Authors: Anne McCaffrey
“The turbulence of a monsoon is totally unpredictable,” Sascha began.
Peter’s expression was one of abused patience. “It’d be the same principle in spite of turbulence. And better, because the shuttle won’t be powered, so that won’t throw off the snatch and grab of my gestalt.”
“Simple when explained in that fashion,” Sascha said at his driest. Then he flung up his hands in exasperation and turned to Rhyssa.
She took a reasonable stance. “The distance, the mass involved, even the turbulence are not factors you’ve dealt with before. We can’t, and won’t, risk burning you out.”
Peter grinned. “You wouldn’t. Though I’d need much more than four-point-five kpm. To be safe, I’d need some real power—like the city’s turbos. They might seize up—but I wouldn’t.”
“We don’t
know
that, Peter,” Rhyssa said gently, permitting him to sense her anxiety.
“But
I
know that about me,” Peter said, and levitated to the bed, where he perched beside her, upright enough, but with his arms and legs draped in unnatural positions. He made adjustments when he caught Rhyssa’s look. “Instinctively!”
Then she hugged him, feeling tears of pride for the shining self-confidence that had emerged in the past few weeks. She held his lax narrow body for a long moment; then, sensing his embarrassment, she ruffled his hair and released him.
“Peter,” Sascha said, hunkering down by the boy, “this
is
different from the exercises we’ve had you do. And this gestalt ability of yours is unique! We just can’t risk it.”
“Dorotea said I should trust my instincts,” Peter said so firmly that both Sascha and Rhyssa regarded him for a long moment. “I also read the precog report. If there aren’t enough kinetics, many people will lose their lives, as well as everything they’ve been struggling to build over the past two years. There’ll be massive ecological damage, more plague, starvation. You keep feeding me all this stuff about the responsibility we Talents have to the rest of the world, how we’re supposed to reduce death and damage. If I’m willing to take a little risk, I’d be a real Talent.
“I also heard what Madlyn said to you.” Peter grinned ingenuously, wincing as if avoiding a loud noise. “Mr. Baden means me, doesn’t he? That it’s time to really try me.”
Sascha sat down on the bed on Peter’s other side and looked helplessly at Rhyssa.
“As I see it,” Peter went on, clearly more in charge of the situation than his adult mentors, “we Talents don’t have any option. We need the ones with Mr. Baden in the
Erasmus.
Sascha, when I shifted that steel the other day, you said I had graduated into a really useful category of kinesis. With enough power in the gestalt, I
know
I can land the shuttle.”
Sascha slowly shook his head. “There’s another major consideration, son . . .”
“I’ve been studying schematics on power generation,” Peter continued blithely. “Turbos in particular, as they’re more reliable.”
“You have?” Rhyssa was constantly being surprised by the turns of Peter’s avid studying.
“Well, I thought I ought to get some sort of basic concepts from which to work . . .” He saw their expressions and gave them a little smile. “I used to watch a lot of college-level vid courses. They were a lot more interesting than most of the late-night recreational garbage. Having to think hard took my mind off myself for a while. Engineering was a good think.”
Sascha and Rhyssa were reduced to nodding in belated comprehension.
“Especially,” Peter added, his eyes twinkling, “as no one really seemed to
know
what to make of my gestalting. And that’s the other consideration, isn’t it, Sascha? Keeping gestalt kinesis under wraps?”
“He’s got us there, Rhyssa,” Sascha said with a chagrined expression.
“That’s what you’re
really
worried about, but look, if the pilot brings the shuttle down far enough, I know I can get it safely through the turbulence and land it. And even the pilot doesn’t need to know it wasn’t Mr. Baden and the other kinetics who steadied the shuttle.”
When he saw that they were seriously considering his suggestion, he added, “It isn’t as if I’d be bringing the shuttle all the way down from Padrugoi by myself, you know.”
“And you think the city’s power system will supply the necessary gestalt for you?” Sascha asked in a wry tone.
“The East Side Jerhattan power station’s turbos should be enough.” Peter’s eyes glowed at the prospect of all that power at his disposal.
Rhyssa and Sascha began to laugh at the sheer impudence.
“You know, 1 really think that’ll work,” Dorotea said, entering the room. She was still in her nightclothes, a fetching pale lilac that set off her lovely white hair and porcelain complexion. “Since eavesdropping is in general order today, I’ve been following the conversations with great interest. There won’t be time to talk that idiot of a power resources commissioner into agreeing to anything of such an experimental, and highly confidential, nature. The fewer people who know what we’re doing the better.” Her face took on an exceedingly sly look, totally uncharacteristic. “Let’s invoke a G and H!” She chortled, looking exceedingly pleased with herself. “All we have to do then is call Boris—get him to clear the power station and use his official capacity to get us in.”
“Invoke a G and H?” Rhyssa stared at the elderly telepath as if she had never seen her before.
“What’s a G and H?” Peter asked just as Sascha began to guffaw.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Rhyssa exclaimed in exasperation. To the mystified Peter, she explained, “That’s our mayday code, for George—that’s George Henner, who once owned this house—and Henry—meaning Henry Darrow, who established Talent as a verifiable paranormal skill. If a Talent invokes a G and H, he gets immediate and unquestioned cooperation from every other Talent.”
Sascha rubbed his hands together. “You know, I’ve always wanted the excuse to invoke that mayday code.”
Brother,
he called.
It’s a G and H: we need escort to the East Side power station, and it’s to be cleared! Shouldn’t be difficult with only a minimal night crew on call.
Boris:
A G and H? Fascinating. I’m cleaning up after a major riot and you elect this moment in time to call a George and Henry?
Sascha:
All we need is you and a LEO heli.
Just me?
Boris responded sarcastically.
Sascha agreeably:
You to get us the cooperation we need.
And I can expect return cooperation from you?
Boris, slyly.
Sascha:
It’s a George Henry mayday, Bro. You can’t refuse.
Boris:
Quid pro quo, Bro. I was about to request your presence!
Sascha:
For a riot?
Boris:
I could certainly use your help on this one, Bro. Some oddities have cropped up that require your particularly acute telepathic Talent.
Sascha raised his eyebrows inquiringly at Rhyssa, who reluctantly gave an assenting nod.
“Did you follow that, Peter?” Rhyssa asked, noticing that the boy’s face was still registering surprise.
“Yes,” he said tentatively.
“You don’t really need me, Peter,” Sascha said encouragingly. “You’ve got Rhyssa . . .”
“And Dorotea,” the lady added stoutly.
“To buffer your mind,” Sascha continued.
Don, as well, I think,
he added to Rhyssa.
Why does Boris have to need me at this moment in time?
Dorotea:
Boris always did have an awkward streak in him. Comes from being a LEO by temperament.
Rhyssa turned briskly to Peter. “Now, you’d better get dressed. Fetch your clothes here. And what should he get for you, Dorotea? You can change in my bathroom.”
“I’ll get down to Budworth for the vital statistics we need,” Sascha said. “The weight of the shuttle, a radar link with the shuttle, repros of Dacca—in good weather—weather reports.”
If I really think about this in any detail, I’ll go crackers!
he added on a very fine thread to the two women.
Rhyssa and Dorotea replied with equal fervor:
You’ll have company!
If Peter thinks he can do it, I prefer to think he can,
Rhyssa added.
After all, it’s the thought that counts.
Dorotea:
That’s what does the trick.
The necessary equations, based on Peter’s established use of the gestalt plus distance, weight, and optimum speed of the shuttle, atmospheric conditions, and turbulence at the landing site, were all completed by the time the LEO heli arrived to transport them.
“I thought you were having a riot of a time and we’d get a deputy,” Sascha said, but he was exceedingly relieved to have his brother’s support.
“I am, but I’m the best authority you have for whatever’s going on.” Boris smiled with white-toothed malice. “You’ll want to be in on this one, Bro. We’ve got a lead on the kidnappings.”
Sascha swore with great ingenuity.
That’s as important as this, Sascha,
Rhyssa conceded.
With Dorotea and Don to help me buffer him, he’11 be fine.
I wouldn’t interfere with a mayday if I didn’t have to,
the LEO commissioner said, even as he reached down to assist Dorotea into the heli.
Sascha, the kidnappers must be stopped,
Dorotea said so sternly that her tone startled all the telepaths.
There! That’s settled!
“And this is Peter Reidinger?” Boris asked, as Peter reached the steps in his treading-water gait. “Hi!”
From the stunned look on Peter’s face, Rhyssa suddenly realized that no one had thought to mention to the boy that the LEO commissioner was Sascha’s twin brother.
“No, you’re not seeing double. I’m older by five minutes,” Boris went on amiably, deftly taking Peter under the arms and hoisting him aboard.
We’ll both see them safely there before I abduct you, Bro, for my less nefarious purposes. The boy’s the G and H?
Sascha waggled his finger at his brother.
Naughty, naughty!
He swung aboard and started stowing the medical equipment Don Usenik handed up, ignoring Boris’s grumbling. When Don climbed in, Sascha slid the door shut, and the big heli-bus glided upward and southeast.
Boris had strapped Peter into a window seat, and utterly entranced, the boy gazed down the black canyon of the Hudson to the mass of lights that glowed from every ziggurat and ribbonway of Jerhattan.
“Rather breathtaking no matter how often you see it,” Rhyssa said to Peter, who nodded without taking his eyes from the view. By the time they landed on the roof of the facility, all the Talents were subtly aware of the emptiness of the massive structure.
“Well done, Boris,” Dorotea said. “This way, Peter!”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Boris remarked wryly. “My office is on the line in this!”
“Thanks, Boris,” Rhyssa said. “Can you retrieve us when we shout?”
“If I can’t spare Sascha, I’ll send someone you can trust,” the LEO commissioner said as he handed Don his monitors. Then the big heli lifted away from the helipad.
Rhyssa took one equipment case from Don as he hauled open the roof door. As soon as Peter glided inside, he began to emanate excitement, his eyes sparkling with anticipation while he maneuvered down the stairs. They entered above the huge turbines, which were humming slightly as they served the needs of the great metropolis. They turned into the control room that overlooked the turbine floor, a room lined with the equipment that registered the flow of electricity to the various substations. With an ineffable air, Peter assumed the conformable chair of the duty engineer, swinging it idly from side to side until the adults organized the monitors and started hooking him up.
Above the windows overlooking the turbines were sufficient vid screens to display what Peter needed to see. Rhyssa began entering the appropriate programs, bringing up on one screen a high-resolution fax print of the
Erasmus;
on another, a display of its specifications; then weather simulations; and finally linking the station’s communications grid to the main NASA board to follow the shuttle’s descent. The
Erasmus
was already in flight, having begun its descent promptly at 0800 station time, 0130 Earth time. The power-station clock read 0550 as the deep radar net began to show the shuttle’s spiraling descent. The final screen pictured the Dacca airport, lashed with rain and whipped by fierce gusts of winds that shifted tree trunks, parts of cars, crates, and all sorts of debris across the concrete runway where Peter was to bring the
Erasmus
safely down.
When Don Usenik had completed his check of the equipment monitoring Peter, Rhyssa and Dorotea took seats behind them, the mind of each lightly touching the boy’s. He seemed not to notice, so intent was he on the
Erasmus’s
course. Just as it hit the atmosphere, the generators began to whine.
Rhyssa shook her head, as unable as the others to reach that part of Peter’s mind that had linked with the enormous power of the turbines below them. The whine built, the decibels increasing to an almost unbearable pitch. Dorotea scrunched her features up, unashamedly covering her ears with her hands. Rhyssa was staring in disbelief at the wildly altered readings on the control console. Don Usenik kept his eyes on his medical monitors. Peter remained outwardly composed. Rhyssa noticed the slightly condescending smile on his face and just hoped he was not about to overreach himself.
Simultaneously both she and Don noticed the perspiration on the boy’s forehead, but the smile remained in place. The generators reached a frenzied peak and maintained it. And the touch of Peter’s mind altered! It became hard as stone. Peter had not locked mental contact out, but he had suddenly restricted the contact area, indicating intense concentration. Rhyssa caught Dorotea’s eyes, but the older woman merely pointed to Don’s patient and unalarmed watch of the monitors. The descent of the
Erasmus
visibly steadied and slowed.
He’s done it!
Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Don exclaimed in muted congratulatory tones.
Rhyssa hoped someone was recording for posterity what was unquestionably the most dramatic moment for Talent since a Goosegg registered Henry Darrow’s delta-wave pattern during that first recorded precognitive Incident. Her mind still in contact with that part of Peter’s which was accessible to herself and Dorotea, she watched the
Erasmus
landing, coming to a gentle stop at the passenger terminal, seemingly untouched by the battering wind. Peter gave a little chuckle, and suddenly the turbulence between shuttle and terminal abated, an eerie storm eye of absolute calm. Passengers hastily disembarked, pausing in astonishment as they became aware of the surrounding lull. One, his face indistinct on the small screen, lifted clasped hands above his head in a victory sign and then hurried into the dubious safety of the wind-battered terminal.