The Rowan

The Rowan gave a short ironic laugh.

"That's better," Isthia said, smiling back. "You'd got locked into a very bad mind loop there, doing you no good when Jeff is still going to need you. I'll have a meal brought in to you, and a more comfortable chair." With that she left.

Both the meal, which the Rowan forced herself to eat, and the chair, which was an improvement on the stool, were welcome. The monitors above Jeff's bed all indicated much stronger body rhythms, good Alpha and Delta responses. His light contact remained in her mind but it was still a passive one.

It was another hour before he revived enough to recognize his surroundings. At the sight of the Rowan beside his bed, he gave a weak grin which turned into a grimace of pain.

"Rowan?" and he reached for her hand, "I thought it was you, but I didn't know how you could be here." His voice was a dry whisper.

Sensing his thirst, she brushed his lips with water as she had seen the nurse do, then dribbled a teaspoonful into his mouth. In fact, I argued with myself that I had imagined you from a deep subliminal level.

"Hush, love. You needed me. I'm here."

You made it on your own? His mental tone was far stronger than his physical voice, and his fingers clutched hers with more force than she had expected.

Your mother.

Trust her to call in the cavalry. But you came? His astonishment and gratitude washed her mind.

Isthia had assembled a team. And then the generator fell apart!

Relief made her silly.

Reidinger let you come?

Hush, love. I hear the nurse coming.

"Well, back with us again, huh, Raven," said the sandy haired older nurse who flicked back the curtain. She nodded approvingly at the Rowan. "Medic Asaph will be very pleased." Then she turned squarely to the Rowan.

"Now will you leave his bedside and get some rest before I have to clout you on the head with that hardwood bat I keep for obstreperous bedside leeches?" "I'm fine," the Rowan said and her voice cracked with fatigue.

The nurse cocked one eyebrow skeptically. "Ha! You've done two and a half shifts already. Raven, you manage her." Go and rest, darling! Jeff urged. I'll keep you in mind, you know. And he gave her the tender smile that was hers alone.

Over the next two days, now that Jeff was on the mend and she had time to observe her surroundings, the Rowan was increasingly amazed by the resilience of the Denebians.

The planet had lost over three-fifths of its population, its two population centers had been demolished by bombardment, farming communities burned out, and the mines, on which Deneb depended for outworld supplies, were all but useless.

All known survivors of both plague and attack had long since been centralized, along with available supplies and skills. That had happened even before Jeff Raven had contacted the Rowan for assistance.

Between their first momentous meeting and now, the City's ruins had been leveled, and temporary living quarters erected: rudimentary, to be sure, but supplying shelter for all. The hydroelectric plant, deep in the cliffs through which the broad Kenesaw River surged down to the distant sea, had escaped damage but it was the planet's only operating power source. An immense communal kitchen fed everyone and four facilities scheduled time for personal bathing and laundry.

Except for toddlers and infants, even the children spent half their day on work teams, and schools for the older ones were devoted to on the-job training.

While the Fleet had generously given urgent medical supplies and freeze dried emergency rations to the battered colony, the Rowan began to notice critical shortages… such as work boots and warm clothing now that the Denebian winter was closing in. Though the City was located in the temperate zone, winds with bitter chill factors were known to buffet the plain and the hunters could not bring in sufficient pelts from the meat animals they killed to clothe everyone.

The Rowan knew she would receive private assistance from Capella and Betelgeuse as soon as she asked, but until she had a functioning generator, she couldn't bring any of it in to Deneb. She 'ported herself out to the dilapidated facility to see just what was needed to make it functional. The cracked housing, still on the ground, was not a priority repair. The generator itself was jerry-rigged.

Two slip rings had cracked, there were only the holders of the carbon brushes left, and the drive shaft looked doubtful. She lifted the housing back into place, wondering if anyone in the City had pyrotic Talent to mend the crack and if there were any spare generator parts left on Deneb.

When she entered the shaft (she couldn't give it the title of Tower), she realized that sheer blind luck must have been the guiding factor: the instrumentation was minimal, contrapted together out of spare parts not all of which seemed to perform any function when she tried to trace it. She thanked Gerolaman from the bottom of her heart for teaching her so much about the mechanical and electronic workings of a Tower. She might have passed the first essential lesson in 'porting herself in her frantic dash to Jeff's bedside, but she couldn't - wouldn't attempt a return without more sophisticated safeguards than these.