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thoughts, even though he knew his father couldn’t, as well as wouldn’t, stoop to probing.
    “Maybe the Rowan Prime remembered her promise to Goswina,” Afra said, delighted that his voice didn’t crack with excitement. “Which is very good of her, you must admit. A promise made a decade ago. Who’d expect a Prime to remember?” He knew he was babbling as much from jubilation as a sudden fright that, in surprise, his parents might deny him the right to go.
    “A Prime is exactly the person who would remember,” his father told him reproachfully. “Our family is indeed honored. But didn’t I hear that you were to be assigned to a substation? I know you’re being considered as a replacement for Ementish in our Tower.” There was a wistful emphasis on the possessive pronoun.
    “Father, I can hardly refuse to go to Callisto, can I?” Afra said, pretending a reluctant obedience to a Prime directive, but he could scarcely shout out his inner joy when his parents were so distressed at his news. “I must gather travel necessities.”
    “Come when you’re ready, Afra. You can be dispatched any time in the next hour,” Hasardar said. “It is only an interview,” he added tactfully and disconnected.
    Cheswina was trying hard to control her dismay at the prospect of her youngest child’s abrupt departure. She did not feel that Afra was ready to meet the world on his own, though she had started looking for a suitable wife for him. There were plenty of girls who’d look favorably on her tall, thin son because he was T-4.
    Gos Lyon rose from the breakfast table. “I am deeply concerned, Afra, about your being sent to such an unstable Tower situation.”
    “It is just an interview,” Afra said, reinforcing his aura of dutiful compliance.
    “I have heard,” Gos Lyon continued, both expression and mind radiating an anxiety that even a T-10 would have sensed, “that the Rowan is a very difficult Prime to work with. Her station personnel are constantly being changed. You would be foolish to risk . . .”
    “Humiliation?” and Afra hooked the unspoken word out of Gos Lyon’s mind. “Father, there would be no shame, orblame, if the Rowan did not find me acceptable.” Afra felt every fiber of his being denying his words, every ounce of his strength shielding his true thoughts from his distraught parents. “There would, however, I feel, be an implied insult if I didn’t at least appear for this interview. I will pack a few things . . .” Indeed there was little in his room that he could not leave behind—with the exception of his holos of barque cats, his origami flock, his supply of paper, and Damitcha’s book. “. . . and report as requested to the Rowan on Callisto. It is so generous of her to remember her promise to Goswina.”
    Before his control on his real feelings weakened, Afra strode from the room. As he tossed a change of clothing, Tower shoes, holos, origamis, and the book into a carisak, he probed deftly at his parents. His father was clearly stunned and most perturbed, uncomplimentarily concerned that his youngest could handle the courtesies involved. His mother’s mind was running about in circles: would Afra present himself properly, would he be restrained and mannerly, would this Rowan person appreciate that he came from a good family and had been raised to the high standards demanded of Tower personnel, would he . . .
    Afra closed the sak and returned to say farewell to his parents. This moment was far harder for him than he realized—especially when he wished so fervently that he would not be back in the few days his parents felt he’d be gone.
    “I shall bring honor on the family name,” he said to his father, lightly touching Gos Lyon’s chest over his heart. “Mother, I shall be extremely well-behaved,” and he caressed her cheek softly.
    His throat suddenly closed and he felt an unexpected burning behind his eyes. He hadn’t anticipated such a reaction when he had