“My father’s up to tricks again,” Damia told Afra.

Afra turned amused yellow eyes at his wife of twenty-seven years, patiently awaiting further explanation.

They had completed the day’s stint at Iota Aurigae Tower and were walking back to their house, which sat well above the bustling, growing capital, its noise muted by the distance.

“Because he’s offered us a strong kinetic T-2 in return for sending our daughters to their sister?” A slight smile tilted one corner of the Capellan’s narrow, attractive face. He had the kind of features that improve with maturity. He reached for Damia’s hand, as much to reinforce their intimacy as to fathom her remark.

“I’ll bet you anything this Vagrian Beliakin, for all he’s Yoshuk’s younger brother, poses a problem we’re supposed to solve for Earth Prime.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Damia didn’t need to shoot him an annoyed glance: he could easily feel her agitation.

“Haven’t you solved enough Gwyn-Raven problems, Afra?”

His answer was to throw his arm about her shoulders and drag her close against his lean body. Being so much shorter than he, she fit in under his arm quite easily.

“I admit to things being a little dull lately ...”

“Oh, you ... you ... methody Capellan,” she said in exasperation, making a brief attempt to slip from under his arm, but he was far stronger than she and she couldn’t escape. Not that she really wanted to. “We’re enjoying such a nice respite, with even Petra able to manage without constant supervision ... and isn’t training our own Aurigaeans enough of a challenge? If we needed yet another one?”

“Then you don’t object to Morag and Kaltia getting some experience at Clarf?”

“Not at all. Summers on Deneb are well enough, and Isthia is superb with them, but they haven’t really left home, as it were, for something completely alien.”

“Clarf’s that, even if they’ve been raised with ’Dinis,” Afra admitted in a droll tone. He frowned briefly. “Will Kaltia’s very fair skin be at risk?”

“Sunblock helps and she already knows she has to be careful after that awful case of sunburn she had on Deneb. And that primary’s not at all as harsh as Clarf’s...” Damia’s voice trailed off, and she frowned slightly. “Well, she’s old enough to know to keep out of the sun.”

“That’s right, my dear, and she could always make parasols fashionable on Clarf.”

“They are. But to get back to this Beliakin T-2 ...”

“Let’s worry about him when he gets here. Didn’t Jeff say that Gollee’s giving him some extra training?”

“Gollee doesn’t train, dear, he tests.”

“Hmmm. For what?”

That casually dropped remark from her father was what really alerted her to a possible contretemps. “If the fellow’s already been passed through the assessment process, why is Gollee handling him and not one of the regular trainers?” Damia asked, lengthening her stride to match her husband’s long-legged pace.

“We’ll know soon enough ...” They both heard the staccato rhythm of hoofbeats on the path winding up the hill behind their home. “There they go ...” They caught sight of their four younger children, galloping out to hunt. “Oh well, dinner’s soon enough to give them the good news.”

Afra tightened his grasp on her, pulling her closer yet, looking down at her.

“It’ll be good to have the house all to ourselves for a while,” he said.

Damia caught the gleam in his eye and put her arm about his lean waist. “Yes, it will. How convenient that Tri and Fok are hibernating. We really will be alone again.” She sighed in gratitude.

“Except for the tribes of Darbuls, slithers and Coonies that infest our house,” Afra teased her.

“This time of day they’ll all be asleep. Let’s hurry.”

Laughing, they ’ported into their spacious room at the top of the house.

“So we’re going to do something more than push big daddies,” Kaltia said, her unusual yellow eyes, legacy of her Capellan father, glistening like miniature suns.

“Huh. We’ll be pushing just as much around, and Laria’ll be bossing us,” Morag replied sourly.

“Laria has never been bossy,” her mother said firmly. “And if you need bossing, you’ll take it, young miss, if it comes from a Tower Prime.”

“I’m going to be a Tower Prime when I’m old enough,” Kaltia informed them with the complacency of her youth.

“That remains to be seen,” Afra said, for he was methody enough not to condone bragging. Kaltia gulped, subsided and concentrated on eating.

“Kincaid never bosses,” Morag said, affecting a pose, “even when he’s hunt leader.” She got on well with her sister’s T-2. She’d been impressed with how well he rode and what a good shot he was. She considered him a very comfortable person to be with. “Is Vanteer still engineer?” Her sly attempt to wheedle information from her mother was duly noted.

“Yes, and we’ll have no gossip, Morag,” Damia said firmly. “Lionasha’s Tower expediter.”

“Have they ’Dinis?”

THEY DO, THEY DO, chorused Kev, Su, Sim and Dar at once. WE’LL GO TO CLARF. The four of them started to do cartwheels and other acrobatic antics around the dining table.

WE’LL HIBERNATE IN CLARF ITSELF, said Dar, springing up and down with more height than one would expect from a ’Dini.

WE’LL SEE TIP AND HUF, AND NIL AND PLUS.

“You’ll have to help in the yard,” Morag said sternly. “No running off to your color houses whenever you want to.”

NO, NO, WORK IS FIRST. ALWAYS, Dar assured her, and then began to twirl Sim round and round until Morag was dizzy watching them.

“So, who’s this T-2 you’ll have to do our work?” Kaltia asked in a proprietary tone.

“Yoshuk’s younger brother,” Damia said.

“Isn’t Yoshuk the T-2 with Nesrun at Sef Tower?” Kaltia asked. “Thought so,” she added when Damia nodded. She was silent a moment. “There won’t be ponies, will there?”

“No, not on Clarf, silly. No room. ’Dinis there use flying belts,” said Morag.

“And you will not,” Afra said, pointing an admonitory finger at Morag, who was more athletically inclined, and reckless, than Kaltia. “You already drive a ground car and they’ve the same models there. Or you can ’port.”

“That’s not bad manners on Clarf?” asked Kaltia, surprised. On Deneb it was, but then, on Deneb they had had ponies.

“You will first inform anyone in the immediate vicinity what you intend to do,” Damia said firmly. “Otherwise it’s just as ill-mannered as it would be here or on Deneb.” When Kaltia made a long-suffering grimace, her mother added, “Not that I want you out in the Clarf sun any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

“I know, I know. I must use enough sunblock. Why”—her tone turned petulant—“did I have to get the fair skin and freckles in the family? No one else has them.”

“Grandmother says you’re a throwback,” Ewain said, as helpful as teenage brothers generally are.

“And you’re a ...”

“That’s enough,” Afra said firmly, and the three subsided and resumed eating.

“I think it’s great,” Petra said suddenly. “There’ll just be you and me, E, and no one to tell us which pony we can’t ride.”

“Yeah, but we’ll have to do all the hunting.”

Petra grinned. “But we won’t have to hunt so much with just four of us here ...”

“Possibly five,” Afra said, “unless Vagrian Beliakin chooses to live down in the city instead of here.”

“Forgot about him,” Petra said, turning glum. “Do we have to have him here? It’s E’s and my turn to have you,” she added, looking sternly from one parent to the other. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“When were you ever neglected?” demanded Morag tartly.

“I said, that’s enough,” Afra repeated, adding a mental quietus. “Good hunt, today? Where’d you go?”

“Laria’s valley. It hasn’t been hunted in just ages,” Morag said. “It has been neglected ...” She cast a daring glance at her father. “So the hunting was good.”

Afra regarded his daughter with such a long thoughtful look for her impudence that she turned her whole attention to her dinner plate.

She needs more work and responsibility, Damia said, though her tone was amused by her daughter’s clever wordplay.

The rest of the evening passed without incident, Damia and her daughters making certain the guest quarters, private from the main living area, were in order for the new arrival. Both Afra and Damia felt that a man of twenty-four would want to live nearer the city with all its possibilities of entertainment, though he would need to stay at Tower House until he’d found accommodations.

Since the words were spoken close to a tone that was almost a challenge, Beliakin looked up at the woman who had stopped at his table. He felt her shields resist his initial touch. She was only marginally attractive and he was far too involved with Tarmina d’Estes to need to seek additional female companionship.

“I’m T-2 and a far sender,” she said, with a twist of her lips that bordered on mocking.

Beliakin rose and gestured for her to be seated opposite him. He had chosen a table well away from the other Talents enjoying meals in the spacious and restfully decorated Blundell dining room. He had had an exhausting morning with Gollee Gren, and really did not want any company. But she had in effect challenged him; he had to respond, however briefly.

“Clarissia Negeva,” she said, sliding awkwardly into a chair.

Nerves, Vagrian thought, and gave her one of his reassuring smiles. Her reaction was a deep flush of blood to her face, and she averted her gaze to some point over his left shoulder. She’d be easy, he thought.

“I lasted longer at Clarf Tower than you did,” she said, composing herself and her telltale color, clasping thin hands in front of her on the table and leaning toward him. Now she regarded the pulse in his throat rather than his face.

“Did you?” He fought to stifle the burst of anger her comment roused in him. He had been given to understand by Gollee Gren that the abortive incident had been expunged from the record. His common sense took over. Tarmina certainly hadn’t known, nor had any other of those he had been in contact with. All the testers had assumed he was being reassessed. He was certain that if that abortive mission were known, he’d’ve been aware of either ridicule or prurient interest. He managed to keep his expression pleasantly puzzled as a third consideration occurred to him. If somehow this Negeva woman had information that was not normally available to others in Blundell Tower, she might be worth cultivating. He intended to pay back Clarf Tower’s Prime no matter how long it took. “May I ask how you knew that I had been to Clarf?”

Her lips moved slightly, and although she did not give him a direct look, he felt positive that she too had a bone to pick with Laria Lyon.

“I have a friend, a good friend, in the yard,” she said. “He had been on duty when you were ’ported and saw your precipitous return. He thought I should be informed.”

“Why?”

Even though Vagrian had come late to his Talent, he knew from his brother’s conversations at home that Talents did not generally avoid direct eye contact—since they could shield their true thoughts from all but the most determined invasion. In the point of courtesy on a first encounter, Negeva had neglected to offer him her hand ... almost an insult between Talents. While he was not a strong ’path, this close he could read her deep enough to find some reason for her approaching him. He ignored the fact that she’d been rattled by his smile: few women failed to respond—generally in positive ways. He resolved to make sure they made a tactile contact before she left his company.

She leaned even closer, lowering her voice, and now her eyes met his, anger and a sort of implacable hatred easy to note.

“That family dominates FT&T and they have no right to do so. They make arbitrary decisions and enforce them on us in an unjust and humiliating manner. They are weasel lovers, every single one of them!”

“You’re referring to the Gwyn-Raven-Lyon clan?” he asked, lounging back in his seat because her breath was sour. Probably from the curdled enmity that festered in her skinny frame.

“Who else? They have all the best Towers, all the best accommodations. They sit in judgment on every single Talent and they don’t ... have ... that ... right!” Her eyes had narrowed and she had had to lower her voice as she stressed that opinion.

“Who’s to oppose them?” Beliakin asked.

“They haven’t enslaved all the T-1’s in our worlds.”

“Really?” This was news to him.

“By no means. Nor all the T-2’s. Furthermore”—she gestured for him to close the gap between them—“they ignore the clairvoyant as if they were dirt.”

“And there has been a prediction that the mighty will fall?” he asked, feigning a hopeful anticipation.

“Of course. The higher they are, the harder they will fall. And fall they will. Then we will assume our rightful positions in the Towers, and annul the infamous Alliance. We have no more need of those ... creatures!” She gave a shudder of repugnance.

“Disgusting,” Beliakin said ambiguously.

“And giving worlds we Humans discovered with our advanced technology to ... them ... when we are to be given what’s left over is intolerable. No more promising colony sites can be so summarily just given away! Our future generations will be denied their rights of expansion on worlds that have been just handed over to ... them.”

Beliakin tightened his shields against this woman’s intrusion, though it occurred to him simultaneously that she was so wrapped up in her angry spiel that she was taking no notice of his reactions. Personally, he had no objections to the Mrdini. She was patently xenophobic. That species had taken the brunt of centuries of war against the Hivers. Their long struggle should have some rewards. As far as he knew, the one world released to the Mrdini would have been too hot to be comfortable for Human residence. On the other hand, he didn’t like the Hivers at all, having taken an opportunity to see the queen imprisoned at Heinlein Moon Base. That creature revolted him more than ’Dinis could—it and the scurrying forms that it had hatched from its mound of eggs. So the Mrdini were welcome to Talavera. The sun would fry an egg on a rock by midday. However, he was definitely curious about her group and wondered just how many Talents might be involved in any effort to overthrow the Primes. Though how that could be achieved was beyond him. On the other hand, reporting on their dissidence might be one way to nullify the Clarf disaster with FT&T.

“Are there many who feel as you ... and I?” he asked in a low conspiratorial tone, as if he agreed with her opinions.

“More than you’d believe,” she murmured. Then abruptly she rose. “I shall contact you. I shall use the word expunge so that you will know it is I contacting you and you will open your mind to me.”

Not if I can help it, Beliakin thought, but he rose too, and tightly shielding his thoughts as he’d been taught, extended his hand. She regarded it suspiciously and he could certainly sense her hesitation without any benefit of Talent. Her fingers gave his a glancing touch. He gleaned very little from it, but enough to know that this Talent could be dangerous in her hatred of the Gwyn-Raven-Lyon family. As he watched her stalk—yes, that was the right word—out of the dining facility, he wondered if he could effect a revenge on Laria Lyon without being tainted by whatever devious plans Negeva and her group had in mind. That is, if these had not already been “seen” by other, more sensitive Talents. She was, however, a T-2, and a sender was apt to have better shielding from any but a T-1. What a very odd creature she was. And viciously xenophobic! Talents were supposed, by the very nature of their abilities, to practice tolerance. Of most things ... He finished his meal, discarded the dishes and made it to his appointment with Gollee Gren to see what his new assignment was going to be. He wondered to which boondock he’d now be sent after his utter failure at Clarf. Hopefully where that wretched female couldn’t reach him, no matter how strong a sender she claimed she was. He did wonder, however, just how many agreed with her sentiments. Generally speaking—and it was why he was so jealous of Yoshuk—Talents enjoyed many more privileges and more prestige than any other profession in the galaxy. Few made full use of all such advantages. He intended to—that is, if he was any place where he could use the perks. What he found hard to understand in Negeva was why any disaffected person would wish to destroy ... No, she didn’t wish destruction, she wished a larger role. Beliakin knew there were factions dissatisfied with the Alliance, with the distribution of colonizable worlds (once Hivers had been dispossessed) and with the Mrdini in particular. Since weasel haters generally had little if any contact with the ’Dinis, he couldn’t see what upset them so much. In any event, he still had a score to even with Laria Lyon by whatever agency came his way, even as unattractive and virulent a one as Negeva. And he’d get Kincaid Dano at the same time. Whistling happily at such a prospect, he took the lift to the administrative level.

“You’d be working with two of the top Talents in FT&T, you know,” Gren said, “and I can assure you that the contretemps at Clarf will not be repeated. In fact, your kinetic ability is very much why you’re being posted there.”

“I thought the family handled all traffic,” Vagrian said, temporizing as he assimilated the fact. Such a posting had been so far out of possibility that he couldn’t believe it. Was this a tacit apology for Laria’s treatment? Damia and Afra Raven-Lyon offering him such a post to make amends for the vagary of their daughter? Considering its distance from the other main solar systems, Iota Aurigae could be considered a boondock, being a very recently developed mining world, but it was gaining prominence and expanding as the need for its ore resources increased. Topmost in his mind was the realization that he’d be able to hunt there—an activity frowned on by the more sophisticated worlds as archaic, or nonexistent as on Clarf, and one that he thoroughly enjoyed and excelled at. Afra was almost legendary as the Rowan’s T-2 partner until he married her daughter Damia Gwyn-Raven and they took over Iota Aurigae Tower, producing ... what was it ... eight T-1 offspring? Or were all the kids gone now? Not that it mattered. If he proved his capabilities as a strong kinetic at their Tower, he’d achieve an enviable reputation at FT&T. And he might also just happen to find out how to get back at Laria. Nothing like the home ground to discover the precise way to wound her the most. He had absolutely no reservations about working with the Capellan T-2, but Damia was known to have inherited the same volatile temper as her mother, the Rowan. Well, most of the Primes he knew anything about had tempers. Came with the awesome responsibility, he supposed. Were they aware of his calamity at Clarf? Could there be an ulterior motive to that posting? Apart from rectifying their daughter’s unexpected rejection of him?

“The family has, until recently, handled the Tower,” Gren was saying, and Beliakin paid attention, trying to catch any shielded thought. Gren did have unusually tight barriers, but his public mind was quite open as he went on. “As you probably know, all the Raven-Lyon children are T-1’s, so they are assigned off-planet to broaden their experience. They’re down to the two youngest, who are not old enough to assist as fully. You would be working with several indigenous Aurigaeans who had breakthrough stimulation similar to your own—a mining accident in their case.” Gren’s expression was rueful. “It’s easier if one comes less abruptly to the emergence of Talent, but we can use every one we can classify. Both Damia and Afra have had experience with bringing on latent Talents.”

“Yes, of course,” Beliakin said, realizing some comment on his part would be courteous.

“That also was a factor in assigning you to Iota Aurigae. A T-2 of your kinetic strength is such a find for FT&T at this particular moment in time”—Gren smiled in a manner that bordered on apology—“that perhaps we might have pushed you a tad too quickly where your abilities were most needed, with the mass of material Clarf Tower’s had to process lately. The Lyons—and rightly—are treated with great caution and respect. It wasn’t easy to find suitable Talents for Clarf.”

Gren sounded sincere, Beliakin thought. Perhaps Clarissia Negeva had simply not been up to the work on Clarf and transferred before she could mess things up. Or the Prime hadn’t liked her. That was more understandable. Negeva was not an attractive person ... and xenophobic too. Not a good mind-set for working on Clarf. Perhaps he should avoid any further contact with her. Their cases were not at all similar.

“There’s also good hunting on Iota Aurigae, which is, I realize from your transcript, one of your avocations. Tower House has an excellent stable and the hills are full of game, large and small and not so easy to bring down, I might add.” Gren’s lips twitched as if he was remembering unsuccessful experiences. “Damia has issued an invitation for you to stay with the family if you wish—though there are new and well-appointed apartments in the city and transport would be no problem for you.” He consulted his notepad, checking off another item. “Living accommodation is in addition to your salary, and you have the usual privileges of importing whenever drone space is available. It usually is. Drones may be full enough leaving Iota Aurigae, but they’re mainly empty on the return trip. Personal effects above and beyond what will fit in a personnel carrier will be forwarded ...” Beliakin waved aside that consideration, since he had little in the way of impedimenta and no wish to import anything from a homeworld that had little to recommend it except that he had escaped its bucolic lifestyle. “Would you be agreeable to leaving here at twenty-two hundred hours?”

“Today?”

“Yes, if that’s convenient. You’d arrive late afternoon at Aurigae and be able to settle in before dinner.” Gren regarded him and then added, “I believe there’re six big daddies—as they call the ore transports—to be heaved to Betelgeuse tomorrow, so you’d have a chance to demonstrate your kinetic abilities. Which, may I say, are the strongest we’ve ever measured in a latecomer.”

While Vagrian Beliakin knew this to be very true, he accepted that assessment modestly. Gren flipped down the cover of his notepad to indicate the formal interview was over, and stood.

“I am certain that Iota Aurigae Tower will appreciate your presence and your willingness to accept the posting on so little advance notice.”

As Beliakin reached the door, considerably relieved, Gren had a final comment.

“You also have the best wishes of Earth Prime and his regrets that he could not be present at this hour to wish you well.”

If that was an additional apology for the humiliation Beliakin had suffered at the whimsy of Earth Prime’s granddaughter, Vagrian accepted it in a gracious manner. He might come out of that initial disaster well ahead in FT&T. He would certainly bend every effort to do so.

“How old are you?” her mother asked, with a slight strain showing in her patience.

“Well, he’s supposed to be absolutely gorgeous...” Morag said wistfully.

Afra laughed. “A good seven years your senior, love, and far too practiced a—”

“Lover,” Damia said bluntly, “for my young and relatively inexperienced daughter.” She cocked an eyebrow at Morag, making it plain that she was aware of Morag’s experiments with young miners in the capital city.

Morag made nervous adjustments of her personal belongings under the couch of the carrier rather than meet her mother’s shrewd and knowing eyes.

“You’ve been well instructed on how to handle ... such matters,” Damia went on. “Do not fail to protect both yourself and the object of your affections.”

“No, Mother,” Morag said solemnly, for she vividly recalled the pain in Damia’s eyes when, in the course of handling her daughters’ sex education, she had confessed the terrible damage she had inadvertently done her first young lover.

“No, Mother,” Kaltia agreed as quietly.

“There is quite a large Human Compound on Clarf now, so I suspect that there will be opportunities for a social life while you’re there.” Damia hugged first Morag and then Kaltia, keeping an exceedingly tight hold on how much she would miss them, despite their sibling bickering. There had been a certain justice in Petra’s remark that she and Ewain would have more of their parents’ time now. Both she and Afra intended to spend more time with the two youngest of their brood. Indeed, Damia was not too old ...

You may not be, lover, but I most certainly am, Afra inserted into her mind, with such intensity that she had to keep from laughing at his vehemence.

Then it was Afra’s turn to bid his daughters farewell and he held each for a long moment in his arms before he released them to enter the personnel carrier. Their ’Dinis were chattering excitedly about actually getting to Clarf, the Mrdini homeworld.

Xexo and Keylarion smiled and grinned as the cover locked into place. There was no need for the practiced Talents of Iota Aurigae to return to their Tower couches to speed the light carrier on its way. But all could hear the generators change tone as first Damia alerted Laria at Clarf Tower that her sisters were on their way, and then father and mother sent the carrier on its almost instantaneous long-distance journey. Xexo muttered something about an odd squeal from Generator B and Keylarion said she’d best check that the big daddies would be ready to ship once they had this strong kinetic Talent in the Tower.

“Have we time for lunch before they send Beliakin on?” Afra asked.

“Gollee said he wouldn’t arrive until the girls were away,” Damia said. “Twenty-two hundred hours Earth time.”

“Midafternoon here, then. We’ve time for lunch and a swim.”

“We’ve enough from the last hunt?”

Afra sighed with amusement. “I’m not sure there’ll be any left for this Beliakin. Gollee says he likes to hunt.”

“Well, we certainly won’t stand in the way of that, now will we?” She started back to the house.

“Not long, but perhaps long enough.”

“What was his reaction to his posting?”

Gollee chuckled, crossing his legs at the ankles and relaxing. “He was startled because he certainly didn’t expect to be at a major Tower, especially at the one managed by the father and mother of the woman who humiliated him so. From the first I’ve maintained that Laria’s rejection is known only to you, me and Clarf Tower, which has not even mentioned it. If he thinks we’ve told Damia and Afra, and they’re in some way expiating their daughter’s rejection, all to the good ... unless of course Damia reads it in him.”

“She’s got the capability,” Jeff said, “but she’s got to have a strong kinetic, and both Afra and Damia know the pressures Laria’s under. Considering how Beliakin comes on to women, my hindsight is now clear enough to realize that his brand of charisma would put Laria’s hackles up.”

“True,” Gollee said, grinning. “He certainly cut a swath through the feminine complement of Blundell Tower. Tarmina allowed as how—” Gollee grinned—“he’s most unusual.”

Jeff chuckled. “She’d know.”

“She’s offered to take on any others like him anytime you choose.”

“She would.” Jeff caught Gollee’s tilted eyebrow. “None of that, Gren. I know she tried to get you in bed too. If I wasn’t well married to Rowan, I should have been sorely tempted.”

“At least Tarmina takes refusal in good part,” Gollee said, clearing his throat. “If we could be sure Beliakin might forgive and forget, I’d rest easier.”

“I count on Damia’s expertise as well as her immunity to the sort of charisma Beliakin dispenses. You handled this well, Gollee, and I appreciate it. However, did you perceive how susceptible he might be to what Clarissia’s group is peddling?”

Gren snorted. “Depending on his success at Iota Aurigae, plus the fact that Clarissia was exactly the wrong female personality to make contact with him, I doubt he’d jeopardize what could be a very useful career with FT&T. She’s her own worst enemy, that one, even if she thought she could capitalize on Beliakin’s abrupt dismissal from Clarf. Though how she knew of that needs to be discovered.”

“Damn.” Jeff swung his gimbaled chair from side to side in an agitated manner, running his hand through his thick dark hair. “It’s so much more to our advantage to catch Talents young enough so that the basic conditioning is completed. A wild card like Beliakin could prove very dangerous, especially in today’s volatile political and economic situations.”

“Well, he’s in the best place for some fine tuning, Jeff. And if he does well there, there’s any number of postings where he’d be invaluable. I think that’s the ploy to use ... support that ego of his, nurturing it until what the dissidents offer wouldn’t tempt him.”

“It’s that ego of his I worry about.” Jeff slapped one fist on the desktop. “Stupid of me to assume the man would have sense enough to be tactful. At least until he’d settled into Clarf Tower. He was so deferential to Rowan.”

“Who isn’t?” Gollee said with a laugh. “And if he managed to fool her...” Gren let his sentence trail off. “Your children tend to find their own mates, Jeff. And so far, they’ve done exceedingly well. Give your grandkids the same leeway.”

Jeff made a face. “My dynastic leanings are obvious, aren’t they?”

“The Gwyn-Raven line is not the only one to produce TI’s.” Gren paused. “Just the most reliable.”

That was enough right there to please him after the blast of hot air that had greeted him on Clarf.

“Welcome to Iota Aurigae, Vagrian Beliakin,” said one of the most stunning women Beliakin had ever seen. And not just beautiful in a classic way, but so vital that she seemed to have an almost visible aura around her. To his surprise, she extended her hand and he found himself responding, while all his initial impressions were reinforced by rich/green/spice in that deft, but far too short, contact. “I’m Damia Lyon. This is my husband, Afra.”

The lean man, much, much older than Damia, smiled in warm greeting as he extended his hand. Vagrian was still so shaken by touching the Prime that he almost missed the strength of Afra’s equally electric contact.

What a pair, Beliakin thought, as deeply as he could keep such a startled assessment. The mother was so dramatically different from Laria that he couldn’t believe they were related, save for the distinctive white lock all Gwyn-Raven-Lyon offspring seemed to have. Until he took a second, longer look at Afra. Then he saw where Laria had inherited her looks.

“Let me introduce you to Keylarion, our station expediter.” Though the woman—probably the same age as Damia—touched hands with him, he got very little more than deep blue and pine.

“Xexo here is our engineer.” Damia now presented the gnarled older man who stepped forward.

“Pleased,” was Xexo’s comment, and his touch was oily/black/pungent. Exactly what one would expect of an engineer.

“We’ve four trainees but you can meet them later, Vagrian,” Damia said. “You didn’t bring much with you,” she added as Xexo casually slung the heaviest of the duffels out of the personnel carrier.

“Always travel light,” Vagrian said, keeping his smile pleasant and his manner quiet, struggling to restore his composure and a public show of confident ease. He hauled out the other two.

“I’ll just ’port them to your room,” Damia said, and all three disappeared.

“I should have done that,” Vagrian said.

“I know where the room is,” she said with an engaging grin. Then she gestured toward the well-worn path to the house he could see sitting on its height. “Bit of a walk.”

“Not in this marvelous air.” He breathed deeply, catching himself before he had expanded his chest ostentatiously. “It’s like a fine wine.”

“One of the fringe benefits,” Afra remarked as they set out.

Aware that neither Xexo nor Keylarion was following, Beliakin looked around.

“Xexo isn’t happy with the B generator,” Damia said, grinning at the vagaries of her engineer, “and Keylarion’s checking the coordinates for tomorrow’s cargo. Did anyone warn you that you’ll be put to work tomorrow and that we lift them straight from the mine yards?”

“Gollee Gren did mention big daddies,” Vagrian said, “not that we lifted them from sites.”

In his mind with alarming ease came a picture of the immense drone that he was to help shift the next day.

“Well, there’d be few cradles that size.” While he responded as surprised as he was supposed to be by the size and tonnage of a drone full of ore, he felt no qualms at all about managing such weights. That had been his specialty ever since he’d diverted that mud slide on Altair. “Did I understand Gren correctly that your children have been helping you shift those things?”

Damia chuckled. “Only when they are old enough. In a merge with Afra and myself, we could add their strength without stressing them. I’ve seen your testings, Vagrian, and I must say that I’m impressed by your solo shifts.”

“I’m not good at much else, though, in any other Talent range,” he said, with what he thought was exactly the right note of modesty.

“You wouldn’t need to be,” Afra said with a chuckle.

By then they had reached the steps up to the house, and Beliakin emitted a startled cry when Darbuls, slithers and Coonies charged out of wherever they had hidden themselves.

“Forgot to warn you, Vagrian,” Damia said as she “ordered” the mass of striped, mottled, tabbied and plain-colored creatures to clear away. “Don’t tell me Gollee forgot to warn you about the menagerie.”

“He mentioned horses.” Beliakin was looking all around him, not wanting to step on someone’s favorite beast ... unless one of Laria’s was identified to him.

Suddenly all of the beasts were sitting quietly, watching him; even the slithers had coiled their supple bodies into compact circles.

“Each of our children and their ’Dinis have favorites, which of course are prohibited from going with them, so we inherited the whole zoo,” Afra said, picking up one of the Coons and stroking its creamy orange fur. “You don’t have an allergy to any of these, do you?” He gestured to the herd.

“Oh, no, no. In fact, the only ones I recognize are the felines. I thought they didn’t like snakes.” Vagrian had been able to stifle the brief panic he’d felt surrounded by so many strange beasts.

“Slithers are not precisely reptilian,” Damia said, allowing one to twine itself about her forearm. “But they are the favored pets of our ’Dinis. If you don’t care for them, just gently disengage any that try to cling to you. They take hints quickly.”

“Yes, that’s good to know.”

“They also stay outside,” Afra said, “unless their ’Dinis are here.”

“I see.”

“This way, Vagrian,” Damia said, gesturing up the broad stone steps to the wide sheltering porch of the house. Three Coons and two Darbuls followed her; none of the slithers did. “Our ’Dinis are currently in their hibernatory, though you’ll meet the pairs my two remaining youngsters have. They’re out hunting. I gather you enjoy the sport?”

“Yes, I do,” Vagrian said.

“And you ride?” Damia gave him a measuring look. “I suspect we can mount you adequately.”

“Yes, I originate from Altair...”

“Yes, you’d ride, all right,” Afra remarked approvingly.

“Your room is just up these stairs.” Damia said. “If you’ll do the honors, Afra, I’ll get us something to snack on.”

The room was certainly an improvement on his quarters in Blundell Tower, Vagrian thought, and Damia had neatly ’ported the two smaller sacks to the wide bed and the large duffel to a luggage stand. The door to the right was ajar and showed the usual bathroom fixtures. It was, however, the view from the double windows of the room which got his full attention, showing a breathtaking panoramic view of the distant city and the shore it bordered.

“Never seen anything like it,” Vagrian said quite truthfully, going to the nearest window and opening it. He took another deep breath of the exhilarating air. “Blundell never smelled this good.”

Afra smiled. “I’ll leave you to get settled in.”

Dangerous personality with all that masculine charm. Damia gave a shudder. I had this awful sensation that he was Sodan come back to haunt me.

Did you? Afra looked surprised.

Damia flushed. Well, he has a similar dynamic charisma and you can’t deny he’s decidedly attractive.

He’s so much on his best behavior, Damia said thoughtfully. Maybe it’ll last. I can’t imagine why Father thought he’d do for us. When Laria ... Damia paused and turned wide eyes on Afra, who grinned knowingly back at her. He did? And she sent him packing? My father sometimes exhibits very poor judgment for a Prime. Did Mother know?

Damia regarded her husband with a measure of dismay. He is absolutely the wrong sort for Laria, especially after. all she’s been through with the wayward Vanteer. How could Father have been so stupid?

Don’t think he was stupid, m’dear. I think he was so glad he’d found a strong T-2 kinetic to ease the load at Clarf that he sent the man ahead without preparing Laria at all. Afra poured cold Aurigaean wine for them both. Damia absently accepted the glass and took a slow sip of the dry vintage. I’d venture to say Vagrian blew it. Probably took the trouble to charm Lionasha, ignored Vanteer and then made a fool of himself trying to impress Laria. He’s only just discovered his Talent, and you know how witless that can make someone.

They’re younger by a few years, whereas I’d be very surprised if Yoshuk’.s big younger brother hasn’t been having his way with any girl he chose on Altair. If—and we can always confirm this with Gollee, Afra went on, holding up one hand, Vagrian made a balls of meeting Laria, and they’ve sent him to us to... ah... adjust ...

Then let’s see how well he performs and what we can do. Neither your father nor Gollee would have sent him here unless he has real ability that they wish to channel and save.

Damia was too accustomed to Afra’s sense of justice and common sense to ignore his comments.

Small wonder he wanted Morag and Kaltia away before Vagrian arrived, she murmured. Can you imagine the impact he’d’ve had on Morag?

With no trouble at all, Afra said with a chuckle. He’s descending. “I thought we still had some of that Brie-type cheese left, or did Morag eat the last of it?”

“I’ve pate and the local soft cheese,” Damia was saying, having swiftly ’ported crackers and spreads from the larder and cold store, while Afra opened a second bottle of white wine to add to the one they had nearly finished, as well as other liquors.

“What’s your preference, Vagrian?” Afra asked. “There are two local lagers that are quite palatable and something the miners drink that they call ‘bitters.’ ”

“Isn’t that an Altairian white?” Vagrian asked, pointing to the wine.

“Indeed it is,” Damia said, smiling approval. “One of our perks as Tower staff. You can order anything in when we’ve empty drones returning. And we have them in fleets,” she added in a weary tone.

“Let’s go into the lounge. Sunset’s rather unusual here on Iota,” Afra said, the indulgent host, and carried the drinks tray while Damia and Vagrian followed.

They were still on broad conversational topics when Petra and Ewain arrived, their Darbuls and Coons at their heels. Sim, Dar, Kev and Su followed, each with just one slither.

Thank you, dears, Damia said, nodding and smiling before she introduced her youngest aloud to their house guest. He’ll need time to become accustomed to the slithers, I think. Reptiles on Altair are too dangerous to be considered pets.

When they wished to, Petra and Ewain could be the epitome of well-behaved children. Attuned to parental attitudes, they assumed that pose and passed snacks, then politely urged Vagrian to try some that they preferred. His inquiry about what they hunted on Iota met with such explanations and eagerness for him to join them that Damia was able to go out to the kitchen with the ’Dinis to finish dinner preparations.

The hunting topic was pursued during dinner because Vagrian—with every appearance of good nature—was quite happy to compare his forays as a young hunter on Altair with the experiences of Petra and Ewain. Listening with an acute ear for any false tone, Damia had to concede that Vagrian was not exaggerating his prowess. Both she and Afra knew that some of the game he had pursued on Altair was a good deal larger and more dangerous than anything on the coasts or mountains of Iota Aurigae.

“We’ve nothing like ballbites and beartards here on Iota,” she said at one point.

“Frankly, it’s never been the size of permissible prey that’s attracted me, Damia,” Vagrian replied with perfect sincerity, “but the skill the hunting requires. If you do hunt here for the table, I’d be very happy to take part, if you’ll tell me what is and is not permitted.”

“What’s your weapon of choice?” Petra demanded, her eyes keen, mouth half open awaiting his answer. Damia was relieved that Petra was still a trifle too young to be seriously affected by Vagrian’s good looks. After all, her older brothers were just as attractive.

But, Afra put in wryly, merely brothers.

“What’s available?” asked Vagrian with a shrug.

“Just about anything,” Afra said, “from slingshot—”

“Slingshot? You can bring down prey with that?” Vagrian’s surprise was not feigned.

“Sure,” Ewain said nonchalantly. “Get most of the avians that way. Head shots that don’t bruise the edible parts.”

“Bow and arrow?” Vagrian asked now.

“Yup, and spear now and then against the bigger scurriers,” Petra said, and then grimaced, “though that’s kinda overkill. I mostly stick to my twenty-two.”

“Head shots?” Vagrian asked.

“If I don’t have a clear view of the eye.”

“Will I be safe out hunting with this pair?” Vagrian asked their parents.

“We haven’t eaten a guest yet,” Ewain answered, giggling.

After dinner, Petra, who was in charge of evening stables, asked if Vagrian wanted to come along.

“We’ve turned most of the ponies out,” Petra explained.

“And you’ve a favorite mount?” Vagrian asked.

“Yes, I’m allowed to ride Saki now. She was Laria’s special mount, but she’s such a brilliant ride we’ve all used her until our legs get too long.” She spared a glance at Vagrian’s legs. “You’re much too tall already.”

“Which is Saki?” Vagrian asked as they entered the stable.

“Here she is,” Petra said, and turned to the first box on the right. “Isn’t she beautiful?” She held her hand out flat and Vagrian had a brief glimpse of a tidbit that quickly disappeared into the mare’s eager mouth. When Vagrian stepped closer, the mare backed up, ears flat.

Once more unexpectedly startled, Vagrian wondered if the animals in this unusual household were also telepathic. The diverse herd that had startled him in front of the house had immediately withdrawn and sat in patient order until released. And now this mare seemed to sense his keen, and inimical, interest in her.

“She’ll behave better when she sees you more often,” Petra said airily. Then she tugged at Vagrian’s sleeve. “The horses are farther down and I’d say China will be up to your weight. She’s very sure-footed, which you need in our hills, and quite onward bound.”

Seeing a bucket of horse pellets, Vagrian took a handful, determined to make a positive impression on this mare. The dappled gray accepted his offering quite willingly and allowed him to stroke her neck and scratch her ears. When Petra clicked twice, China stepped back and he got a good look at her.

“Good bone and strong hindquarters,” Vagrian said appreciatively, and when Petra gave him an approving glance, left his assessment at that. He was going to have to be very careful in this household, even in its stables. He must certainly remember that all of the Lyons were T-t’s. He wondered if such ratings extended to the animals. He would try to make friends with at least one of the Coon cats. They were an expensive import on Altair, so he had little direct experience with the breed. Canines were another matter, since he’d used dogs in hunts. He wondered how close to canines the Darbuls were.

“So what are our duties now?” he asked Petra.

“Oh, we just check to be sure their water bowls haven’t clogged, and clear out droppings. We didn’t hunt today, so we don’t have to check for prods or scratches. We have to be careful about them here on Iota. Lots of odd stuff even the horses born here can’t handle. There’s the medical kit.” She pointed to the green box on the wall. “Everything’s marked in case you need to use something and no one’s. here to help. Though we always hunt in pairs at least.”

“Wise,” he said. “So let’s clean the boxes.”

Petra went to an elongated object held by brackets to the wall at the entrance, and she pointed to a similar affair on the other side. “Xexo did ’em and these vacuum brooms save so much trouble. Try to lift only the droppings. Too many shavings mean you gotta empty more often.”

Vagrian had not seen such a handy device before, since Altair tended to use old-fashioned methods on its farms. However, following Petra’s advice, they had cleaned up the droppings in a fraction of the time such a task usually took. Then she showed him where to empty the now filled containers: a large tank.

“It processes the manure for use in agriculture,” she said, deftly handling the transfer. Having watched closely, Vagrian repeated the process. “Hey, you’re good,” she declared approvingly. “Do it wrong and it’s all over you.”

“I’m doing my best to make a good first impression,” Vagrian said.

“Oh, you’re doing all right,” she said, so airily that Vagrian once more tightened his guard. “Oh, don’t be so silly. Nobody here imposes even if we are T-I’s. It’s such bad manners. Just keep on my mother’s good side,” she added in a whisper. “That should be easy for you.” And with that cryptic remark, she motioned for him to replace the gadget on the wall.

Although the minor job he had just completed with Petra had required very little effort, he felt tired as he climbed the steps back up to the house.

“You look all in,” the girl said, cocking her head up to him as he held the door open for her. She frowned. “If you got here late afternoon, it’d’ve been twenty-two hundred hours at Blundell. You’d better get to bed. Tomorrow you’ll be initiated into transporting big daddies, and they’re something else again.”

Damia appeared in the hall. “I apologize for forgetting the time difference, Vagrian. And all of us handle the big daddies first thing when we’re well rested. Sleep well.”

Though the dismissal was kindly meant and Vagrian could not deny that he was tired, he wasn’t too pleased to be sent to bed like an adolescent who wouldn’t admit to fatigue.

As they entered the facility, Keylarion, at her workstation, gave them a good morning and turned back to the screens showing the big daddies they would shortly send on their way. The throb of generators pulsed through the floor of the building as Vagrian followed Damia and Afra up the stairs to where three couches were centered, wall-mounted screens mirroring those at Keylarion’s desk. Several smaller couches had been pushed back against the outer wall. The one on the left that Damia pointed out to him was brand new while the ones onto which the Prime and Afra settled showed years of use and frequent repairs.

Vagrian was not the least nervous once he settled onto the couch, which fit him as if it had been custom-made for his tall, wide frame.

“What’s first, Keylarion?” Damia asked. One of the screens brightened. “Maltese Cross, huh?” She turned to her left, to Vagrian. “You have been trained in merge techniques, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” he said, and tightened his inner shields.

“Let Afra take you into the merge. And relax!”

He felt the gentle push of Afra’s mind against his and did manage not to resist. He was still unsure of merging despite the practice sessions at Blundell. But this was almost effortless and he could relax. And he did, then felt the incredible strength of Damia joining and picking up the existing merge. Afra increased and drew him to a higher level. An unexpected excitement began deep inside him to respond to the draw on his Talent.

Easy, Vagrian, Damia said. Now follow my lead to our target. We’ll need your heft... DAVID, coming your way... at top speed! NOW!

As if he were part of the drone they were manipulating, Vagrian felt its dead weight, felt the merge lifting it with incredible ease and then shifting it until he, within the merge, felt the contact of another merge, taking the drone the rest of the way to Betelgeuse.

He was aware then of the generators, dropping from the height at which they had assisted the gestalt of mind and direction.

Well done, Vagrian, Damia said, grinning at him. Keep in mind we’ve five more of these brutes to shove. Allow me to draw the heft as I need it. Don’t anticipate. It’ll take even you a little time to feel the needs of a merge.

The second screen brightened with the second target. “Trefoil Mine, this time, and then back to Maltese Cross.”

Afra was still in merge with him, and Vagrian had to appreciate the experienced delicacy of the other T-2’s touch. But then, the man had decades of practice, first with the Rowan at Callisto Station and then twenty-six or more years with his wife. No matter, the Capellan’s deftness was remarkable and most certainly did not give Vagrian any sense of violation or intrusion. He had thought that most merges occurred with the focus mind initiating the process, then including the others involved.

Ready? Damia asked.

When you are, said another male voice that must be David of Betelgeuse. Who’ve you got throwing today? Certainly not Petra and Ewain.

Vagrian Beliakin, Damia said. Are you ready, David?

This time Vagrian was ready for the sensation and the weight, and remembering not to anticipate, he found this thrust was indeed easier.

By the sixth and final ’portation, Vagrian knew he had worked hard. There was sweat on his forehead from the mental and physical effort. He was somewhat reassured to notice that Afra was mopping his forehead and there was a glow of perspiration on Damia’s composed and beautiful face.

Keylarion came up the steps with a tray of tall drinks, handing one to each of them. She grinned at Vagrian.

“I see you survived to tell the tale,” she said with a grin. “Didn’t even have the generators at max either. Xexo’s going to love having you here.”

He was debating a retort, when Keylarion turned to Damia. “Some incoming scheduled in half an hour. Okay?”

“You bet,” Damia said, tipping her glass at Vagrian. “We could damn well push to the Magellanic Cloud with this one assisting.”

“All in a day’s work,” he said, taking refuge in a trite reply because he hadn’t expected such approval. After all, she had had to tell him to exercise restraint. And she was Laria’s mother? Would he have made such a balls of it at Clarf if Damia had been the Tower Prime?

“Work’s not over yet,” she said teasingly, and took a long drink.

He did too, knowing that the stimulant would restore the energy those heists had taken, even if he didn’t feel them ... yet.

They were on the fourth day of the week, and its third rainy one, when he led them, carefully, up a steep slope to a narrow valley he knew was the home of a large enough “bear” clan which needed to be culled. He had his charges spread out across the slope, since he was well aware of the dangers of mud slides in these hills. What with keeping an appreciative eye on the rear view Alcibaca presented and the other on the weakest hunters of his group, he did not see three of them closing up, ahead of him. Nor did he see the avian that one of them, who ought to have known better, fired at. The sharp crack was all that was needed to set the treacherous ground moving.

The three men had time to leap to the far side, clinging to the nearest saplings and bushes, but the slide, once it started, picked up momentum in an awesome, inexorable cataract of moving mud, heading right at the rest of the hunting party. Horrified, Vagrian kept his wits, saw that there was one chance to protect himself and his group. The slide was heading toward a granite outcropping. If there was only a way to push the slide to the opposite side of that, instead of over it, the mud would head harmlessly into the valley below. With every ounce of body language, he valiantly pushed the bulging, rippling head of the slide, and when it actually did pass on the far side of the rock, he fell to his knees, gripping his head against the most appalling, blinding headache he’d ever experienced.

Alcibaca and one of the executives had the good sense to call in their position and airlift the hunting party out—all of them. The one who had fired without checking with him was served with a lifetime ban at that preserve. Vagrian had been interviewed by a T-4 and the outcome was sufficient to alter the course of his life. His one regret for the precipitous way in which he was ’ported to Blundell for further assessment was that he hadn’t been able to persuade Alcibaca to accompany him. She had expressed gratitude to him for saving her life in a time-honored fashion and she was his sole regret in leaving Altair for Earth.