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.
If the Rowan could have avoided the farewell rituals, she would have. She hadn't had much sleep on that wretchedly soft bed and formalities invariably set her teeth on edge. All the Secretaries were there, each with something encouraging to say to her and a small present to brighten her new quarters. Secretary Camella wavered between radiant smiles and a teary face. Siglen wept copiously on Bralla's shoulder, moaning about the imminent tribulations and why wouldn't anyone listen to her and take proper care of her little pupil, the best one she had ever trained, and to have to endure what was before her.
Leading her Tower personnel up the gangway into the big and brightly lit transport, the Rowan ignored a flashback to the day it had been Purza she'd carried, not Rascal, up a ramp. She turned for one last wave at the assembled, and confidently followed the steward to her room.
"You've a barquecat?" the man exclaimed, noticing her burden.
"Rascal. The Mayotte let me have him four years ago. He's been a super friend."
" Mayotte, huh? You rate, Prime. You got to be real special to be voted a Mayotte barquecat."
"What do you have on board?" and the stimulating exchange lasted until he slid back the door of her cabin, explaining that it was larger than most accommodations and showing her the various facilities.
The Rowan pretended interest but she had to swallow frequently and she began to sweat even before she thanked the garrulous steward and finally managed to ease him out the door. The cabin was very small.
She'd been in shower stalls that were larger. But then she wouldn't have to be in it long.
Now, please don't worry, dear. Really, there is absolutely nothing to worry about, Siglen's anxious tones blossomed in her mind.
It isn't the same sort of mind-wrenching trip that I had to take to get here the first time, you know, before Altair Tower was operational.
Siglen's mind was roiling with fear for Rowan. The girl could easily visual the slab of a woman, supine in her couch, her eyes on the vessel's coordinates on the ceiling screen, her fingers checking and checking the gestalt thrust needed for the launch. It was a scene she had witnessed time and again, but not at this end of the operation.
Bralla would be hovering in the background. I do hope everything will go smoothly for you, dear, Siglen continued, her anxiety intensifying. I've checked and double checked and everything is in perfect working order. I just wish I didn't have to be the one The Rowan gritted her teeth. The last thing she needed was Siglen reminiscing over her tribulations on the journey from Earth to Altair.
The woman meant well.
The Rowan urged the lift-off claxon to sound, signaling their imminent departure. Involved in gestalt, Siglen could not transfer mental garbage. What was keeping the woman from completing the lift?
Oh, oh, Bralla, and Siglen's wide open mind wailed as the Rowan child once had done. How can I do this to her?
The Rowan tried to close out a sudden whirling, mindboggling disorientation.
Lift, Siglen! Now is not the time to dally! Get me off planet NOW! the Rowan cried, unwilling to endure any more delay colored by a cowardly old woman's ancient fears.
The Rowan leaned back against the door, closing her mind to Siglen's moans. Siglen was frightening herself.
The Rowan wasn't at all frightened, even if the cabin suddenly seemed constricting. The cabin on the Miraki had been small but the Miraki had been on the sea which rolled around Altair. There was fresh air all over. She took deep gulps of air and it tasted properly. She knew from standard procedures that air was replaced between voyages so this wasn't stale recycled air she was breathing.
The passenger vehicle was not a large one: Siglen lifted far more mass without thinking twice about it. She had only to 'port the ship halfway to its destination where Reidinger as Earth Prime would catch and ease it into Earth's Star System. As it neared Jupiter, the ship would enter the proper orbit to land on Callisto's surface.
Once the Tower was in full operation, it would be the Rowan who would catch an incoming 'portation and land it neatly and without a bump into the cradle designed to receive it on Callisto. The Rowan fixed her mind on her future, her own Tower to run, free forever of Siglen's fussy peculiarities.
The claxon sounded. The Rowan found it oddly difficult to move from the door to the bunk. Even silly, but she lay down. She ought not to feel any motion whatever. Siglen was an experienced Prime.
There would be no motion, nothing at all like the Miraki coming through the Straits, no bouncing, rolling, slewing.
Oh my dear child, brace yourself! Brace yourself. Siglen even managed to penetrate the Rowan's shielding but then she had the gestalt to magnify her telepathy.
But the Rowan knew the moment the 'port began: she knew it because the marrow of her bones vibrated with the generator gestalt.
Oh, Bralla, HOW could I do this to the child? How? Oh, what she'll suffer now!
There was no escape for the Rowan from Siglen's anguished keening.
Nor would Siglen leave her alone, determined in her unnecessary solicitude to support her former pupil through this ordeal.
Then, just as Siglen had said it would, suddenly everything was spinning in her head: She was neither up nor down, nor sideways, but whirling in a desperate spiral to nowhere and she screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed, and heard Rascal shrieking with equal panic.
Then she was falling into hands, hands that seized and held her down, down, down, forcing her into the vortex that reached out to envelop her and she descended, unchecked into the awful spinning, mind-wrenching blackness.
PART TWO. CALLISTO
When the Rowan came storming into Callisto Station that morning, its personnel mentally and literally ducked.
Mentally, because she was apt to forget to shield.
Literally, because the Rowan was prone to slamming loose furnishings around when she got upset. Today, however, she was in fair command of herself and merely stamped up the stairs into the Tower. A vague rumble of noisy thoughts tossed around the ground floor of the Station for a few minutes, but the computer and analogue men ignored the depressing effects with the gratitude of those saved from greater disaster.
From the residue of her passage, Brian Ackerman, the Stationmaster, caught the impression of intense purple frustration. He was basically only a T-9, but constant association with the Rowan had broadened his perceptions. Ackerman appreciated this side effect of his position - when he was anywhere else but at the Station.
At the beginning, just after the Rowan had been assigned to Callisto, he had tried to transfer with no success. Federal Telepathers and Teleporters, Inc. had established a routine regarding his continuous applications. The first one handed in each quarter was ignored; the second brought an adroitly worded reply on how sensitive and crucial a position he held at Callisto Prime Station; his third often a violent demand - always got him a special shipment of scotch; his fourth - a piteous wail - brought the Section Supervisor out for a face-to-face chat and, only then, a few discreet words to the Rowan.
Ackerman was positive she always knew the full story before the Supervisor finally approached her. It pleased her to be difficult, but the one time Ackerman discarded protocol and snarled back at her, she had mended her ways for a full quarter. It had reluctantly dawned on Ackerman that she must like him, and he had since used this knowledge to advantage. He was also becoming proud of the fact that he was one of the longest serving members of the Callisto personnel.
Each of the twenty-three Station staff members had gone through a similar shuffling until the Rowan accepted them. It took a very delicate balance of mental talent, personality, and technical skill to achieve the proper gestalt required to move giant liners and tonnes of freight.