“Oh, yes,” she said, “these powers are all recorded and remembered on Terra. But Terra neglected the powers of the mind, concentrating on material things, metal and machinery and computers. So their psi powers were forgotten and bred out. Instead we developed them, deliberately bred for them—that much of the Comyn legend is true. And we had the matrix jewels which convert energy. Isolation, genetic drift and selective breeding did the rest. Darkover is a reservoir of psi power and, as far as I know, is the only planet in the galaxy which turned to psi instead of technology.”

“Even with matrix amplification, these powers are dangerous,” I said. “Darkovan technology has to be used with caution, and sparsely. The price, in human terms, is usually too high.”

The woman shrugged. “You cannot take hawks without climbing cliffs,” she said.

“Just what is it you intend to do?”

“Make the Terrans take us seriously!”

“You don’t mean war?” That sounded like suicidal nonsense and I said so. “Fight the Terrans, weapons against weapons?”

“No. Or only if they need to be shown that we are neither ignorant nor helpless,” Kadarin said. “A high-level matrix, I understand, is a weapon to make even the Terrans tremble. But I hope and trust it will never come to that. The Terran Empire prides itself on the fact that they don’t conquer, that planets askto be admitted to the Empire. Instead, the Comyn committed Darkover to withdrawal, barbarianism, a search for yesterday, not tomorrow. We have something to give the Empire in return for what they give us, our matrix technology. We can join as equals, not suppliants. I have heard that in the old days there were matrix-powered aircraft in Arilinn—”

“True,” I said, “as recently as in my father’s time.”

“And why not now?” He did not wait for me to answer. “Also, we could have a really effective communications technique—”

“We have that now.”

“But the towers work only under Comyn domination, not for the entire population of the world.”

“The risks—”

“Only the Comyn seem to know anything about those risks,” Beltran said. “I’m tired of letting the Comyn decide for everyone else what risks we may take. I want us to be accepted as equals by the Terrans. I want us to be part of Terran trade, not just the trickle which comes in and out by the spaceports under elaborate permits signed and countersigned by their alien culture specialists to make certain it won’t disturb our primitive culture! I want good roads and manufacturing and transportation and some control over the God-forgotten weather on this world! I want our students in the Empire universities, and theirs coming here! Other planets have these things! And above all I want star-travel. Not as a rich man’s toy, as with the Ridenow lads spending a season now and then on some faraway pleasure world and bringing back new toys and new debaucheries, but free trade, with Darkovan ships coming and going at our will, not the Empire’s!”

“Daydreams,” I said flatly. “There’s not enough metal on Darkover for a spaceship’s hulk, let alone fuel to power it!”

“We can trade for metal,” Beltran said. “Do you think matrices, manned by psi power, won’t power a spaceship? And wouldn’t that make most of the other power sources in the Galaxy obsolete overnight?”

I stood motionless for a moment, gripped by the force of his dream. Starships for Darkover … matrix-powered! By all the Gods, what a dream! And Darkovans comrades, competitors, not forgotten stepchildren of the Empire …

“It can’t be possible,” I said, “or the matrix circles would have done it in the old days.”

“It wasdone,” Kadarin said. “The Comyn stopped it. It would have diluted their power on this world. We turned our back on a Galactic civilization because that crew of old women in Thendara decided they liked our world the way it was, with the Comyn up there with the Gods and everyone else running around bowing and scraping to them! They even disarmed us all. Their precious Compact sounds very civilized, but what it’s done, in effect, is to make it impossible to organize any kind of armed rebellion that could endanger the Comyn’s power!”

This went along, all too uncomfortably, with some of my own thoughts. Even Hastur spoke noble words about the Comyn devoting themselves to the service of Darkover, but what it came to was that he knew what was best for Darkover, and wanted no independent ideas challenging his power to enforce that “best.”

“It’s a noble dream. I said that before. But what have I to do with it?”

It was Marjorie who answered, squeezing my hand eagerly. “Cousin, you’re tower-trained. You know the skills and techniques, and how they can be used even by latent telepaths. So much of the old knowledge has been lost, outside the towers. We can only experiment, work in the dark. We don’t have the skills, the disciplines with which we could experiment further. Those of us who are telepaths have no chance to develop our natural gifts; those who are not have no way to learn the mechanics of matrix work. We need someone—someone like you, cousin!”

“I don’t know … I have only worked within the towers. I have been taught it is not safe … ”

“Of course,” Kadarin said contemptuously. “Would they risk any trained man experimenting on his own and perhaps learning more than the little they allow? Kermiac was training matrix technicians here in the Hellers when you people in the Domains were still working in guarded circles, looked on as sorceresses and warlocks! But he is very old and he cannot guide us now.” He smiled, a brief, bleak smile. “We need someone who is young and skilled and above all fearless. I think you have the strength for it. Have you the will?”

I found myself recalling the fey sense of destiny which had gripped me as I rode here. Was this the destiny I had foreseen, to break the hold of a corrupt clan on Darkover, to overthrow their grip at our throats, set Darkover in its rightful place among the equals of the Empire?

It was almost too much to grasp. I was suddenly very tired. Marjorie, still stroking my hand gently in her small fingers, said without looking up, “Enough, Beltran, give him time. He’s weary from traveling and you’ve been jumping at him till he’s confused. If it’s right for him, he’ll decide.”

She was thinking of me. Everyone else was thinking of how well I could fit into their plans.

Beltran said with a rueful, friendly smile, “Cousin, my apologies! Marjorie is right, enough for now! After that long journey, you’re more in need of a quiet drink and a soft bed than a lecture on Darkovan history and politics! Well, the drink for now and the bed soon, I promise!” He called for wine and a sweet fruit-flavored cordial not unlike the shallanwe drank in the valley. He raised his glass to me. “To our better acquaintance, cousin, and to a pleasant stay among us.”

I was glad to drink to that. Mariorie’s eyes met mine over the rim of her glass. I wanted to take her hand again. Why did she appeal to me so? She looked young and shy, with an endearing awkwardness, but in the classic sense, she was not beautiful. I saw Thyra sitting within the curve of Kadarin’s arm, drinking from his cup. Among valley folk that would have proclaimed them admitted lovers. I didn’t know what, if anything, it meant here. I wished I were free to hold Marjorie like that.

I turned my attention to what Beltran was saying, about Terran methods used in the rapid building of Caer Donn, of the way in which trained telepaths could be used for weather forecasting and control. “Every planet in the Empire would send people here to be trained by us, and pay well for the privilege.”

It was all true, but I was tired, and Beltran’s plans were so exciting I feared I would not sleep. Besides, my nerves were raw-edged with trying to keep my awareness of Marjorie under control. I felt I would rather be beaten into bleeding pulp than intrude, even marginally, on her sensitivities. But I kept wanting to reach out to her, test her awareness of me, see if she shared my feelings or if her kindness was the courtesy of a kinswoman to a wearied guest …