The Rowan

In the second place, she wasn't at all sure that she was sufficiently confident enough to push herself, coldmindedly, out on such a long kinetic haul. She wondered if she could try Reidinger's patience enough to wait until Jeff could handle gestalt again.

If you don't have a generator, Reidinger said with dangerous logic, how can you expect to catch a shipment?

My immediate need is light stuff. I've access to a small generator.

Toss it out to reach here at 0300 Deneb time, and I'll catch.

If you're trying an unpowered catch, you little… Burning my mind out is the last thing I want, I assure you, Reidinger, but I must have those parts or we don't get the tower functioning. If there isn't a proper tower here, you don't get me back at Callisto! Understand?

I'll deal with you later, you may be damned sure of that, Rowan child!

Despite her valiant words, the Rowan shivered delicately at the malice in those last two words. A Reidinger threat was never idle.

But no threat could be severe enough to remove her from Deneb right now. Besides Jeff Raven, the planet was eminently worth any effort on her part. Like her devoted team of scroungers, Isthia, and other intangible things, like sunsets.

For ten years, she had seen none. Here, Deneb's primary went down with blazing red and orange clouds, the hectic colors fading slowly to a bleached-blue sky until the sharp peaks of the mountains that ringed the plain stood out with incredible clarity. Though starscapes were nothing new to her, the night sky was equally brilliant.

Deneb VIII had three small moons whipping about it and an asteroid belt beyond their orbits that was the remains of a fourth. But it was the crispness of the night air, scented with pungent and unfamiliar fragrances when the wind blew down from the mountains, which the Rowan found truly remarkable. She liked the feel of it riffling her hair, caressing her face, pressing gently against her raised hands. Callisto had no breezes. She hadn't realized how much she had missed them until now.

So she didn't mind standing out in the dark, waiting for the shipment, ready to gestalt with the hospital's generator, taking an atavistic pleasure in the night.

Reidinger sent exactly what she ordered: not a brush, bar, or board more. It took the Rowan and her team a long day to get the generator cleaned and repaired, to reconfigure the control panel, and strengthen an adequate link to the Kenesaw hydroplant. Scarcely an aesthetic installation when finished, but it worked. Zathran Abita worried about the drain on the City's power. As the electronics expert had no notion of how Talent worked, she had to explain that the tight focus of gestalt required a short burst of power: Flow rate and pressure altered slightly with the distance and/or the weight of the object 'ported, but the actual "use" of power was split-second.

Finishing the Tower gave Deneb one more short step toward independence. The Rowan's team had broadcast her efforts so that she was greeted wherever she went on the streets or in the hospital. She was both slightly embarrassed - since Talents preferred nonentity - and delighted. Morfanu followed her about, which could have been a nuisance, except that it allowed the Rowan more opportunities to train the girl's innate Talent.

Had every single Talent instructor been killed? Or was it a result of Deneb's rather off hand colonial mind-set? On Central Worlds, parents had their children tested at birth for any sign of viable Talent. (Birth trauma often produced a measurable spark even if the ability did not mature until adolescence.) Talented children were assiduously guided and trained, even as she had been.

So far only Jeff Raven was formally contracted to the FT amp;T, and the Rowan knew that he was determined to keep it that way. It was also obvious to her that Deneb needed to keep every useful citizen on the planet, to ensure its revitalization. But they ought to be trained.

Was it fear of the exploitation by FT amp;T that Jeff had mentioned to her which inhibited training? But if you liked what you were doing, did it well, was that really exploitation? She had everything she wanted, anything she asked for, including tonnes of generator parts and comm equipment. Apart from her intense loneliness and isolation which had always been with her - as Callisto Prime, she enjoyed enviable privileges along with her responsibilities.

Once Jeff was in a private room, he had almost nonstop visitors: additional workspace had to be sent for to accommodate files and monitors. He seemed always to be conferring with some group or other. "I thought Makil was Governor," the Rowan remarked acidly to Isthia, seething with worry that Jeff would work himself sick again. "Can't you do anything to curb him?" "He's one of the best engineers we have," Isthia said, though her thoughts echoed the Rowan's worry about Jeff's stamina. "So much needs to be organized for us to get through this winter. You know how short his time is." Short? The Rowan demanded of Isthia with sudden panic, probing to comprehend her qualification.