The Rowan
- Автор: Маккефри Энн
- Серия: Tower and the Hive #1
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Rowan». Краткое содержание книги:
The kinetically gifted, trained in mind/machine gestalt, are the most valued citizens of the Nine Star League. Using mental powers alone, these few Prime Talents transport ships, cargo and people between Earth's Moon, Mars' Demos and Jupiter's Callisto.
An orphaned young girl, simply called The Rowan, is discovered to have superior telepathic potential and is trained to become Prime Talent on Callisto. After years of self-sacrificing dedication to her position, The Rowan intercepts an urgent mental call from Jeff Raven, a young Prime Talent on distant Deneb. She convinces the other Primes to merge their powers with hers to help fight off an attack by invading aliens. Her growing relationship with Jeff gives her the courage to break her status-imposed isolation, and choose the more rewarding world of love and family.
"Prepare to tack, mister," he roared at her over the surf pounding the Gut Rocks.
By the time that was done, the Rowan had her first good look at the surf boiling through the Straits.
"We're going through that?" she demanded, and he admired the way she covered the sudden fright she'd experienced.
"You said you had a stomach of iron. I'm testing it." As she made her way back to the cockpit, he grinned when he noticed how tightly she kept a hold of the life-rail, and how neatly she balanced in her bare feet against the plunge of the Miraki.
To himself, Turian thought that perhaps this had not been the kindest way to test her seamanship but he was as proud of her courage.
She seemed undaunted until they hit the midpoint, and suddenly the Miraki was cresting a huge wave, plummeting down with stomach-churning abruptness, wallowing in the trough before being flung up again on the next wave.
The girl beside him screamed and he shot a glance at her, her face white as the sheet, eyes distended and staring straight ahead, in the grip of complete terror. He spared one hand from the tiller long enough to haul her as close to him as the tiller between them permitted. He grabbed her rigid hand and placed it under his on the tiller. Then he coiled his right leg around her left one, angling his body to touch hers at as many points as the rough passage permitted.
And it wasn't the sea that terrified her. How he knew that he never questioned. This was an old terror, somehow revived by their situation. She was struggling with her fears, struggling with every ounce of her. He kept as close a contact as possible, knew she'd have bruises on her hand from his pressure but that was all he had to reassure her.
Fortunately, for all the danger, the Straits were not long and though under these conditions, the passage seemed to last an unconscionably long time, he was very soon able to veer into the much calmer waters.
"Rowan?" He let go of the tiller for long enough to pull her over on to his knees, holding her tight against him, while he grabbed a line to secure the tiller on the new course. He cranked on the cockpit winch to trim the mainsail and then he was free to comfort the shuddering girl. Gently he pushed the wet curls back from her forehead. "Rowan, what scared you so?" "I couldn't help it! It wasn't the Straits. It was the way the ship bounced and rolled and surged. Just like the hopper. I was three. My mother left me in the hopper and it was caught in the flood, bounced about just like that. For days. None came. I was hungry and thirsty and cold and scared."
"It's all right now, girl. We're past it now. Smooth sailing from now on. I promise you!" She made an effort to push him away but Turian knew that she was far from over the shock of that revived terror and he continued to hold her gently but firmly against him. Casting his seaman's eye at wind and water, at the sea room between the Miraki and the shore, he was satisfied with their current course. Lifting the Rowan, light and shivering in his arms, he maneuvered her carefully down into the cabin and laid her down on the bunk. He started the kettle before he removed her life vest and wet gear. Her skin was chilled under his hands so he wrapped her well in a blanket before he made a restorative brew. Liberally lacing that with spirits, he handed it to her.
"You drink that down," he ordered in an authoritative tone that provoked a slight smile from her as she obeyed.
Then he stripped off his own rough-weather gear, rubbed his hair and shoulders dry before he made himself a similar brew. He sat down on the opposite bunk and waited until she felt like talking.
"The ship?" she asked once between sips, hearing the rush of the hull through the water.
"Don't worry about her." Her smile was less tentative. "Don't worry about me, then. I haven't had that particular nightmare in years. But the motion…" "Strange what triggers off a bad memory," he said easily. "Catch you unawares out of nowhere. I damned near lost ship and self in a strait similar to that one. Scared me shitless and not a clean, dry pair of pants in the locker. You might say," and he ducked his head a bit, affecting embarrassment, "I sort of try myself more often in the Islay Straits just to prove I can't scare any more."
"I'm not sure," she said slowly but the color was back in her face again, "that I'd like to go back through today, if you don't mind." "Couldn't anyway," he said with a laugh, and took the empty cup from her. "Tide's the wrong way right now for the westward passage."
"Now, isn't that a pity!" Admiring her resilience, he gave her a mock cuff on the jaw and then tossed a clean towel at her. "Dry off, change, and get on deck again. You're standing the watch down to Yona's Tail." Something to do, he was telling himself as he went topside, was much better for her than reliving that old scare. The Rowan was in complete agreement but she couldn't quite shake off her response to his immediate support of her in the depths of renewed terror. He might have mocked her lack of courage: He might as easily have ignored her as a coward but he had read her correctly and given her exactly the physical reassurance she needed and had needed as that three-year-old child.
Old terrors could indeed grab you at the most unexpected moments: this was the first time so much had surfaced past the blocks they had placed on that horrific experience. Her mind might not be allowed to remember but her body had. This time someone had been there to hold her hand.
She dressed in her spare dry clothes, donning the warm sweater against the chill of bones that not even the hot stimulant had dissipated. As she scrubbed her hair dry, she was wryly amused that Turian hadn't realized that her explanation of her terror had been subvocal. But then, so physically close, he didn't even need to be emphatic for her to 'path to him.
His face brightened as he saw her emerge on deck. She smiled back.
"Helm's yours," and he pointed to the compass setting.
"I'll run up the jib. That way we'll make our anchorage well before dark. I've changed our ETA with the Sea guards so they won't panic but d'you want to tell anyone at Favor Bay that you won't be back till noon?" She shook her head, aware from his obvious thoughts that he wasn't at all disappointed in extending the cruise.
He had an edge of anger for people who had somehow put a three-year-old child in such peril. Turian was beginning to see her not just as another useful pair of hands, a workmate, but as a distinct and interesting personality.
She watched his lithe body as he hoisted the jib, coiled some lines that the rough passage had scattered, and generally checked port and starboard on his way back to the cockpit. As he settled in the corner of the bench, he squinted at the compass and then at the shoreline.
"Helmsman, set a new course, ten points to starboard." He raised an arm, pointing toward the distant tip of Yona Island. "We're making for an anchorage on Yona's Tail. Come morning, we can set a straight course back to Favor Bay." "Aye, aye, sir. Ten points to starboard on a course for Yona's Tail. And I beg to inquire of Captain, if he brought along enough provisions for a starving sailor." "No-one goes hungry aboard the Miraki," he said with an approving chuckle. "You can catch as much fish as you can eat, mister, and there's plenty to garnish with." Thick clouds had begun to darken the skies before they reached the anchorage, a pleasant little crescent bay with a fine sandy beach. Yona was a popular summer resort with hundreds of similar strands along its eastern shore. They were the only vessel in those calm waters for the cradled sailing boats and the shoreline dwellings were still in their winter cocoons. As soon as the sails were furled, all lines coiled, riding and cabin lights on, Turian broke out fishing gear.
"No bait?" He grinned. "Drop your line overboard and see what happens." "Incredible!" was her reaction as flat fish seemed to leap on to the hook as soon as it dropped below the surface.
"Right time of year for 'em. Always plenty in this bay. Now, five minutes from sea to plate and eat as much as you can."