Get Off the Unicorn by Anne McCaffrey Read Free Book Online Page A

eagerly await the arrival of the aliens?” Afra said in a soft drawl, deliberately leaching all emotion out of his words. “On the off chance they’re biologically compatible? Do you envision your soul mate winging across the void to you?”
    She whirled to face him, her eyes wide with rage.
    â€œDon’t
you
taunt me, Afra,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
    He inclined his head in apology.
    â€œBetter get some sleep, Damia,” he said gently, and gave her a little mental push toward her bedroom.
    â€œYou’re right. I am tired, Afra, and excited, and silly. It’s just . . . just that sometimes I feel like nothing more than a useful mental stevedore: not a person at all. Then this happens . . . and I . . . I have the fantastic chance to establish communication with alien minds . . .”
    Again Afra caught the unmistakable and unconscious suppression of a thought within the maelstrom of her weariness.
    Damia turned on her heel and left the room. Afra watched the sunset turn the plateau a deep tangerine, then diminish in the east. Brooding over the evening’s conversation, he waited until the roiling activity of Damia’s mind subsided into the even beat of sleep. Then he, too, went to bed. Carefully, just as he was on the edge of sleep, he reinforced his mental screens so that none of his longing for her would escape. He wondered, in that honest interval between consciousness and dreaming, if he would have enough strength left to cope with a third generation of Raven women.
    The next day they initiated the new routine. Damia handled the long-distance items first. Then after the incoming workload had been sorted out and there were no more demands on her talent, she departed into space, to “rest,” leaving Afra to deal with the remaining tasks.
    Although the function of a Prime was complex, a two-minute mental briefing by Damia supplied Afra with the background of immediate problems and all the procedures peculiar to that station. The memory bank would give any additional information. When the focal talents of the gestalt were exchanged, not even one-half a beat of the pulse of the Aurigean Sector Headquarters was missed. The allocation of duties pleased Afra because it would give him the opportunity to use the gestalt of the Station to reach Jeff without Damia knowing. She would be too busy “reaching” for the alien touch to be aware of Afra. The temporary breach of her trust in him was offset by the absolving knowledge of its necessity.
    In terms of intergalactic distances, the aliens approached at a snail’s pace: by interstellar references, faster than the speed of light. A week passed and then one evening Damia returned from her daily “rest” bursting with news. She moved from the landing area right into the living room, where Afra was lounging.
    â€œI made individual contact,” she cried. “And what a mind!” She was so excited that she didn’t notice the flare of jealousy which Afra couldn’t suppress. “And what a surprise
he
got,” she went on.
    From the moment she had entered, Afra had known that the mind was male.
    â€œA Prime talent?” he asked, counterfeiting a show of genuine interest.
    â€œI can’t assess it. He’s so . . . different,” she exclaimed, her eyes shining and her mental aura dazzling with her success. “He fades and then returns. The distance is immense, and there isn’t much definition in the thoughts. I can only reach the surface.” Damia threw herself onto the long couch. “I’m exhausted. I shall have to sleep before I can reach Jeff with the news. I don’t dare use the station.”
    Afra agreed readily, waiting until she relaxed into sleep. Ethics aside, he tried to reach this experience in her mind below the emotional level, only to find himself overwhelmed by the subjective. Damia was treating herself