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ships’ crews. “That yellow-eyed greenie that the barquies talk to” became his informal designation in Capella Port. His fascination with the animals helped ease his loneliness and he studied pedigrees, and asked questions of any barque cat crew, until he probably knew the lineage and distribution of the animals as well as any spacefarer. His most precious treasure was a packet of holographs of various dignified barquies given him by their proud owners.
    But, as Afra grew older and his Talent strengthened, he became less tolerant of the parochial attitudes of his parents despite his love for them. Reared as he had been to restrain his emotions, he mentally chafed against the loving bonds and the parental assumption that he would be delighted to take a place—more exalted than theirs as a T-4 which they did not resent—in Capella Tower.
    By his fifteenth year, he had begun to find ways of sliding away from his family’s supervision—first mentally when he attended the Capella training sessions and met Talents from nearby systems. Then, physically, when he would clandestinely join his student friends in the few innocent and mild diversions available on his methodistic planet: diversions his peers regarded as kid stuff. Then, psychologically, when he had the chance to add more adult tapes and disks to those Damitcha had given him. He learned vicariously what “diversions” could be had on other planets. He began to appreciate just how unsophisticated Capella was, how narrow its moral code, how much more diverse and rich other life-styles were.
    He knew, as all Talents did, that the Rowan had left Altair to become Prime on the new FT&T installation on Callisto, Jupiter’s moon. He heard, for he made certain that he did, of all the personal shifts and changes required to suit the Rowan. Older members of the Capella team criticized her for such vacillation.
    “Much too young to be made a Prime. That needs a mature, stable, responsible personality. What is FT&T comingto?” was the consensus. No one mentioned what was so obvious to Afra: that there were far too few Prime Talents to wait until the Rowan was “old” enough—whenever that would be—to accede to a Prime’s duties.
    Afra was also perversely excited by such reports of hiring and firing. That sort of thing never happened on Capella. Once drafted to the Tower, that’s where a Talent stayed—until he or she retired after a suitable length of service.
    Young Afra, now an apprentice in Capella’s Tower, was in a position to learn that the Rowan had a powerful thrust, never dumped capsules into cradles, hadn’t damaged cargo or passengers, and expedited both in- and out-system traffic despite the handicap of great Jupiter occluding Callisto at irregular intervals.
    Of all the Talents surrounding the young Afra, only Hasardar seemed to appreciate his restless disquiet. Yet Afra could not bring himself to apply even to him for advice on how to break out of the stultifying future that had been arranged for him.
    When he gained manly status at sixteen, he felt it was time to remind Goswina about the Rowan’s promise.
    “Oh, Afra dear, you are only sixteen,” and though Afra could not doubt that she still loved him, he felt that she regarded him as little more than a child. Certainly he was no longer as important a love for her. But a mother should favor her sons above a brother. Which, sadly, he had to accept, knowing more of human relationships than he had ten years before.
    “Callisto’s one of the most important Stations in the Federation,” Goswina went on, her thought backing up a tone that said she didn’t feel he should complain about his obvious future. “Besides, now that the Rowan has her own Tower, they don’t give the courses at Altair anymore.”
    “But you’ve heard how often staff gets changed at Callisto. And you said that I’d complement her. You must remember that, Goswina! Maybe it’s me she’s looking for?”
    Goswina gently