Anne McCaffrey - Tower Hive 1 - The Rowan
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The Rowan
by
Anne McCaffrey
The Talents were the elite of the Nine Star League.Their
gifts were many and varied,ranging from the gentle telepathic,
to the rare and extremely valued Primes.On the Primes rested the
entire economic wealth and communications systems of the
civilised worlds.But Primes were scarce-only very rarely was a
new one born.And now on the planet Altair,in a small mining
colony on the western mountain range,a new Prime existed,
a three year old girl-trapped in a giant mud slide that had wiped
out the rest of the Rowan mining community.Every Altarian who
was even mildly talented could 'hear' the child crying for help,
but no one knew exactly where she was buried.
Every resource on the planet was centred into finding 'The Rowan'
the new Prime,the first ever to be born on Altair,an exceptionally
unique Prime,more talented,more powerful,more agoraphobic,more
lonely,than any other Prime yet known in the Nine Star League.
Born on April 1st, Anne McCaffrey has
tried to live up to he auspicious natal day. Her first novel was
created in Latin class an~ might have brought her instant fame, as well
as an A, had sh~ written in that ancient language. Much chastened, she
turned t' the stage and became a character actress, appearing in the
first successful summer music circus in Lambertsville, New Jersey. She
studied music for nine years and, during that time, becam~ intensely
interested in the stage direction of opera and operetta ending that
phase of her experience with the stage direction of the American
premiere of Carl Orff's Ludus De Nato Infante Mirificu.
in which she also played a witch.
By the time the three children of her marriage were comfortable~ in
school most of the day, she had already achieved enough success with
short stories to devote herself full time to writing. Her firs novel,
Restoree, was written as a protest against the absurd and unrealistic
portrayals of women in the science fiction novels of th~ fifties. It
is, however, in the handling of broader themes and th~ worlds of her
imagination, particularly the two series (Helva, Th' Ship Who Sang, and
the twelve novels about the Dragonriders o: Pern) that Ms McCaffrey's
talents as a storyteller are tees' displayed. One of the world's
leading science fiction writers, she has won both the Hugo and Nebula
Awards, the E.E. 'Doe' Smith the Golden Pen, and has been seven times a
winner of the Scienc' Fiction Book Club Award.
Between her appearances in the States, England, Europe Australia,
New Zealand and Alaska as a lecturer in seconder, schools and
universities, and guest-of-honour at science fictior conventions, Ms
McCaffrey lives in a house of her own design Dragonhold-Underhill
(because she had to dig out a hill on he, farm to build it) in County
Wicklow, Ireland. She runs a privat livery stable and her
three-day-event horses have been successful in international
competitions. She does not do the competition riding, she hastens to
add, but enjoys the success of horse and ride, and the occasional
canter on her favourite mount, a black and white mare named Pi.
Of herself, Ms McCaffrey warns: 'My eyes are green, my hair is
silver and I freckle; the rest is still subject to change without
notice.' Ms McCaffrey graduated cum laude from Radcliffe College
majoring in the Slavonic Languages and Literatures.
Anne McCaffrey's books can be read individually or as series
However, for greatest enjoyment the following sequences are
recommended:
The Dragon Books
DRAGONFLIGHT DRAGONQUEST DRAGONSONG DRAGONSINGER: HARPER OF PERN
THE WHITE DRAGON DRAGONDRUMS MORETA: DRAGONLADY OF PERN NERILKA'S STORY
and THE COELURf DRAGONSDAWN THE RENEGADES OF PERN ALL THE WEYRS OF PERN
CHRONICLES OF PERN: FIRST FALL.
Crystal Singer Books THE CRYSTAL SINGEr KILLASHANDRA CRYSTAL LINE
Talent Series TO RIDE PEGASUS PEGASUS IN FLIGHT
Tower and the Hive series
THE ROWAN DAMIA DAMIA'S CHILDREN Lyon's Pride
Individual Titles
RESTOREE DECISION AT DOONA THE SHIP WHO SANG Written in
collaboration with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough POWERS THAT BE POWER
LINES POWER PLAY
THe ROWAN
Anne McCaffrey
CORGI BOOK.
THE ROWAN
Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press
Copyright ~ Anne McCaffrey 1990 The right of Anne McCaffrey to be
identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance
with Sections 77 and 78
of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Conditions of sale 1. This book is sold subject to the condition
that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold,
hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other
than that in which it is published and without a similar condition
including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
2. This book is sold subject to the Standard Conditions of Sale of
Net Books and may not be re-sold in the UK below the net price fixed by
the publishers for the book.
Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd, 61-63
Uxbridge Road, Ealing, London W5 5SA in Australia by Transworld
Publishers (Australia) Pty Ltd 15-25 Helles Avenue, Moorebank, NSW
2170, and in New Zealand by Transworld Publishers (NZ) Ltd, William
PickerinY Drive. Albanv. Auckland.
Respectfully dedicated to fay A. Katz because we enjoy a meeting
of minds (well. most of the time)
Prologue #
Numerous Summits of the late 80s and 90s, governments turned to
other researches and the western world's space program began to catch
up with Soviet experiences. What few people knew was that Talents were
instrumental in the promulgation of honest monitoring of the
disarmament and monitoring processes, thwarting many attempts to
subvert the program. Many Talents lost their lives to secure the world
peace which enabled humans to turn their energies and hopes to space
exploration.
More Talents were mustered to colonize this solar system and to
bridge the gap between this and other systems with habitable planets
When young Peter Reidinger made the first mind machine gestalt, pushing
a light spacecraft by telekinesis from orbit to Mars, a new era dawned
for the parapsychic Talents in which they found themselves celebrated
instead of shunned, admired instead of feared, and necessary to every
aspect of the surge forward from the crowded and resources-poor planet
Earth.
To extend the interstellar gestalt, special installations were
built for the Talents, terraformed habitations on Earth's Moon, Mars's
Demos, and on Jupiter's Callisto From these stations were kinetically
launched the great survey and exploration ships that colonized the nine
stars that had G-type planets, suitable for humans.
Though the Talents abhorred notoriety and opted for political
neutrality, it was inevitable that their abilities should contribute to
the stability of the interstellar government. 'Probity and neutrality'
was both motto and method and a new kind of honest diplomacy resulted
in spite of attempts to subvert the Talents. Many Talents died rather
than dishonor their calling: the few who were corrupted were so swiftly
disciplined by their peers that such treachery was eschewed as
profitless. The Talents became' incorruptible.
The need for Talent became chronic, far outstripping the supply.
For those potential few, the training was arduous; the rewards did
not always compensate Talent for the unswerving dedication required by
their taxing positions.
PART ONE ALTAIR
Torrents of rain covered the western side of the great Tranh
mountain range of Altair, streaming in muddy runnels down slopes
already saturated with nine days of steady precipitation. The sturdy
minta trees were bloated and their root systems bulging to the surface,
adding the slime of their overload of sap to the rivulets which
increasingly dislodged the shallower root systems of the few brush
varieties that could flourish in such rocky soil.
Little brooks matured into streams, then rivers, into cascades of
increasing volume and force, filling up blind canyons until such
deposits also overflowed. And the minta slime seemed to grease the
watery ways.
After seven people had slipped and broken bones on the main street
of the Rowan Mining Company's small settlement, the manager had ordered
miners and their dependents to curtail all outdoor activities and
arranged door-to-door deliveries for supplies, using the Company's
sturdy hopper vehicles. Operations in the several producing shafts had
already been suspended when the pits began filling. When the unceasing
torrents began to interfere with transmissions, there weren't even
entertainment circuits to amuse those immured in ever-dampening and
cramped quarters.
In the same lugubrious vein, Met reports gave no hope of an
alteration in the deplorable conditions. The records show that, on the
tenth day, the mine's manager asked his home office in altair Port for
permission to evacuate all nonessential personnel until the weather
improved. His report pointed out that the accommodations were rather
primitive and had not been constructed with excessive rainfall in mind.
He cited an alarming number of respiratory ailments among his
people, almost epidemic in proportion. Enforced idleness and
substandard conditions had also seriously undermined morale. He put in
an urgent order for pumps to drain the shafts when, and if, the rain
ever did stop.
The records showed that the directors debated withdrawal. That
particular installation of the Rowan Company was only just showing some
profit which would be wiped out by the cost of a perhaps unnecessary
expense.
Meteorology was duly consulted and long-range satellite forecasts
indicated that the rains were to abate within the next seventy-two
hours, though arctic and antarctic pole conditions did not suggest any
break in generally overcast weather, much less sunny intervals, within
the next ten days. Approval to evacuate was withheld but advice on
treatment of the respiratory complaints and appropriate medication was
dispatched immediately to the Rowan Company's coordinates by the FT&T
Prime.
It was early morning when the mudslide began, so high above the
plateau on which the Rowan camp stood that it was not detected. A few
people were already cautiously abroad, using their assigned hour with a
hopper to do necessary errands, to the small infirmary for medicine for
their sick, to the commissary for supplies. By the time the
instrumentation in Operations registered the incident, it was already
too late. The entire western face of the mintaclad slope was in
motion, like a tsunami of mud, rock, and pulpy vegetation. Those
outside saw their fate bearing down on them. Those inside their homes
mercifully were unaware. Only one, a child still in the hopper while
her mother carried her parcels quickly through the unabating rain to
the house, escaped the disaster.
The sturdy little hopper was borne up on the lip of the sludge
river, its ovoid shape an advantage, its heavy plastic hull slipping
over, under, and along the inexorable slide of heavy, wet mud. Its
occupant was bounced about, bruised, and knocked unconscious as the
hopper rolled and caught, was freed and carried over a precipice, its
fall cushioned by the mud that had preceded it. Nearly a hundred
kilometers from the Rowan camp, it became wedged on an outcropping,
covered by the vast river of sludge as the slide flowed on until its
impetus was dissipated into the long deep Oshoni valley.
The crying began sometime after the mud ceased its downward flow.
A pleading, quavering appeal to a mother who did not answer. An
announcement of hunger and hurt, sporadic at first, then increasingly
insistent.
Abruptly the cry was cut off, and a whimpering took its place, a
whimpering which rose in volume and intensity.
Was silenced again, during which time everyone with a psi rating
of 9 or more experienced relief, for the nondirectional sound grated on
the mental ears of the sensitive.
Throughout the settlements of Altair, a search was conducted to
discover the injured, abandoned, or abused child whose distress was
being broadcast planet wide.
'I've children of my own,' the Secretary of the Interior Camella
told the Police Commissioner as the Colonial officials met in the
Governor's office in emergency session, 'and that is the cry of a
frightened, hurt, hungry child. It's got to be somewhere on Altair.
'We've done street searches, checked the hospital records of any
potential psi children born within the last five years . . .' He shook
his head over failure. He didn't himself have any Talent but he had a
great respect and admiration for those who did.
'The crying pattern, the incoherency, the repetition, suggests an
infant of two or three years,' said the Chief Medical Officer. 'Every
sensitive on my staff has been trying to make contact.' 'What I don't
understand is why it cuts off so suddenly,' the Commissioner said,
riffling through the reports he'd brought with him to show the extent
of the search.
Opened for colonization a scant hundred years before, Altair did
not have a large population - the present density surrounding Altair
Port and City amounted to some five million, two hundred and
fifty-three thousand, four hundred and two people. Another one
million, seven hundred thousand and eighty-nine people were beginning
to carve additional settlements, generally mining concerns exploiting
the mineral and ore wealth of the great planet, across the planet's
immense main continent.
'Reports are a bit slow coming in from all the Claims,' Secretary
Camella said, her voice puzzled. 'That freak weather pattern is moving
eastward towards us. But we must identify the child: Someone this
strong so young must be carefully monitored.' Involuntarily she glanced
out toward the FT&T installation at the far edge of the Port Space
Field. A puff of dust, followed rapidly by half a dozen more,
indicated that the incoming freight was being racked up by the kinetic
abilities of Altair's major asset, Siglen, the T- 1 Prime. Her mental
kinesis augmented by a gestalt with the powerful generators that
encircled her installation, Siglen could pick up messages from as far
away as Earth and Betelgeuse, could locate and land freight drones as
easily as others lifted the ordinary artifacts of everyday living.
Mankind's exploration of Space had become feasible because the
major psionic Talents of telepaths and teleporting kinetics were able
to span the vast intersystem distances, providing reliable and
instantaneous communication between Earth and its colonies. Without
the Primes in their tower stations, constantly in mental communication
with other Primes, able in the gestalt to shift both export and import
material, the Nine-Star League would have been impossible. The Primes
were the kingpins of the system. And such Talents were rare.
Without the Federal Telepath and Teleport network, Mankind would
still be trying to reach its nearest spatial neighbors. The Earth
Government, once a centralized, world-wide authority had finally been
achieved, had ordained an irrevocable autonomy to FT&T, thus ensuring
not only its impartiality but its effectiveness in keeping contact with
the now far-flung colonies of Mankind. When the Nine-Star League had
been formed, it had ratified that autonomy so that no one Star System
could ever hope to control FT&T, and with it, the League.
Most communities took pride in the number and variety of Talents
among their inhabitants. The fear and distrust of paranormal abilities
had been submerged by the obvious benefits of employing Talented folk.
There were, of course, many degrees of Talent, with micro- and
macro applications. Naturally, the stronger Talents were the most
visible and the rarest. The strongest in each area of expertise were
accorded the title of 'Prime'. The rarest of Primes were those who
combined telepathic and kinetic abilities and became the main link
between Earth and the planet on which they served.
'We may well be witnessing the emergence of a Prime!' Interior
couldn't quite stifle that burgeoning hope and the somewhat vain dream
that this new Talent might eclipse Siglen. She might be Altair's
greatest asset but a prickly one. Camella had to deal with her and
found no joy in that aspect of her duties. Her predecessor, now
happily fishing in the eastward foothills, had christened Siglen 'the
space stevedore', an epithet which Interior tried very hard to forget
in Siglen's more trying moments.
For Altair to have produced a Prime Talent so soon would be most
prestigious. If the child's potential was properly developed, and the
strength inherent in its manifestation augured well, Altair would
attract the best sort of colonist, hoping that something in the
atmosphere of the planet nurtured Talent. (No-one had ever proved that
connection. Or disproved it.) Altair had been fortunate enough to have
a reasonable range of Talents in the original complement of settlers:
precognitives; clairvoyants; 'finders' with strong metal and mineral
affinities who had discovered the high-assay ores and useful minerals,
increasing Altair's exports; the usual range of minor kinetics, macro
and micro who could shift, connect or manipulate things; a good range
of the healing Talents, though no Primes yet, in the medical field, and
the more ordinary empaths who were invaluable in any sort of employment
which might generate boredom or minor dissension. Empaths and precogs
were also members of the Constabulary arm of Civil Government, not that
there was much criminal activity on Altair: people were generally far
too occupied in carving out their personal bailiwicks on Altair's broad
and fertile acres, or exhuming its hidden treasures. The planet was
too new to have developed the 'civilized' crimes of densely populated
and deprived urban areas.
Altair was lucky in its spatial position in the Nine-Star League
and, because it was central to several new colonial ventures, had been
one of the first colonies to receive a full Federal Telepath and
Telekinetic Station with a Prime telepathic kinetic, Siglen. That
advantage had greatly boosted Altair's appeal to both individuals and
industrial concerns. To have developed a Prime Talent would fill the
Governmental cup to overflowing. So the Secretary of the Interior
turned to the Medical Officer.
'That's all well and good, but first we have to have the child,'
the Medical Officer said, voicing her very thought though the man was
unTalented. Then he cleared his throat testily. 'My advisors suggest
that the child is injured - yet there's been no report anywhere in the
medical system of a wounded or shocked infant victim.' 'Demonstrably
there IS one,' the Governor said, bringing his fist down on the table.
'We'll find it, and know why an infant was allowed to cry so long
without attention.
New lives are the most valuable resource this planet has.
Not one should be squandered.
A wail, a piteous, mind-scoring wail cut through his rhetoric.
MOMMEEEEE! MOMMEEE! MOMMEEEE, WHERE ARE. . . The plaint was
abruptly severed.
In the ensuing silence, the Secretary pressed careful fingers
against temples which still reverberated from that mental shriek. The
most perfunctory of knocks was made at the Council Chamber door which
opened to admit an anxious administrative assistant.
'Secretary, Siglen wishes urgent communication with you.
Interior exhaled in relief. Siglen could as easily have inserted
her message into Interior's mind but the Prime was a stickler for
protocol - for which the Secretary now blessed her.
'Of course!' The screens all around the Council room came on,
lending considerable immediacy to this event. Siglen made few demands
on the Council. Now, as the angry woman stared out at them, her eyes
seemed to penetrate deep into the thoughts of each of those present.
Siglen was a slab of a female, soft from a sedentary life and a
disinclination to exercise of any kind. She was in her Operations
room, the hum of the gestalt generators a background noise.
'Interior, you are to find that child wherever she is, and
discover who has abandoned her and deal with them to the full extent of
the law.' She had large eyes, her best feature, and they were wide with
indignation and frustration. 'No child should be allowed to broadcast
on such a level. I cannot keep interrupting my flow of work to deal
with what is clearly a parent's responsibility' 'Prime Siglen, is it
fortunate that you are free to contact us 'I'm not at all free. I'm
falling behind on today's shipments . . .' She gestured impatiently
behind her.
'That simply is not good enough. Find that child. I can't waste
time silencing her.' Interior muttered something dire under her breath
but composed her expression, and sank her thoughts. 'We were about to
ask you to help us find Siglen's indignant expression interrupted her.
'I?
assist in finding a child? I assure you I am no clairvoyant. I
will endeavor to keep her quiet enough to allow me to discharge my
duties to this planet and the service to which I have committed my
life. But you .
and a bejeweled finger, its tip enlarged by perspective so that
the whorl pattern was clearly visible, 'will locate that appallingly
bad-mannered infant!' The contact was abruptly cut. The child began to
whimper and that was also abruptly cut.
'If she keeps shutting the child up, how are we going to find
her?' Interior asked sourly. 'You've had your clairvoyants on it,
haven't you?' she asked the Commissioner.
'Indeed I have, but you know as well as I do,' he replied somewhat
defensively, 'that a clairvoyant requires "something" on which to
focus.' 'Yegrani didn't,' the Medic said ruefully 'Yegrani's been dead
for years,' Interior said with real regret and then caught a look on
the Commissioner's face.
The wail began again, piteous, gasping, begging for help. They
could hear it falter, pick up again with an overtone of outrage.
'Ha! Siglen's met her match. She can't silence the brat.
'It's not a brat,' Interior said, 'it's a frightened child and it
needs all the help we can muster. Look, these days children are simply
not left alone for . . 'she checked the digital on the wall, '. . .
days. There has to have been an accident. You have no reports of
any in Port or City, let's concentrate on the Claims. There are quite
a few isolated mining settlements on this planet where a child might be
left alone. Don't we have reports of an unseasonal rain in the west?'
'Five thousand miles is a long way to "throw" a mental cry,' the
Governor remarked, then looked startled at what his own words implied.
'My word!' 'Indeed there could have been an accident. Earthquake,
or flood perhaps with the recent appalling rainfall.' Interior rose
resolutely, nodding courteously to the Governor. 'We have the
resources, people - let's use them.' As they all left the chamber for
their own offices, Interior caught the Commissioner's arm.
'Well? Is Yegrani still alive somewhere?' Being careful to check
that no-one had heard her or paid them any particular attention in the
general departure, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod. 'Surely
she would help us save a young life?' 'Under the circumstances, she
might very well, but she's outlived Methuselah by another lifetime and
hasn't much strength. We'd best try to narrow the search down to one
area.' That took less than an hour once every element of civil service
became involved. First satellite pix were reviewed and the 150
kilometer-long swathe of destruction could not be mistaken. Interior
herself phoned the industrial concern which had laid claim to that
section. They were swift to open records to the Incident inquiry.
They had not heard from the mine manager and were beginning to be
concerned.
'Not concerned enough to send us an alert, I notice, Interior
remarked caustically. Then she turned to the Commissioner. 'What I
don't understand is why you didn't have a registered precog on this
disaster.
'It isn't what could be called a gross personnel disaster, he
replied with a look of chagrin. 'I mean, I know a substantial number
of people have obviously lost their lives but their deaths don't affect
all Altair in a knock-on situation. Unfortunately. Then, too, most of
our precogs have urban affinities,' he added apologetically.
'I think I'll introduce a fine for companies that do not keep in
twenty-four contact with their field installations,' muttered Interior,
jotting down a note in capital italics.
'Say again?' 'Look!' she said as the Company's personnel files
scrolled past. 'Fifteen kids between the ages of one month and five
years. How much detail does your clairvoyant need?' 'I don't even know
if she'll help us,' the Commissioner said ruefully. 'She hasn't opened
a connection to my calls.' The crying started up again, was cut off,
and continued with a desperate edge to the wail.
'That child is growing weaker,' the Medic exclaimed as he barreled
into the Incident room. 'If she's buried in a mudslide, she's got no
food or water - and maybe not much air left.' The printer murmured to
itself, smoothly extruding new copy. Interior bent over it, groaning
with a note of despair in her voice.
'I ordered a comparison survey of the terrain before and after the
slide. There' re ravines fifty-meters deep now with mud and debris.
The slide is sixty-klicks wide in places. If she's buried in any
depth of mud, she'll be asphyxiated soon. Particularly if she keeps
crying like this, using up her oxygen.
The Commissioner moved to a console, gesturing for the others to
step back. 'I'm adding a Mayday to her private code but whether she'll
answer or not 'Yes?' The guttural voice dwelt on the sibilant. No
picture appeared on the screen.
'Have you heard the crying?' 'Who hasn't? I could have told you
Siglen wouldn't help.
It's beyond her capabilities. Bouncing parcels from place to
place requires no finesse, since the gestalt does all the work.' As
there was no visual contact, the Commissioner rolled his eyes at the
bite in Yegrani's tone. For years, there had been enmity between the
telekinetic and the clairvoyant, though the Commissioner happened to
know the original fault was more of Siglen's making than Yegrani s.
'There is fear that the child is running out of air, Yegrani. The
mud is fifty-meters deep in places along a 150-klick swathe. We've
plenty of.
'Look to the left above the Oshoni valley, on a ledge,
approximately two klicks from the tongue of mud. She's not deeply
entrenched but the hopper skin has been fractured and sludge is oozing
in. She is frantic. Siglen has done nothing to reassure the child as
a sensitive, caring person would have done. Guard this one well. She
has a long and lonely road to go before she travels. But she alone
will be the focus that will save us from a far greater disaster than
the one she has escaped. Especially guard the guardian.' The
connection severed but as soon as Yegrani had 'sighted' the child's
position, the Secretary of the Interior had forwarded a printout of the
conversation to the rescue teams, waiting in their special vehicles.
The Governor himself requested the launch and gave Altair's Prime
the coordinates. She did not ask how they had been obtained but
faultlessly sent the mission speeding to its destination.
'Did she mean "left" looking at the bloody thing, on its left?'
demanded the captain as the rescue team emerged after their journey.
Their shells had slid to a halt on the valley floor, just where
the out thrusting 'tongue' of mud ended. 'Phaugh!' he pinched his
nostrils, 'the stench of minta's enough to choke you! Let me see that
geo print.' 'The ledge should be there!' his second in command
exclaimed, pointing to their right. 'Solid ground, too, from which to
work.' 'Get the two klick fIx,' the captain ordered, pointing to the
scan operator. Stay off that mud! Anyone who falls in has to walk
home.' The team scrambled to the stone out thrust above the ledge and
brought their detectors to bear in careful sweeps. An intrusion was
detected approximately ten meters out in the mud. The medic extended
his sensitive equipment and caught vital signs. The digger boom was
rigged and swung out. Two volunteers, on cables linked to the boom,
descended into the ooze above the point of detection and began to
shovel the muck away. As fast as they shoveled, the uncooperative
sludge slid back in.
'I want that suction tube and now!' cried the captain, inwardly
well satisfied with the instant obedience to that order.
The hopper, wedged on to the outcropping, was not deep and once a
large enough surface was cleared, the tractor beam was attached. It
fought the suction of the mud while the shovel team worked with
desperate speed, muttering about kinetics never being where you needed
them. Suddenly sufficient air got under the hopper to break the seal,
and only the quick reflexes of those on the bank kept the craft from
colliding forcefully with the tractor arm. The little vehicle swung
and bumped about before finally settling to solid ground.
Mud sheeted off the hull and oozed from the fracture, as the
entire team watched anxiously. How much of that stuff had seeped into
the interior? Everyone was immensely relieved to hear a thin,
tremulous cry, mental and physical. As one, the team attacked the
battered door to wrench it open.
'Mommie?' A tattered, bruised, mud-encased child crawled to the
threshold, sobbing with relief, squinting in the sudden daylight.
'Mommie?' The team medic leapt forward, radiating reassurance and
love.
'It's all over, honey. You're safe. We've got you safe.' She
pressed the hypno spray to a muddied arm before the child could realize
that her parents were not among those clustered around the hopper. At
that, the sedative was not quite fast enough to allay the anguished
mental yowl which all Altair heard from the orphaned Rowan child.
'We've done as much as we can,' the Chief Medical Officer said
in a slightly defensive tone.
'We know you have,' Interior replied, radiating all the approval
she could project.
'The fact remains that the Rowan child is not cooperating,' the
Governor remarked with a rueful sigh.
'It's only ten days since the tragedy,' Interior added.
'And there are definitely no relatives to take charge of her?' the
Governor asked.
Interior consulted her records. 'We have the choice of eleven
parents of similar genotype because many of the miners were from the
same ethnic background. The Company headquarters did not keep backup
files of the infirmary records, so we don't even know how many children
have been born since the camp was established ten years ago. So, no
immediate relatives. There are doubtless some back on Earth.
The Governor cleared his throat. 'Earth has more high ranking
Talents than any other planet.' 'We do indeed need to guard our natural
resources, Interior replied with a slight smile.
'Let it be noted and so stipulated in the records of this meeting
that the . Rowan child,' he had paused for someone to supply a name,
'is henceforth a Ward of the Planet Altair 4. Now what?' and he turned
to Interior.
'Well, she can't stay indefinitely in the Pediatrics Ward,she
replied and turned to the Chief Medical Officer.
'My chief therapist says she's basically recovered from shock.
The lacerations and hematoma sustained in the slide have healed.
She has also managed to block all memory of the disaster but she
can't quite delete the fact that the child had parents, and possibly
siblings.' He nodded as the others murmured against more repressive
measures. 'But . . .' and he spread his hands, 'she is parentless,
and although the T-8 junior therapist has managed to . . . to deal
with the general telepathic "noise", the child's control is limited and
her span of concentration woefully short.' Everyone grimaced, for the
entire planet was still favored with outbursts from the Rowan child.
'Does she receive as well as broadcast?' the Governor finally
asked.
The Medic shrugged. 'She must or she wouldn't hear Siglen.' 'Now
that is something that has to be stopped,' Interior said, setting her
lips in a firm line before she went on.
'Slapping the child down for perfectly normal.
'If loud,' the Governor amended.
exuberance - which you must admit is a welcome change from the
crying - is going to inhibit what Talent the child has,' Interior went
on. 'Siglen may be a Prime T&T but she doesn't possess a single neuron
of empathy, and her insensitivity to the child's situation borders on
the callous.' 'Siglen may have no empathy,' the Governor said, a
thoughtful look filming his gaze, 'but she has great pride in her
profession and she has already trained two Primes to their current
responsibilities at Betelgeuse and Capella.' Someone grunted cynically.
'She's the most logical person in this system to undertake the
rowan child's education.' 'She's been made a Ward of Altair,' Interior
stated, sitting erect with opposition, 'and no-one's likely to contend
that. She'd have more kindly treatment on Earth at the Center. They'd
care about her. I vote we send her there. And as soon as possible.'
Lusena had the task of explaining it all to the Rowan child.
The T-8 had been working steadily with her, playing games to get
her to speak with her physical voice, rather than her mental one. Once
the child was recovered from the physical effects and the sedative
dosage had been reduced, Lusena had taken her to select a pukha toy
from the hospital's supply.
Pkkhas, deriving their name from the imaginary companion
discovered by needful children, had become widely used in pediatrics.
They could be programmed for a variety of uses, but more often
were used in surgical and long term care with great effect and as
surrogates for intense dependency cases. The Rowan child needed her
own pukha.
Considerable thought had been given to its programming: its long
soft hair was composed of receptors, monitoring the child's physical
and psychic health. It could, receiving danger signals from the Rowan,
initiate pacifying sentiments, encourage conversation and, of paramount
importance, moderate the little girl's mental 'voice'. It also
responded with its soothing, rumbling purr when the little girl became
restless or distressed. although Lusena and the pediatrics staff would
adjust the pukha's programs throughout its usefulness, every sensitive
on Altair knew when the Rowan christened it 'Purza'. Her silvery
laughter was a great improvement over whimpering, and almost everyone
was sympathetic to the little orphan.
Siglen's personal assistant, Bralla, a T8 empath, certainly was
and did her best to soothe her mistress - who could, Bralla had
admitted to the stationmaster, be more juvenile at times than the Rowan
child.
'Siglen might benefit by having a pukha herself,' Bralla told the
stationmaster, for Siglen had been extremely irascible when the Rowan
child's babble intruded on her concentration.
Gerolaman snorted. 'The kind of cuddling she wants she'll never
get.' And snorted again as Bralla frantically signaled him to guard his
sentiments.
'She's not really a bad person, Gerolaman. Just. .
'Far too accustomed to being THE most important person on the
planet. She doesn't like competition, not no way, no how. You
remember that dustup with Yegrani?' 'Gerolaman, she's not deaf!' Bralla
rose, 'She's about to need me. See you later.' Purza was not always
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TheRowanbyAnneMcCaffreyTheTalentsweretheeliteoftheNineStarLeague.Theirgiftsweremanyandvaried,rangingfromthegentletelepathic,totherareandextremelyvaluedPrimes.OnthePrimesrestedtheentireeconomicwealthandcommunicationssystemsofthecivilisedworlds.ButPrimeswerescarce-onlyveryrarelywasanewoneborn.Andnowon...
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