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.
Federal Tel and Tel had only five Primes - five T-1's each strategically placed to effect the best possible transmission of commerce and communications throughout the sprawling Nine-Star League.
It was FT amp;T's dream someday to provide instantaneous transmission of anything, anywhere, anytime. Until that day, FT amp;T exercised patient diplomacy with its five T-1's, putting up with their vagaries like the doting owners of so many golden geese. If keeping the Rowan happy had meant changing the lesser personnel twice daily, it would probably have been done. The present staff had been intact for over two years in spite of the Rowan's eccentricities.
The Rowan had been peevish for a week this time and everyone was beginning to smart under the backlash. So far no-one knew why the Rowan was upset… if she did herself. To be fair, Ackerman thought, she usually does have reasons.
Ready for the liner! Her thought lashed out so piercingly that Ackerman was sure everyone in the ship waiting outside had heard her.
But he switched the intercom in to the ship's captain.
"I heard," the captain said wryly. "Give me a five-count and then set us off." Ackerman didn't bother to relay the message to the Rowan.
In her mood, she'd be hearing straight to Capella and back. The generator board was ablaze with varied colored printouts and messages as the team brought the booster field up to peak, while the Rowan impatiently rewed up the launch units to push-off strength. She was well ahead of the standard timing, and the pent-up power seemed to keen through the station. The countdown came fast as the energy level sang past endurable limits.
ROWAN, NO TRICKS, Ackerman said.
He caught her mental laugh and barked a warning to the captain.
He hoped the man had heard it, because the Rowan was on zero before he could finish and the ship was out of the system, beyond com distance in seconds.
The keening dynamos lost only a minute edge of sharpness before they sang at peak again. The lots on the launchers snapped out into space as fast as they could be set up. Then loads rocketed into the receiving area from other Prime Stations, and the ground crews hustled rerouting and hold orders. The power note settled to a bearable pitch, as the Rowan worked out her mood without losing the efficient and accurate thrust that made her FT amp;T's best Prime.
Callisto Moonbase was not a large installation, but its position was critical. Most of the heart system's freight and passenger ships required the gestalt lift beyond the system where the hyper or drone drives could safely be activated. As such bases went, it was luxurious - once you got accustomed to the overhead lower of Jupiter, or its mass jutting up from the horizon. Terraforming the moon gave its workers psychological reassurance during the working "day" with trees and grass lawns and flowering bushes and plants under the main dome.
There were pleasant gardened accommodations for those staff that were on 24-hour duty, though most of the personnel - the Rowan willing - returned to their Earth surface or orbital homes. As befit her status as an FT amp;T Prime, the Rowan had a special double-domed enclosure, with gardens and a pool and rimmed with small trees and bushes to complete her privacy. Rumor had it that her quarters were rich with priceless furnishings, gathered from many planets, but no-one knew for certain as the Rowan guarded her privacy even more than FT amp;T guarded her. The Callisto installation had been the engineering and scientific feat of the century, now commonplace since technological improvements outstripped that accomplishment as humans reached newer and more exotic planets in ever more remote star systems.
One of the ground crew toggled the yellow alert across the board, then red as ten tonnes of cargo from Earth settled on the Priority Receiving cradle. The waybill said Deneb VIII, one of the newest colonies, which was at the Rowan's limit. But the shipment was marked TOP EMERGENCY PRIORITY/ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL with lavish MED seals and stencils shouting "caution". The waybill described the shipment as antibodies for a virulent plague and specified direct transmission.
Well, where're my coordinates and my placement photo? snapped the Rowan. I can't thrust blind, you know, and we've always rerouted for Deneb VIII. Bill Powers was scrolling through the Stardex which the Rowan suddenly tripped into a fast forward, the appropriate fax appearing on all screens at once.
Glor-ree! Do I have to land all that mass there myself?
No, Lamebrain, I'll pick it up at 24.578.82, the lazy rich baritone voice drawled in every mind, that nice little convenient black dwarf midway. You won't need to strain a single neuron in your pretty little skull.
The silence was deafening.
Well, I'll be… came from the Rowan.
Of course, you are, sweetheart - just push that nice little package out my way. Or is it too much for you? The drawl was solicitous rather than insulting.
You'll get your package! replied the Rowan, and the dynamos keened piercingly just once as the ten tonnes disappeared out of the cradle.
Why, you little minx… slow it down or I'll burn your ears back!
Come out and catch it! The Rowan's laugh broke off in a gasp of surprise, and Ackerman could feel her slamming up her mental shields.
I want that stuff in one piece, not smeared a millimeter thin on the surface, my dear, the voice said sternly. OK. I've got it.
Thanks! We need this.
Hey, who the blazes are you? What's your placement?
Deneb VIII, my dear, and a busy boy right now. To-to.
The silence was broken only by the whine of the dynamos dying to an idle burr.
Not a hint of what the Rowan was thinking came through now, but Ackerman could pick up the aura of incredulity, shock, speculation, and satisfaction that pervaded the thoughts of everyone else in the Station.
What a stunner for the Rowan! No-one except a T-1 could have projected that far. There'd been no mention of a new T-1 being contracted to FT amp;T, and, as far as Ackerman knew, FT amp;T had the irreversible first choice on T-1 kinetics. However, Deneb planet was now it its third generation and colonial peculiarities had produced the Rowan in two.
"Hey, people," Ackerman said, "sock up your shields. She's not going to like your drift."
Dutifully the aura was dampened, but the grins did not fade and Powers started to whistle cheerfully.
Another yellow flag came up for the Altair hurdle and the waybill designated LIVE SHIPMENT TO BETELGEUSE.
The dynamos whined noisily and then the launcher was empty.
Whatever might be going through her mind at the moment, the Rowan was doing her work.
All told, it was an odd day, and Ackerman didn't know whether to be thankful or not that the Rowan wasn't leaking any aggravation. She spun the day's lot in and out with careless ease. By the time Jupiter's bulk had moved around to blanket the out-system traffic, Callisto's day was nearly over and the Rowan wasn't off power as much as decibel one. Once the in-Sun traffic had filled all available cradles, Ackerman wound down the system. The computer banks darkened and dynamos fell silent… but the Rowan did not come down out of her Tower.
Ray Loftus and Afra, the Capellan T-4, came over to sit on the edge of Ackerman's desk. They brought out the bottle of some home brew and passed it around. As usual, Afra demured and took from his belt pouch a half-folded origami, his special form of relaxation.
"I was going to ask her Highness to give me a lift home," Loftus said, "but I dunno now. Got a date with…" He disappeared. A moment later, Ackerman could see him near a personnel carrier. Not only had he been set down gently, but various small necessities, including a flight bag, floated out of nowhere on to a neat pile in the carrier.
Ray was given time to settle himself before the hatch sealed and he was whisked off.