Authors: Anne McCaffrey
Ragnar’s voice came through on the intercom. He was duty officer, and twenty years in the Center had made him impervious to rank and prestige. “Rhyssa, there’s a bunch here to see you. Do I send ’em up?”
“Yes, I’m expecting them, Ragnar.”
His “humph” came over the speaker, and Peter noticed Rhyssa’s little smile. He also noticed that she was nervously running the stylus through her fingers. Dorotea sat even straighter in her chair and managed to look not only larger and more imposing but very, very queenly.
There was a polite knock on the door, and Rhyssa pressed the release button. The first man in the room was a telepath, Peter realized, and he was directing tight private warnings at Rhyssa. The second man, very tall, thin, and wise-looking, gazed directly at Peter and nodded. He
knew
who Peter was even if Peter did not know him, and he was also a telepath. He courteously identified himself to Peter as Justice Gordon Havers.
Peter knew the third man, Dave Lehardt, who immediately moved to stand by Rhyssa’s desk, facing the others as they filed in. He made his partisanship very clear. He exchanged a glance with Rhyssa and gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. She had a slight smile on her face, and Peter sensed that she was very glad to have Dave Lehardt so close by. But knowing that Dave was not a Talent, Peter was surprised by the intimate exchange. He felt a flair of jealousy.
The next six men to enter were obviously important people; four were in uniform and only one of them was Talented. That one appeared very nervous and kept looking from Rhyssa to Dorotea. The last man to enter gaped at Rhyssa in a fashion that made Peter very uneasy—his eyes and his manner made Peter wonder if he was one of those perverts his mother used to warn him about.
As Rhyssa asked them all to be seated, Peter picked up names: Vernon Altenbach, who was secretary of space; the Russian officer was General Shevchenko, Padrugoi liaison official, and even with the shield he wore, he was bristling with aggression. The telempath was Andrei Grushkov, and Peter felt sorry for him—he had to be truthful to his employer, the general, but he felt obscurely that he was betraying Talent in doing so. There were two NASA officers, a general and a colonel, and that pervert was the world-famous Josephson-junction specialist, and a Malaysian prince besides, who did such fantastic programming of air and space traffic. Peter did not like the man any better once he knew he was a genius, not when the man kept sloppily ogling Rhyssa. The man who had come in first was Colonel John Greene, and Peter watched in some awe as the most successful etop pilot of the early days of the Padrugoi Project placed a chair next to him, Peter Reidinger, and smiled quite pleasantly at him. Colonel Greene seemed
to be the only one who was smiling. Even Justice Havers looked solemn.
“It would be pointless for me to deny that I am aware of the reason for your visit,” Rhyssa said calmly. “Shall I call up the Eastern Center Register for you to check on our memberships?” She placed her fingers over the keyboard.
Peter regarded her with pride. She even had a little smile on her face. And that pervert kept smarming at her.
The Russian liaison general cleared his throat. “We have already seen it, Madame. But we believe that you have not honestly declared your full kinetic strength.” He crooked his head to see his telempath’s face.
“Andrei can certainly assure you that our declaration is honest and complete. We have nothing to hide. No Talent does.”
“Andrei has also assured me, Madame Owen,” the general continued ponderously, “that no kinetic anywhere could have successfully landed the
Erasmus,
not even the twenty-two on board her,
or—
” He paused dramatically. “—assisted its takeoff from the Dacca field in the weather conditions prevailing that day.” His chest seemed to deflate slightly once he had delivered his accusation.
“It was me,” Peter said. He wanted to get it all over with, and get that smarmy-faced man out of the room and away from Rhyssa. “I mean, it was I.”
The stunned silence was worse than noisy disclaimers. Then Colonel Greene started to chuckle and Dave Lehardt began to laugh. He also winked approvingly at Peter. Not one of the other visitors appeared to be the least bit amused.
“And tell me just how, young man,” Vernon Altenbach asked, skeptically, “you accomplished such a feat?”
Stick to the facts, man, the facts,
Rhyssa said, mental laughter rippling her tone.
“Well, the
Erasmus
needed help landing at Dacca because the kinetics
had
to be there to reduce the disaster potential. So Rhyssa called a G and H—that’s a Talent mayday—and I got to use the generators at the East Side power station,” Peter replied. He kept his face straight, but he was enjoying the incredulity of the non-Talented in his audience; even the Russian telempath was admiring, and Peter sat himself even straighter in the chair.
Dorotea:
Well said, Peter!
Gordon Havers:
In times of doubt, honesty is the best policy.
Johnny Greene:
You better believe it, because they’re not!
Unobtrusively, he patted Peter’s knee.
“You have, I must assume, a kinetic Talent?” Vernon continued.
“Yes, sir. I’m in training as a kinetic, but I can’t do as much as I’d like because the people who should be training me are all up on the station.”
Rhyssa:
Don’t spread it on too thick, Peter.
Johnny:
Nonsense. They deserve that kick in the shins.
“How much training have you had then?” the general asked.
“Well, Rhyssa and Dorotea do the best they can, but they’re telepaths . . .”
Rhyssa, dryly:
Thank you!
Gordon:
He’s sticking to the truth.
“Initially Rick Hobson was helping me,” Peter went on, “but we’d only just gotten past the necessary stuff when he got conscripted to the station.”
“Talents were
not
conscripted,” General Shevchenko objected forcefully. “They volunteered to assist in the completion of the first Great World Project.”
Peter gave a contemptuous little snort. “If you’re not given a choice, you’ve been conscripted.”
“And you expect us to believe that a frail boy manipulated the
Erasmus
?” Prince Phanibal Shimaz shot out of his chair and stood belligerently in front of Peter, shaking his finger at him. “I, Phanibal Shimaz, prince of Malaysia West, know that this would have been impossible from such a source! Tell us the truth, little boy!” he demanded, making the adjective pejorative.
“He
is
telling the truth,” Johnny Greene said, rising to his feet to look down at the much shorter prince. Dave Lehardt and Rhyssa jumped to their feet angrily, ready to leap into the fray if need be.
“As Andrei confirms to me,” General Shevchenko said in a hard voice. “You exceed your authority, Your Highness.”
“And I shall prove it,” Peter added, glaring back at the prince. Just because he could do games with Josephson junctions and traffic-flow patterns that no one else could do did not make him an authority on Talent. “Look!” And Peter raised his right arm, wishing he had enough small motor control to point a finger, but he had not quite mastered that yet.
Actually, it was easy enough with power diverted from the Center’s equipment to raise and hold the big helicopter just outside Rhyssa’s bay window so that all could see it—and see that the huge rotor blades moved idly in the breeze of its ascent.
“Do be careful with it, Peter,” Johnny Greene said amiably, one of the few in the room enjoying the moment. “It’s government property.”
“I’m always careful, Colonel Greene,” Peter replied, feeling the euphoria of potency. He was almost sorry that he could not think of an even more convincing demonstration of his kinetic Talent. Dorotea was glaring at him significantly in her enough-is-enough look. He returned the vehicle gently to the ground.
“How old are you, Peter?” Colonel Greene asked, just as if he and Peter were the only ones in the room.
“I was fourteen on the eighth of September.”
“And you get about now yourself under your own power?” the colonel inquired.
Peter could see in his eyes that the man knew the true extent of his handicap.
“I was that much”—his fingers measured a two-centimeter gap—“away from paraplegia myself after Mission Number 20,” Greene continued.
Peter realized that Colonel Greene was very much on their side and making it very clear to everyone else that Peter’s Talent was off limits. “I’ve learned how to compensate just fine,” he replied, and a glance at the colonel told him that that was the right answer to make.
“Rick Hobson really helped me. We were just beginning to go on to tougher things when he had to go to Padrugoi.”
“So you’ve been Rhyssa’s skeleton crew? All by yourself?” Colonel Greene chuckled and looked across at the secretary of space.
“I’m not nearly as much of a skeleton as I used to be.” Peter extended his arms and legs and regarded them dispassionately. “I’ll get some muscle on them yet. I’ve got to build slowly, you see, and it takes time.”
Colonel Greene rose. “I think that’s the answer, gentlemen. It takes time to build muscle, any kind of muscle, and you build slowly to last longer.”
“Now wait just a moment here,” Prince Phanibal said, recovering from his initial surprise. “That is not the answer I came to find. You have indeed concealed from the world a kinetic Talent of demonstrated ability. He can take the place of those at Bangladesh . . .” He leaned across Rhyssa’s desk, and Peter saw her flinch back from such a menacing posture.
Peter could not stand it. Kinetically he dragged Prince Phanibal backward from Rhyssa, the prince’s face set in a paralyzed rictus of amazement. The door that opened to allow his exit closed firmly behind him.
“Peter!” Rhyssa could not quite disguise her relief or her consternation at his breach of courtesy.
“He’s got no right to threaten you, Rhyssa! No right at all!”
Dorotea:
Bravo, Peter, though I shouldn’t encourage you!
“Now see here, young man—” Shevchenko took one step toward Peter and stopped, blinking in astonishment when some invisible force prevented him from moving farther forward.
“That’s enough, Peter,” Rhyssa said with appropriate severity.
That was rather clever of you, dear, even if you wouldn’t realize it.
The mental image in her mind showed suppressed laughter. “The general will not intimidate you any further. General, I think Peter has inadvertently displayed another cogent reason why the Center is unwilling to utilize his unique abilities except in a crisis. At fourteen, he does not always abide by the courtesies that a more mature personality has learned.”
“I demand that the boy apologize to His Highness Prince Phanibal immediately.”
“You may demand all you wish, General,” Rhyssa said sharply, “but I don’t even know why a traffic manager, royal or not, was included in this gathering.”
“Engineer Barchenka insisted on his inclusion,” Vernon Altenbach remarked, attempting some diplomacy.
“I insist that he be
excluded
from any future meetings involving the Center or myself.”
Peter:
He’s a slimeball!
Johnny Green and Gordon Havers, simultaneously:
Where did you stash him?
Peter:
He’s in the helicopter, and he can’t seem to get the seat buckle undone.
He could not help grinning.
I won’t let him.
Johnny:
Buckle down, Winsockie, buckle down!
Dorotea:
I didn’t think anyone in your generation knew that old song.
“Now, gentlemen, you have, I trust, seen to your own satisfaction that we have only been protecting young Peter, not deliberately denying the platform his Talent. I’m sorry that you had a long trip for nothing,” Rhyssa said, coming around her desk to shake hands with Andrei Grushkov. “However, when Peter is fully trained and we have a better understanding of the parameters of his potential, we will, of course, be obliged to let prospective employers bid for his contractual services.”
Vernon Altenbach eased the disgruntled Russian general out the door, the NASA colonel and the telempath assisting. But the others lingered until the first group had entered the elevator.
“Ms. Owen,” the NASA general began. “Is it possible, given the boy’s display of incredible ability, that he could—from time to time, that is . . . Well, we do have a serious crisis right now . . .”
“What kind?” Rhyssa asked in an unencouraging tone.
“NASA’s supply schedule is at a standstill with the current worldwide weather conditions . . .”
Peter zoomed out of his chair, hovering between Rhyssa and the general.
Please consider it, Rhyssa. Working for NASA wouldn’t be the same as working for Barchenka, would it? But it would be almost as good as being in space.
He exerted all his mind’s pressure against hers, begging her consideration. He felt her stern resolve not to exploit him.
Johnny:
It’s something to consider, Rhyssa, though we won’t be pushy about it. If you say no, we’ll go quietly. But it would gall me personally, and professionally, to have Barchenka saying that the Americans couldn’t meet their contractual obligations.
He cocked his head at Rhyssa, grinning wryly.
Peter could feel Rhyssa beginning to relent.
Dorotea:
Consider it a training diversion, Rhyssa.
Rhyssa:
But that’s it! He’s had hardly any training!
Johnny:
Repetition hones skills, gal, and it sure reduces the glamour quotient.
Peter did not understand that but felt Dorotea’s approval become more urgent. He sensed that at last Rhyssa was seriously considering the suggestion.
“Look,” Johnny said aloud, “this is so important that Vernon would actually get himself another minder for a few weeks. I know all the technical data that Peter needs to understand if he’s flinging shuttles about the stratosphere. Hell, I’d get a vicarious thrill out of it myself, getting back into space by proxy. And if Peter’s working for NASA, Barchenka can’t say Talent has been obstructing Padrugoi’s timely completion.”