised a foot to step forward only to lose her balance with an inelegant wobble and return unceremoniously to the floor.

Well! She had the Rowan's indignant tone down pat but still hadn't managed to convince her mouth to form more than 'gab'. On all fours she crawled towards the doorway.

--Rascal deftly interposed his elegantly marked body, whiskered nose stopping just short of her own. Had she been older she would have recognized the barque cat's expression as identical to the old British Bobby's: "ella, 'ella, 'ella! Where do we think we're going then?' However, it was obvious that the cat stood between her and her objective. She backpedalled and worked her way around the cat only to have it deftly interpose itself between her and the door again. Damia gave a squeal of indignation, dropped her head, and b.u.t.ted against the barque cat. The cat out-ma.s.sed her; she wound up slipping on the carpet. Damia continued pushing for several seconds before she realized that she was making no progress.

She backed up and took stock of the situation. She determined to stand up in the hopes of outrunning Rascal, especially as the barque cat stood conveniently close to provide a prop to raise herself up.

Pleased with her solution, she reached forward for the cat but Rascal refused to cooperate, sagging out from under her hand.

It was too much, Damia adjusted her squeal of rage upward into an interminable bawl. Her aggravation was such that she failed to notice the approach of ankles.

'Damia?' A tenor voice murmured. 'Shh! Your mother's having a nap!' A mental image brushed her mind of her mother curled up on the bed, covered by a blanket much like the one that usually covered her.

Nap? Mothers no nap! Damia does! she thought.

Astonishment rippled at her, followed closely by sardonic humour.

Tired mothers nap.

Damia not nap now. Damia play now. The other mind registered reluctance. Damia persisted. Please?

Not so loud, child, the other mind chided gently. You'll wake your mother up. There was a gentle concern in the other's voice.

Who you?

Afra.

A face descended into view. Damia squiggled backwards on her bottom and regarded it. Blond hair, blond eyebrows, green skin, yellow eyes blinked at her, lips upturned in a smile. Afra, she thought to herself, fixing the face and the name together in her mind, adding them to the others she knew: mother, father, jer, cer, tanya, grandmother.

Afra sensed curiosity from the baby. At her age, coherent thought was intermittent and, as she had yet to talk, not vocalized but he 'touched' more in her mind than he expected.

'It's been a rough day at work for your mother and me, Afra told her soothingly. 'We ran extra shifts to get the local defence net into place. Your father's stuck down on Earth tonight.' He laughed. 'So I came over to see if I could lend a helping hand.' A light tan c.o.o.nie with dark brown face markings crossed in between them, casting a critical eye towards Damia. Haughtily it decided that Damia was neither threat nor food and turned to Afra with a chatter of sound.

Afra reached down and gave it a friendly pet. Damia absorbed this and reached a hand out. Unlike the rascally Rascal, this large furry thing bent into her feeble efforts. Encouraged, Damia continued as the c.o.o.nie swaggered back and forth, demandingly. The first racc.o.o.n-type beast had been a gift from Kama to Afra, to give him something to care for on Callisto. Others had admired the creature and, obtaining permission from the Rowan to import 'a few' more, several families in the compound now enjoyed their endearing antics. Rascal condescendingly tolerated their presence in his established haunts, like the Gwyn-Raven house.

'Ringle likes you,' Afra told her, then sighed. 'Now what should I do with you, minxlette? Your mother really needs the rest.' He turned his head towards the doorway. He looked back to her again with a smile. 'How about you and I play together for a bit?' Damia greeted the suggestion with a delighted burble and held up her chubby arms to this new playmate.

'She's much more articulate than either Jeran or Cera at the same age,' Afra told the Rowan one night two months later as he pa.s.sed an evening in the Gwyn-Raven quarters. The two older children were happily doodling crayon scrawls on a large piece of paper spread across the floor. Damia was asleep, cradled in his lap.

'Articulate? She won't talk for another six months!' 'But I can isolate definite concepts in her mind and hear sounds that are almost words,' Afra replied equably. 'You know, like the shorthand speech Jeran and Cera have developed, not quite standard Basic but certainly real communication.

The Rowan placed a hand lightly on his shoulder and chuckled.

'This child of mine has bewitched you, Afra.' She shook her head.

'When she starts to talk, even baby talk, I'll know.' The Rowan frowned, wrinkled her nose with a dismayed sniff. 'Sorry, I didn't catch her in time and you've just been anointed.' Afra looked down at the sleeping form, whose face took on the drowsy smile of a baby who has relieved an uncomfortable hydrostatic pressure.

'Won't be the first time.' The Rowan laughed, shaking her head.

'You should be having children of your own, Afra.' He c.o.c.ked his head at her. 'In my own time.' 'But you'd make such a marvellous father.

You shouldn't be limited to l.ping. Just look at how Damia succ.u.mbs to your charm,' and the Rowan indicated her sleeping daughter.

'I can't get her to do that. You didn't "encourage" this nap, did you?' she said in a half-accusatory voice.

'Heavens, no,' Afra replied, raising his hands to protest his innocence. Everyone in the Tower had been made aware of how the Rowan felt about any subtle mental control of her children. They were to grow up as normally as possible, with no mental tamperings, until Talent manifested itself in the due course of their development. That all three children were potentially high Talents had been established at their births but the Rowan didn't want their abilities forced, as hers had been.

The Rowan gave him a suspicious glare.

'Honest, Rowan!' Candidly Afra thought that a little adroit mental control might minimize the problems she'd been having with Damia but she was the parent. And Damia was definitely cut from a different mould than her older brother and sister. 'You saw yourself how Rascal and the c.o.o.nies wore her out playing.' The Rowan had to admit that.

'Will they survive her, I wonder?' 'They survived Jeran and Cera.

Actually, I think they have more fun with Damia. She's more inventive.' She had laughed as much at Damia chasing barque cat and c.o.o.nies as Afra had. Damia had been so intent on catching one or the other and all had eluded her until she'd collapsed in fatigue. Now the Rowan snorted in amus.e.m.e.nt at the recollection.

'Shhhh! You'll wake her.' He peered down at the beautiful face of the sleeping child.

Jeff Raven 'ported himself into the room. Afra looked up in greeting while the Rowan gave him a frosty glare.

The Rowan had definite views about Talent protocol.

'Use the door!' the Rowan said, reproving him.

'That would've roused the baby,' Jeff replied, unrebuked. 'She is asleep, isn't she?' When Afra nodded, he let out a sigh of relief.

'This one's worse than the other two, All: she has the uncanniest knack for waking up only on those nights we're s.h.a.gged.' Jeff looked at his lifemate. 'Let's take a breather after this one? OK, love?

We need sleep.' The Rowan shook her head -vigorously. 'I want a big family, Jeff. I know what it's like to be lonely.' Jeff scowled in pretend horror. 'What? Greedy? Three bonuses aren't enough?' FT&T substantially rewarded Talents who produced offspring, in hopes of increasing the numbers of the Talented throughout the League.

Afra absorbed their repartee like a moth circling a candle: eager for the warmth but fearful of the flame.

Within this circle, he enjoyed family life - however vicariously and coveted these evenings, secure in the affection of both the Rowan and Jeff: the sort of family life that he had never had, never imagined was possible.

Jeran and Cera paused long enough in their mildly compet.i.tive application of colour to blank paper to smile at their father. He patted them affectionately, for Jeff had no trouble being demonstrative with his children. Then he became the host, offering to top up gla.s.ses before he poured one for himself and settled next to the Rowan on the circular couch.

'Has David calmed his Administration down?' Rowan asked.

Jeff gave a shrug. 'I sincerely hope so. Van Hygan and that ordnance fellow proved - to me, at least - that the factories are working overtime to turn out the components, that the Fleet is scheduled to move as soon as they have sufficient units, so it's only a matter of time before Betelgeuse, too, is securely ringed with early warning devices.' 'Which leaves Altair, Capella, and all the systems in between still struggling?' 'That's it,' Jeff said with a sigh, and he sipped his wine.

'Not that there's been a peep on any DEW unit.' His knee started jiggling, an indication of inner anxiety. The Rowan laid a hand on it and Jeff gave her a sheepish grin, instantly covering her hand with his.

Afra looked away, suffering a pang of jealousy for the bonding between his two best friends. Yet, if after long lonely years and vicissitudes, these two had found each other, perhaps he shouldn't give up hope. Kama had certainly indicated often enough her willingness to be more than bedmate and sometime confidante. He liked her, but his affection for her was a dull gleam beside the radiance that suffused Jeff and the Rowan. He stared down at Damia's small face, trying to imagine the features older, the mind mature. Detachedly he wondered what her life would be like, who she would marry, which Tower she would run (for he was certain she had Prime potential), whether he would have the joy of bouncing her babies on his knee. Would she be a handful like her mother or would she take after her father and he a biddable child like Cera and Jeran? Afra was willing to bet the former - with suitable individualized embellishments - but he was now deftly accustomed to handling the Rowan's outbursts with a carefully controlled silence. But here now was this wondrous baby, just beginning her life and she was sleeping on his lap! Afra marvelled that any soul could be so trusting of him. As he had told both Jeran and Cera, when they had been babies sleeping on his lap, I love you, little darling!

'Afra!' The Rowan's voice broke his reverie. For a moment he feared that she had 'heard' him but he gathered by her tone that, instead, she had been trying to gain his attention. She was standing, hands reaching down towards baby Damia. 'I'll take her. It's time she was properly put to bed.' Afra was reluctant to yield her. 'If you pick her up, she'll wake,' he said. 'Then goodness knows how long it'll be before you get her to sleep again with her batteries partly charged.' The Rowan wearily conceded his point.

'Just this once, 'port her to bed.' The Rowan's expression altered and anger clouded her eyes.

'Mra, you know. --' 'I think Afra's right. Or have you forgotten how long it took you last night -'She had a touch of colic,' the Rowan said by way of excuse.

'She doesn't tonight, and she's asleep,' Afra said. 'We've a heavy schedule tomorrow. She's so soundly asleep she won't even know she's been shifted.' The Rowan hesitated, torn between stated ethic and opportunity 'Just this once?' And Jeff added his encouragement: the warm look in his eyes and the slightly sensual curve to his smile suggested to Afra, as well as to the Rowan, what plans her husband had in mind for her. 'And, appreciating your scruples in the matter, my love, I'll 'port her.' She wavered l.u.s.t long enough and suddenly the warm weight of the sleeping child was lifted from Afra's lap as Jeff took advantage of her hesitation.

'I'd better make sure...' the Rowan said and hurried from the room but, as Jeff and Afra grinned at each other, neither heard any loud protest from the 'ported sleeper.

Jeff clapped his hands together, attracting the attention of the older two. 'C'mon, put your crayons away.

Bedtime.' Without protest, Jeran and Cera broke off their activity and began to stuff their colours back into the box. They were already dressed in their nightclothes and each with solemn expression held out a hand to their father to be led away to their cots.

'Say good night to Afra.' "Night, Afra,' the two chorused dutifully.

'Sleep well, Jeran, Cera,' he replied politely.

'Thanks, Unk,' Jeff said with a grin as he led his children off.

Afra finished his wine, somewhat regretting the absence of Damia on his lap. She was a great leg warmer. Sighing, he rose and made his way back to his own quarters. He treasured these evenings for they anch.o.r.ed his soul and countered the depression he often felt for not being able to establish a similarly satisfying 'marriage of true minds' for himself.

Over the years he had consoled himself with being the brother the Rowan had lost in that avalanche, keeping philia and eros separate. He had also come to recognize the unexpected reward of his upbringing on a Methody world, despite its legacy of emotional control and detachment.

Although he had learned to break out of the rigid undemonstrative demeanour that his parents had instilled in him and could, on occasion, express his emotions, that early training kept his unrequited love for the lonely Rowan separate from his affection for Angharad GwynRaven.

The tense atmosphere of the busiest Tower in the League was no place for a person to act like a pressure vessel. So, with Kama for his s.e.xual needs, the Rowan for his intellectual comfort and Gollee Gren for his still irrepressibly rebellious nature, Afra managed to keep himself balanced.

Afra could tell by the way the Rowan walked into the Tower that she'd had another bad night with Damia who was teething. With Jeff on his annual Tower Inspections throughout the Nine Star League, the Rowan was having a spate of unrelieved childcare. Some of her personnel, Afra included, devoutly hoped that this would certainly delay, if not deter her, from considering a fourth pregnancy, which was on her agenda, if not on Jeff's. The Rowan's first priority ought to be a smooth-functioning Callisto Tower.

'Bad night?' Afra asked sympathetically.

The Rowan rolled her eyes. 'The other two weren't like her at all,' she said, a hint of despair in her voice.

'My firstborn was like her,' Brian Ackerman added, handing the Rowan the sheaf of flimsies for the morning's outgoing traffic. 'One night I caught myself holding Borrie at arm's length and screaming at him to shut up.' Brian scratched behind his left ear, embarra.s.sed to relate that reaction. 'She'll grow out of it, Rowan. You'll see.' 'But when?' The Rowan's tone was both wistful and rueful. 'Will I last long enough?' 'Ah, it seems a long time when you have to go through it,' Brian said with the encouraging, slightly patronizing smile that the survivor will give the victim. 'But it won't be long now.' 'Why don't you have Tanya cope with her tonight?' Afra asked. The very competent T-8 who managed the pre-school creche had established a good rapport with Damia who napped quite easily when required to do so under her care. One of the other mothers had suggested, within Afra's hearing, that perhaps the Rowan, being so highstrung, was unconsciously stimulating her daughter into these wakeful nights.

The Rowan rolled her eyes expressively. 'I couldn't do that, Afra. Tanya has to cope with her all day long. I can't ask her to take night-duty as well.' 'Ask,' suggested Afra. 'She can only say no 'I don't wish to make her feel she has to because I can't cope.' There was a slightly hysterical edge to the Rowan's voice.

'What about a pukha?' Afra suggested.

The Rowan stared as if she couldn't believe her ears.

'My daughter is perfectly normal. She is not the least bit traumatized.' 'I didn't mean to imply she was,' Afra said at his calmest because he could see the dangerous glint in her eyes. 'But pukhas do soothe the restless child.?

'She's teething, I said.' 'Gotta better idea,' Brian said, hoping to divert the brewing of a Rowan-storm. 'We don't have any live traffic this ( morning. Nothing Afra and me can't handle.' Somewhat gingerly, he took the Rowan by the arm and turned her back towards the Tower door. 'Also, right now Damia' 5 Tanya's responsibility, all legit, no favours required. So, you go get yourself six good hours of sacktime until the outer system stuff comes through. Right?' Almost magically, the fury went out of the Rowan and she put her hand on Brian's shoulder, expressing her heartfelt relief at his entirely sensible suggestion.

'Oh, could I?' Quick to take advantage of her compliance, Afra made a shooing gesture, and 'pathed her a firm nudge, planting the image of her stretched out on her bed, her hands folded virginally across her chest 'Don't lay me out quite yet, please,' she replied with some asperity but then she managed to grin. Before I change my mind, she added to Afra and half-ran out of the Tower and down the link to her quarters.

Afra followed her mental touch until the door to her shielded house closed behind her, but he had no doubts that she made her way straight to her bed. He'd been maladroit to bring up the subject of a pukha for Damia but he hated to see the Rowan so dragged out. She'd handled alien monsters with less strain. He set the remote alarm to ring in her room in six hours and then went up to the Tower room to start the day's business.

There was indeed nothing that he and Brian couldn't handle with full gestalt and a little a.s.sistance from the higher T-ratings in the Tower. Sometimes he wondered why so many single cargo pods were routed. It'd take less time and effort to link same-destination packages together and flick 'em out in one lot. Afra made a note to suggest the idea to Jeff on his return to Earth.

Some four hours into Rowan's respite, Tanya contacted him.