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.
She was startled by the muted wail of an angry baby.
Balance yourself, Isthia Raven said in a dry tone, entering the room. Grateful for the tonic of Isthia Raven's presence, the Rowan did. I think, Asaph, that there are far too many unnecessary bodies crowding around my son. Do thank the Fleet men and send them on their way. Their thoughts are too negative, and that's a bad aura to have in here.
With Rakella now following her every move, the Rowan repeated the hard pressure on the sole, began to massage the whole foot, warming the flesh, then gently and lightly rubbing the main bones from toe to heel bone. She worked longer at the groove between the internal cuneiform and navicular bones, which should quicken his flagging energies. She moved on to the calcaneum, massaging the side of the heel back to the Achilles tendon. Lightly her fingers crossed the top of the foot, down, and under the outer ankle bone. Then she repeated the sequence, using hard strokes only on the sole and the big toe, before lightening her pressure up the bony ridge of the arch.
Rakella had acquired the rhythm of the massage now, and they worked in unison. Occasionally Rowan tested the meridian above the left ankle, willing the tempo of her own measured heartbeat to echo in Jeff's arteries, willing him to rally, to respond, however faintly, to show them that he clung to life.
The superiluous bodies out of the way, Isthia moved to Jeff's head, smoothing back his sweaty hair. Then she placed her fingers lightly on each temple and looked up at the Rowan. Jeff's mother had the same startlingly blue eyes, the same direct, honest gaze. But neither of them could "feel" his mind.
We Ravens have hard heads, Isthia said, closing off her emotions to the hope still deferred.
And callused feet, added Rakella.
As the Rowan kneaded the sole, she suddenly felt the breakup of that awful congestion. She glanced at the monitors and they confirmed a slight but measurable improvement. Yet still, there was nothing of Jeff to touch in that special area in which all Talent dwelt.
We will not let him go! Isthia said softly. Her eyes held the contact with Rowan.
No, we will not! And the Rowan renewed her ministrations, sliding her hands up his legs to his knees and the next major meridian. Even lax in his present condition, she could feel the muscular strength of him - memories flooded back.
Even those could help, his mother said drolly.
The Rowan looked up, caught off guard.
Jeff said you had a loud voice, the Rowan said respectfully, gently stroking the bony ridge down the arch. The lightest of caresses now to coax his return. He didn't mention you had a long ear.
Isthia smiled. I'd heard about this sort of hands-on techniques.
Interesting!
It might take time to show results… It takes time for most healings, Rowan. And I "feel" that this is working even if we don't see much progress.
Suddenly Jeff's foot gave a feeble twitch. The Rowan started in surprise.
Now that's a definite reaction, Rowan! Rakella said, looking much encouraged.
So the Rowan pressed deeply in the pad of his left big toe and saw a wriggle in the Alpha line and a minute shudder in the Delta. Rakella gripped the right toe, and again there was a brief response.
"How long do you keep this up?" Medic Asaph asked, returning. He was deeply anxious about Jeff, his broad face reflecting concern and fatigue.
"Until we bring him back," the Rowan stated flatly.
"There is no time where he is now." Asaph gave a snort. "Time? He gave us a time, I'll tell you! Worth it, though. Jeff's sort of special to us here on Deneb." Then he added hastily, "Unfortunately, I need Rakella. Jeff wasn't the only one injured." Isthia touched the Rowan lightly on the shoulder. "I should feed the baby," she said, and through her mind the Rowan could hear the now frantic cries of a very hungry infant. "If it's necessary he can wait a while longer…" The Rowan could also feel the dichotomy of her needs: two sons to succor.
"Feed the child!" she said. She could concentrate entirely on Jeff, then, free of the anxieties of others; alone with Jeff, who was her responsibility right now as no-one else had ever been.
Isthia slipped away through the curtains. The patient in the next cubicle groaned, and the Rowan heard the quick, soft steps of the nurse coming to attend him.
Then, in privacy, the Rowan forced herself to look at Jeff's face again, so sickly pale beneath the tan. For a man of such mental and physical strength and vigor, he looked boy-like when unconscious, as if injury had wiped clean all traces of his charismatic personality as well as health. The ache within her grew to alarming proportions, an insistent pressure of tears behind her eyes and her throat so clogged that she had to force breath out and then down.
Easy! Isthia's touch, stemming as it must from a pain as severe as her own, soothed her. Do not compromise the good you've already done with negative emotions.
Such a long ear his mother had! The Rowan was both resentful and grateful for that reminder. She paused long enough to bring the stool, the one other piece of furniture in the cubicle, to the foot of the bed. And then renewed the metamorphic treatment. Lightly, lightly, stroking endlessly. Occasionally she placed her fingers on the meridian point, feeling the beat of the arterial blood flow, and trying to bring the tempo up to her own circulatory level.
"Are you there, Jeff? Are you still there?" she whispered, willing him to hear her voice, if not her mind. And as she continued to stroke his feet, she talked to him in that whisper, so low that it would not reach past the privacy screen. Oddly, the sound of her own voice soothed her.
The Rowan had never sat in vigil. Nor had she ever no, once before, a long, long time ago - felt so helpless. In a tumbling stinking darkness? But never had helplessness been so bitter a state.
What good did Talent do her now?
And yet it had! His mind might not know that she was there, but his body did, borrowing her physical strength to holster his faltering grasp on life. She placed her hand on his wrist, her fingers monitoring the slow but not so faint beat. Yes, his body knew that she was there, even if that could not be recorded in the green lines wavering along the screens.
Through her hands she continued to let her energy flow to him.
When Jeff… yes, when Jeff was well… she promised herself she would take additional training in the metamorphic from those Earth Talents whose healing abilities produced effects close to the miraculous. A miracle was certainly needed here. How long did miracles take on this alternate level?
Had she truly reached it? Be positive! Jeff would live, would revive, be wholly himself again. She flowed life from herself into Jeff Raven in a calm and even stream, laden with love and dedication.
Despite herself, despite her uncomfortable position on the low stool, despite her continued gentle massage, the Rowan must have dozed.
For her head was resting against one foot. She shook herself awake, ashamed at such weakness, which was negative, when positivity was so essential. Apprehensively she glanced at the monitors: all registered stronger functions.
The shout that then burst from her, bringing both nurses to the cubicle, was sheer exultation.
Rowan! cried Isthia, hope bursting like a meteor tail through her voice.
Back where she had missed it was the light but tender touch of Jeff Raven's sleeping mind.
He's there! He'll live! He's there! He'll live! she chanted, sobbing with almost unbearable joy and relief.
She intensely resented the nurses who shoved back the curtain and briskly motioned her to one side.
Let them do their job, Rowan, said Isthia in a tone of mild rebuke. It's not as if he could help raise his endorphin levels and reduce pain. Which I guarantee you he'll feel soon. He was brought in unconscious, bleeding to death, so there was no time to use less stringent methods of anesthesia. It'll take him a while to revive from the chemicals. But at least now we know he will! You have my eternal gratitude.