Damia's Children (32 page)

Rojer grinned, imagining the ruckus his grandparents would make if anything did happen to a Prime grandson.

“We'll keep in touch, too,” Damia said, combing her fingers through the white lock which Rojer kept short. “We're only a thought away wherever you are.”

“I know, Mom, Dad, but I don't think you ought to tell Zara where I'm going. I think she'd freak out.”

Damia nodded, pursing her lips. “I must ask Elizara to come visit her namesake. Maybe this is just a phase she's going through. It's not like my family, and certainly not like your father's.”

“All our children are individuals in their own right, Damia.”

“I know!”

C
APTAIN Osullivan of the
Genesee
himself welcomed Rojer Lyon on board and politely but firmly took control of the courier pouch that Rojer had been sternly charged to deliver only into the captain's hand. His personal carrier, with drones attached like oblong satellites around it, was 'ported by the efforts of Callisto, Earth, Aurigaen, and Denebian Primes. That gave Rojer some indication of how very far from his part of the galaxy the B Squadron was.

A thought away, indeed, he thought. More like a hoarse whisper.

That's all you know about it, young man
, said his grandmother's unmistakable voice, fainter than usual but clear.
I can't abide cocky youngsters.
There was, for Rojer's peace of mind, the ripple of amusement in her tone.

The two drones directly obstructing his hatch
were shifted and it was opened. Neither he nor his two 'Dinis suffered any untoward effect from the atmosphere on board: the
Genesee
, being the prototype Constellation class vessel, had an extremely efficient oxygen regeneration program:
sgli
plants played a large part in air filtration.

Rojer shook right hands with the captain: with left hands, Rojer released the documents pouch to its stated recipient. Osullivan, a tall man in his sixth decade, fit, slightly balding but urbane, gave not the slightest reaction, as others behind him did, that such a young person had been entrusted with the courier pouch and had helped bring the drone supplies. The captain then introduced Rojer to the lieutenant who would be his aide while on board. He also issued an invitation for Rojer with Grl and Ktg—whose names he had no trouble pronouncing—to join him and his officers at dinner at 1930 hours. He then excused himself, courier bag clasped tightly to his side, and, nodding right and left to the dawdling crewmembers to get back to their work, left the bay.

Lieutenant junior grade Lin Xing Tsu, a slight wiry young man with so close a haircut that his sallow scalp showed through his black hair, immediately picked up Rojer's one duffel and led the way to his quarters.

Lin was obviously proud of the
Genesee
, recently commissioned and on her maiden voyage, and described her amenities in glowing detail as they traversed the passageways. As they passed some of the more important features, or Lin indicated which lift to take to reach the gym, sick bay, and commissary, Rojer began to feel more assured. He, Gil, and Kat were shown into a stateroom, not
quite as large as the one Thian had occupied as described by Damia, but certainly not the cramped cabin that had been his brother's first accommodation on the
Vadim.

“Can I get a little something to eat . . . to tide me over until dinner?” Rojer asked because he had left Aurigae just after breakfast, arrived before lunch at Callisto where the drones were attached to his capsule, and arrived after the noon meal on the
Genesee.

Smiling, Lin inclined his head. “Sure thing! Considering you brought us several tons or more of food, you're entitled to a decent meal. Betcha all the edibles are already in the galley and storage.”

As they made their way back to the messhall, Rojer asked, “Is there a piece table aboard this ship?”

“A peace table?” Lin slowed to glance back over his shoulder in surprise at Rojer. “We haven't declared war yet. How can we make peace?”

“Not that kind of peace.” Rojer spelled out the correct one. “You know, Hive ship pieces . . . Putting them together?” His explanation fell on puzzled ears. “On the
Beijing
, they had all the pieces, in scale of course, of the Hive ship that was caught by the nova shock wave. The one that the
Vadim
squadron found? People are trying to put it back together . . .”

Lin still didn't understand, so while Rojer continued to explain, he glumly realized that he'd have no more chance of participation. Probably by the time this mission ended, the wreck would have been totally reconstructed. He'd so wanted to be part of that effort.

“Maybe Lieutenant Gander would know,” Lin said helpfully, “he's the Morale officer.”

“You have seen a tape of the queen's emergence, haven't you?”

“Queen? Didn't know there were any left on Earth! Or is it Procyon that has a royal family?”

“I'm referring to the Hiver queen that was found alive in an escape pod.”

“You don't say? A live Hive queen? Oooh! Wouldn't want to see that!”

“Actually, she's quite beautifully colored,” Rojer said, speaking in the most diffident manner. This was a warship, chasing a Hiver vessel, and their attitude toward a Hive queen would reflect that. “They've put her in Heinlein Base on Earth's moon.”

“Thought that installation was decommissioned decades ago.”

“It was, but it's been reopened to accommodate the queen. She can't get out of there.”

“Who'd want to get in?” Lin wanted to know.

“Your ship's really been out of touch,” Rojer said, shaking his head.

“Oh, we know what we need to know,” Lin assured him affably. “We're more interested in what's likely to happen than what has! Here we are,” he added unnecessarily for the smell of roasting meat wafted appetizingly from the corridor.

A meal was cheerfully set before him.

“A single zap and you'd never know it wasn't freshly prepared,” the cook's mate said as he was served a piping hot plate. “We allus has somethin' for the watch. You really a Talent, kid?”

“So they tell me,” Rojer said, grinning. He didn't mind being called a “kid” by a seaman so
grizzled he was probably older than Grandfather Raven. Then Rojer half-goggled at the multicolored pictures on the sailor's massive forearms: tattoos, he thought they were called.

“Where'd you get them?” he asked between attempts to cool his food enough to put it in his mouth. The plate had been well zapped.

“Ah, now these, me laddie buck, are the result of a wager . . .” Settling into the seat opposite Rojer and Lin the mate proceeded to embellish a tale almost as garish as his forearms.

“Mr. Lyon here,” Lin began when the tale was over and duly appreciated, “says they caught a Hiver queen. Got her locked up on Heinlein Base.”

“Do they?” and the mate was either skeptical or not easily impressed.

“She's laid eggs,” Rojer said, hoping to generate some interest.

“Well, laddie buck, in a month or two, we may see more eggs'n she'll ever lay,” the mate said, rising to his feet. “Aye, wouldn't doubt we'd see more. That's a Hiver system we're coming to. Knew we'd find one sometimes. Glad I've lived to see the day. I'm Denebian, you see, so vengeance is mine! Enjoy your meal.”

“Th . . . thanks, I am.” Mentally Rojer was glad he'd kept his remarks neutral. He was amused, though, that all the startling events he had witnessed recently were unexceptional on the
Genesee
, and philosophically, resigned himself to the situation.

*   *   *

Mother, Father
, Damia said, initiating a call to her parents, still at their breakfast on Callisto.

Yes, Damia?
her mother replied.
Something is the
matter. Jeff, I told you that yesterday when we exchanged Rojer's capsule. And it's . . . Zara?
There was gratifying surprise in the Rowan's tone.
Whatever could be the matter with Zara? She's the most pliable of your lot.

Not anymore, Mother.
And quickly Damia conveyed a summary of her daughter's recent aberrant and capricious behavior.
I don't know where she gets these notions about the queen
 . . .

Unusual that
, the Rowan said.
Especially across such distance, and with only a tape to stimulate the reaction
 . . .

D'you mean—others have reacted the way Zara has?

Yes, indeed
, Jeff put in.
There's a growing minority who feel the Alliance has been authoritarian, peremptory and high-handed. Which is muddle-headed thinking. After all, the creature was humanely rescued from sure death. There was no planet on which she could have landed before oxygen and food supplies ran out. She may be isolated but that's as much for her own good. There've been two attempts to . . . eradicate her from “Human soil” already.

We hadn't heard about them
 . . . Damia was indignant. The queen
was
in responsible protective custody: by observation alone much could be learned from her about others of her species. She wouldn't be released but, on the moon, she was certainly no threat to anyone.

You haven't heard because it's been kept top secret. Young Rhodri is to be commended once more for prompt and effective action
, Jeff said.

Mind you
, the Rowan added in a terse caustic tone,
there were a few snide remarks about the prolificacy of plummy jobs held by one particular Denebian family
 . . .

Damia heard her father's amused chuckle.
Our critics simply fail to appreciate large families: but we're by no means the only Denebian family with phalanxes of progeny. And certainly not
one
family at that: there're Ravens, Eagles, Cranes, Gwyns, Lyons, and a healthy sprinkling of Terran Reidingers, Owenses, Grens, Maus, and Thigbits in the top echelons. That isn't really a monopoly—just clever family planning.

However, the remarks were just short of libel and slander, and decidedly snide
, the Rowan said, irritated.

Irrelevant, all of it
, Jeff said.
So far the queen has been cared for to the best of our small knowledge. High Council 'Dinis are in accord with ours that she be treated with care as any prisoner of war. The old Geneva conventions—and I don't know how old they actually are—have been scrupulously applied. The difference here is that she has never seen her keepers, curators, whatever. Which may be pure serendipity.

Why?

We have to assume that, after centuries of space battles and the one landing the Hive managed on the 'Dini Sef colony, that her species know what Mrdinis look like. But they can't know what Humans look like, never having encountered us in the flesh as it were. There is a school of thought that she could be approached by a Human representative, in a friendly manner. That way we may find out
 . . .

Father, that is totally reprehensible! That's . . . that's taking advantage of a helpless
 . . .

You too?
The Rowan put in.

Me, too, what?

You feel that she's helpless, alone, isolated, friendless, worldless?
Her mother's tone was sardonic.

Not particularly
, Damia remarked drily,
but Zara does!

Zara? Yes, she's always been particularly sensitive, hasn't she? But how would she pick that up from looking at a tape? That's real distancing
, the Rowan said thoughtfully.
Still, there's a use for that sort of Talent, too.

Damia caught an undertone in her mother's mind.
Mother, she's not fourteen yet. And
 . . .

And
 . . . Jeff Raven prompted his daughter when she faltered, although what she was finding hard to say was the reason for her contacting her parents.

Lately she's been almost . . . dysfunctional as a Talent. Cross her off your list of prospective Tower candidates!

Not fourteen yet?
the Rowan repeated.
And presently dysfunctional? She's just started menstruation? Well, the dysfunction could right itself when her cycle settles. Is that what you wanted to tell us?

Damia heaved a sigh.
Yes, I felt you should know.

The Rowan projected sympathy but again Damia felt that undertone, and a flash of keen interest and some satisfaction.

I will not say that you were not a handful at that age, dear Damia
, her father said, a ripple of fond amusement in his tone.

I was
never
dysfunctional as a Talent.

No, that you weren't.
There was a shade of irony in the affectionate wave that washed over Damia and she relaxed.