The Tower and the Hive (34 page)

The tenor voice sounded slightly breathless, which suggested to Vagrian that this Perry—one of David of Betelgeuse's sons, wasn't he?—was multitasking. A tap preceded the opening of his carrier and he felt a rush of fresh air, warmer than Iota's, filled with myriad smells—mostly of building materials, paint, oil, grease and Human sweat.

“Hi, I'm your expediter, T-2 Vagrian Beliakin,” said the dark-haired woman looking in at him. “My name's Beejay, T-3 'pather.” She stepped back to allow him to exit the carrier, her grin broadening with just the sort of appreciation for his masculinity that Vagrian appreciated.

After the quiet of Iota Aurigae's Tower facility, the hectic activity here—in a hilltop clearing which had obviously been leveled for the Tower—and the noise were an assault on his ears. Glancing round to identify what and where the diverse noises were coming from, he saw Humans and 'Dinis everywhere, putting up sections of buildings, roofing, dashing from one of the many open large drones for supplies, so that the place appeared totally populated instead of the most recent colony world. Beyond the immense clearing, beyond the mounds of dirt that had been pushed out of the way for the Tower, he could see wave after wave of odd-looking tree types spread out in all directions, and up the foothills of mountains not quite as sharp, or young, as Iota's.

“Takes a bit of getting used to,” Beejay said, grinning. “All that greenery. Hiver ruins are all overgrown too.” She held out her hand and Vagrian hastily responded by touching her long, blunt fingers: yellow/citrusy/flowing, were what he got from their touch. She had an attractive, rather than pretty, face and a compact but feminine body. Her grin widened and she cocked one narrow eyebrow in a mutual appreciation of the information conveyed. “'Port your stuff into the L section—the lounge is the first room.” She pointed. “Nice one too. We got our quarters built yesterday and nothing's sorted out. Though the Tower is. That's why we're not all here to meet you. Vaclava, our T-3 expediter, is in direct contact with Perry on the Asimov with a long list of things we need yesterday. Janfinde's fussing with his generators because he's got a shimmy he has to fix before we're actually operational. Hope you can reach the Asimov in just a merge because we're stuck for so much right now ... C'mon.”

Vagrian's T-2 kinetic strength was put to an immediate testing, but the merge techniques he had acquired when Damia and Afra had him work with their Aurigaean latents and their two youngest children couldn't have been better experience. The metal stairs up to the “Tower” lacked carpeting and it was a cupola like Clarf's. Comformable couches were brand-new—someone had guessed his height and width right, though, so he had no fault to find with that, though he hoped the screens were more securely hooked to the still-unfinished walls than they looked. Beejay must have done a lot of merging, because as soon as she had settled on her couch, she opened her mind to him. By the time Perry called a lunch break, Vagrian realized how much he missed the oomph of working with T-1's, even Ewain's stolid mind.

“C‘mon,” Beejay said, “the Navy supplies our grub and it's captain's-table quality.” He would have eaten anything, but he rather thought he'd miss Damia's inventive menus.

The “lounge” had no furniture, bar the duffels stacked around its circular form and the trestle table in the exact center with rough benches on either side, facing windows with magnificent views. Steaming-hot food was waiting on the table, and shortly the rest of his Tower staff gathered to eat.

“Told you, didn't I?” Beejay said, grinning when Vagrian lifted the lid from a covered dish and inhaled spicy aromas. Had Damia somehow managed to send along his food preferences: hot and hotter? “Of course, there's space here for a proper kitchen and I really do like to cook. We can have non-T staff if we want, and I suspect you may want to request help. We'll have a lot to do getting started.... Hi there, Vaclava. Meet Vagrian.”

Vaclava shyly offered her hand to Vagrian and he felt violet /lavender scent/liquid. She slipped in opposite him, a quieter, younger personality than Beejay. He'd have to deal carefully with her. He learned later this was her first post after being trained by the Bastianmajanis on Altair. He sensed a charming determination to do everything right the first time. Janfinde, who was brown/nutmeg/cautious, brought the smells of grease and oil with him, though he had changed to fresh clothing before joining them at the table.

“I've a CPO coming down tonight, Tower,” Janfinde said, filling his plate, “to help me tune the number two. We should be running on our own power by morning.” And that was the last thing he said, concentrating on his food.

Beejay had enough conversation to cover his silence and Vaclava's shyness, and pulled out of Vagrian the details of where he'd been, what he'd done and all about the assassination attempt, which had been, she was sure, played down by Perry and Captain Osullivan, commander of the Fourth Fleet. She admitted coming from Procyon's planet, Truro, wrinkling her nose because her homeworld had as much a reputation for oddball cults and preserves as Capella had for strictly methody ways. Truro also harbored many of the clairvoyant or prescient Talents and some of the more gifted Talent therapists. As a T-3 'pather, she'd decided to enlist when the call came out through Truro's Talents that Blundell was in need of high T's on well-paid short-term contracts that could be extended.

So she'd come to see what a new world looked like.

“Not that I expected it to be a Hiver world, but hey, well”—she shrugged, her ready grin wry—“new Tower, good chow, the Navy's been real helpful and those 'Dinis are a hoot and a half. You don't have any?” She made a pretense of looking around her.

“Only the ones I met at Iota Aurigae,” Vagrian replied with a slight, self-deprecating grin. “But they're likable and they can work all the hours God gave the day. Which reminds me, how long a day do we have here?”

“Twenty-five hours, fifteen minutes. No one's bothered to figure out a leap year yet, but at this latitude we have about twelve hours of daylight.” She pointed upward. “Perry insists we keep to an eight-hour working day.” She glanced down at her wrist. “And we're due to work the second half of it like right now.”

Dutifully Vagrian rose, gesturing at the dirty plates and dishes remaining from a completely consumed lunch.

“You're the kinetic.” Beejay gave him a vivid mental glimpse of the galley on the Asimov. “The head cook gives us hell if we break anything. Captain's service, you see, not plastic.”

Vagrian nodded understandingly, and with a dramatic wave of his hand, the dishes disappeared.

Beejay jutted her chin out as if she were looking, grinned and straightened up. “You're neat! Stroganoff will love you!”

“Stroganoff?” Vagrian exclaimed, remembering that he'd been served what Damia called scurrier Stroganoff.

Beejay made a cross over her chest. “Swear by all I hold sacred, that's her real name. Mina Stroganoff. And she hates being teased about it.”

“I never tease someone who can cook like that. Let's assume our Tower positions, shall we?” He included the shy Vaclava Soolik in his courtly gesture. He did a two-fingered salute to Janfinde, who nodded in acknowledgment and went back to his truculent generators.

By the end of the eight-hour day, Vagrian was exceedingly grateful to Perry's insistence on set hours. His last task of the day was to bring down the CPO engineer who was going to help Janfinde.

Anything that comes in to the Asimov from now on can wait until morning.
There was something like droll humor in the Prime's tone.
We're expecting fuel drones, but there've been priorities going astray, so no night-light work down there until our reserves are sufficient. Get a good night's rest and thanks for your help today, Beliakin. Look forward to meeting you face to face. Captain Osullivan sends his regards too.

Another delicious meal awaited the Talents and made the CPO's eyes gleam greedily.

“You guys got it made,” he said, restlessly waiting until Beejay, acting hostess, told him to seat himself and dig in.

“Prime eating,” was the CPO's opinion, even though Janfinde set the pace of eating to get back quickly to the ailing number two generator.

After he'd cleared the table of dirty china, Vagrian thought to ask if the CPO would need to be transported back to Asimov too.

“Well, sir, Captain Beliakin, if it's all right with you, when we finish, I'll just doss down here until after breakfast.” And the man's wide, hopeful grin relieved Vagrian of one last duty. What he really wanted was a shower and a bed.

“Which room's mine?” he asked Beejay.

“Yours is the last door facing the corridor. Not much in it yet, but the shower water should still be hot. We haven't got everything set up,” she said, “what with other priorities, but the bed's good. We're to get proper furniture later and you can choose.... Wait! Look at that! Worth a few minutes' watching,” she added, pointing to the western-facing window as Iwo's sun set, gilding the evening clouds with gold and orange that seemed to linger long after the primary was finally out of sight.

“See what you mean,” Vagrian said appreciatively. Then he nodded her a good night as he looked down the corridor for his door. He 'ported his duffels in that direction.

Bare the accommodation was, with a desk, a chair, a desk lamp in his “lounge.” A door set in the west wall led into a bedroom, golden in the last of the dusky light, furnished with a wide bed that had a double sleeping bag on it. There was a wide bench. Sliding panels covered the closet space on one side of the door, and to his left there were rough shelves and in the south wall another door, which opened into a well-equipped bathroom.

Someone got priorities right. Towels hung on a rack and a variety of toiletries were lined up on the space by the handbasin. As he stripped, he crossed to the bed and tested it. Yes, someone knew the priorities: the bed had some sort of soft layer and was firm beneath. Just right! He walked naked to his bathroom, 'porting shut the doors he hadn't bothered to close behind him. The shower stall was also a surprise: big enough for two. The water, while warm, was more hot than cool and there was enough of it for him to get a good scrub.

When he left the bathroom, the air had already cooled in the bedroom. A light on the headboard had come on automatically, so he made his way quickly to the sleeping bag, which he would doubtless be glad of if the night got much cooler, and lay down. He turned on his stomach and applied relaxing techniques to a mind spinning with work and myriad impressions. His last thought was that he had not had time to do something to Laria's favorite mare before he'd left Iota. Then he remembered that she was also Petra's mount and he owed the Iota Lyons. Maybe he even owed Laria. His own Tower ... Vagrian Beliakin slept the sleep of the just.

 

The report of the onset of war on Hiver-occupied world Xh- 33 reached Captain Etienne Osullivan on the Asimov while he was on the bridge.

“Emergency code from the Xh-33 Moon Base, sir,” the communications officer said, swinging her chair round to face him.

“Put it up.”

There was the usual time lag due to the distance between the Asimov and the Xh-33 system.

“Captain Osullivan, Wisla Makako here.” The screen showed the Oriental features of the facility's commander. “All hell's breaking loose down there on the Main Continent. Queens leading armies of really big...” The screen now switched to the surface carnage with queens leading some of the biggest creatures, which Osullivan recognized as augmented “worker” types from his captaincy of the Genesee. “... dangerous looking types.”

“Is the situation more serious than your reports of earlier skirmishes over field boundaries?” Osullivan asked, his eyes intent on the scene. During the pause between query and answer, the captain sent quick orders. “Prime Perry, on the bridge right now!” Osullivan had never given the T-1 such a direct order, in fact didn't even realize he hadn't couched it as tactfully as he usually did. Perry 'ported beside him and Osullivan had only to point to the screen's grim scene to explain the summons as he continued firing off orders. “Helm, set an immediate course for the Xh-33 system. Top speed. Fortunately we're not spatially that far from it. Send a signal to Iwojima that they're on their own for the next couple of days. We'll be back in orbit as soon as we've assessed the situation. Perry, the Moon Base has only a T-3 kinetic.”

Makako was replying: “This seems to involve all the queens on the Main Continent, sir, and I wouldn't call it a ‘skirmish.' I'd call it an all-out war. The carnage is unbelievable!” Her wide-eyed expression reinforced her dismay.

“Has she said what started that?” Perry demanded, eyes glued to the scene. “Is the Moon Base in any danger?”

Osullivan shook his head as the Asimov could be felt surging forward in star-speckled space until the stars blurred.

“There's no way the queens can reach the Moon Base. Remember? We destroyed their spheres and scouts. Makako has reported that they've reopened their mines, but ore must be hard to find. New shafts have been sent down. On all the continents, by the way.”

“There must be far too many queens, sir,” Makako was reporting now. “I've counted forty separate battlefields and several queens contesting ground in one.”

“Nothing you can do about it, Commander,” Osullivan said by way of reassurance, and then turned to Perry. “Prime, please make contact with Earth Prime whether he's at Blundell or Callisto. He needs to know about this. We really do need a telepath at every installation, even if he or she only receives.” The last was said in a low murmur of regret.