Authors: Anne McCaffrey
“And another thing, he can’t really teach anyone what he does,” Johnny went on, pressing his advantage as he saw her waver. “I’m as much a fluke as he is. I had advantages, true, being an etop pilot with an understanding of mechanics and flight. The only reason I lived through my crash is because I think I did something along the lines of a gestalt to keep from smashing myself irrevocably on the ground.” Johnny gave a self-deprecating chuckle.
“Would Padrugoi be enough for Peter?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Enough? I guarantee he’ll be kept actively employed and well appreciated.” The mischief never far from Johnny Greene erupted. “Think of the fee you can extract from the Space Authority for his services! The Centers will be rolling in credit.”
“Credit has never been a consideration,” Rhyssa said, pretending to be offended by monetary considerations.
“Ha! Who’s kidding who? Sascha and Tirla could initiate that scanning program of theirs and you could fund that guy, Professor Gadriel, and his CERN project and the FermiLab physicists.” He started to tick off
on his fingers the various projects that the Centers had in mind when the cash flow improved. “The gene ID program has only been held up since your grandfather’s time. So has the research into therapeutic touch that Sister Justa Smith, Clive Bakster, and Dolores Krieger pioneered in the nineteen sixties.”
Rhyssa looked away from Johnny’s uncharacteristically earnest expression, out the window, to the green lawns and flowering trees. And imagined the blackness of space from the gigantic spinning wheel of Padrugoi Station. She remembered Peter Reidinger’s face when he had first looked out on the vastness and the far glow of stars. She should stop being afraid for him: that was repressive. She knew he wanted to get out into space, somehow, in some capacity. Dave had reminded her of that. She would be wise to submit gracefully to the inevitable and let Peter go. Her grandfather had often said that, when you let someone go, they were more likely to return. Admiral Dirk Coetzer was not a Barchenka, trying to suborn unwilling workers. In this case the worker was only too willing. And able.
“You’ll be sure that he’ll be drilled exhaustively?”
Johnny smiled, his mind exuding his relief at her surrender and his unreserved approval. “I’ll be as close to him as the skin of his extravehicular mobility unit. We’ll have Madlyn on his case throughout and you know she’ll tell you all!”
Rhyssa gave a nervous little laugh. “Even when I don’t ask.”
“Know what you mean,” Johnny said, exuberant. “Look, there’s some groundwork I want to lay before you tell Pete. Sirikit says he’s manning Lance’s position as Adelaide Center’s kinetic right now. I’ll just drop in.”
Rhyssa eyed the general suspiciously. “What do you have in mind?”
“Nothing that puts our golden goose at risk. Just a sort …” and he grinned, “a caper, if you will. I also have to give Dirk the good news.”
“
He’s
the one who put you up to this?”
“Of course. Ever since Pete screwed Barchenka’s password out of her mind, he’s had September eighth red-circled on his notepad.”
“Really? I know Peter was very pleased to get a card from the admiral.”
“He’d’ve had a contract if we’d thought you’d be the least bit willing. So, get it done now. Of course,” and Johnny scratched his head, “we still have to convince Space Authority to let an eighteen-year-old play with their precious cargoes.”
“Johnny Greene!” Rhyssa exploded with indignation at that admission. The man’s gall was inexhaustible.
“Well, I didn’t want to get their hopes up.”
She swooped up a fistful of pencil files, threatening to shower him with them but he ’ported himself neatly out of her office, his laughter echoing in her mind.
On sober reflection and without his insidious presence, Rhyssa admitted to herself that, presuming the boy didn’t have an unsuspected agoraphobia, his destiny—such a pompous word—was in space.
However, Rhyssa did check with Amalda Vaden to see if there was any hint of a disaster affecting Peter.
“Nope. Can’t find one,” Mallie reported. “You expecting any?”
“Just checking,” Rhyssa replied. “But keep your precognitive eye on him over the next few weeks, will you?”
“Sure,” and there was a smile in her voice. “Pete’s a good kid. He’ll do well on Padrugoi.”
“How did you know what he’s going to do?”
“I’m the precog, you know,” was Mallie’s parting shot.
J
ohnny Greene had set up his “test” with Lance before the kinetic had gone on his latest construction contract with First Base. Johnny’s telepathic range fell well short of Oceanus Procellarum so the two men made advance plans … in case. They were both certain of two things: first, they needed incontrovertible proof for the Space Authority and second, Peter needed a real challenge. So Johnny “flew” himself to Adelaide at the time Peter would be finishing his breakfast and before the rest of the Talents would arrive for work. Peter was surprised and very pleased to see him stroll into the guest quarters of the Adelaide Parapsychic Center just as Peter was ’porting his breakfast dishes into the kitchenette sink.
Nothing’s wrong, is there?
Peter asked, gliding swiftly to the general’s side as he stood looking about the foyer.
Johnny shook his head, shielding any wisp of thought the young man might catch. The general was still elated by his most satisfactory interview with Rhyssa.
“No one’s here yet?” Johnny asked with innocent surprise as he walked
on into the Main Incident room. Peter followed him. Since Peter was in residence, and certainly able to handle any parapsychic emergencies, the other telepaths and kinetics went home after their duty hours.
“Not yet. Harry’s usually first in. He bikes here, to keep fit,” and Peter sounded a bit wistful. He might be able to ’port himself anywhere on Earth but a simple pastime like riding a bicycle was not an option. “He swears he’ll teach me how.”
“Harry might at that,” Johnny agreed affably as he swung the small bag he carried up onto the worktop. “Start up the generators, will you, Pete? Got a small job for you. Lance needs this.”
“Lance? But he’s on First Base,” Peter replied, startled.
“This isn’t heavy,” Johnny said blithely, demonstrating by ’porting the bag from the surface without a gestalt and suspending it for a few moments. “Three kilos.”
“But the Moon?” Peter repeated, stunned.
“Look, Pete, you’ve managed to push forty tons four hundred and forty klicks without breaking into a sweat. Pushing three kilos four hundred thousand is not that much more effort, now is it?” Johnny gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll be ready to boost though, frankly, I think you can do it on your own. Either way, Lance says the engineers need these sensors like yesterday. Everything’s held up waiting for them. I don’t see why we can’t
try
it. Window to the Moon is open,” and he pointed out the east-facing window where the lunar ghost was visible in the morning sky, “and it’s at perigee. Timing’s right. If we’re going to give it a go.” Johnny’s tone was subtly challenging. “Don’t think it’ll strain you, skeleteam.”A nice touch, that, reminding Pete of other triumphs. “Lance wouldn’t suggest it if he thought you and I couldn’t cut the mustard.”
“Well …” Peter looked around the empty office. “But I’d need to ‘see’ where I … we were sending it.”
“Sure.” Johnny whipped some glossies from the outside pocket of the small bag. He dropped the first one on the desk: the lunar coordinates of First Base, conveniently close to the equator in Oceanus Procellarum. “Sort of in the backyard of First Base, you see,” and he pointed to the shining dome in the background, moving his finger to a red and white striped bollard that was the selected target.
“What’s that for?” Peter asked.
“Actually,” and Johnny frowned down at the bollard as if trying to remember, “I believe it’s a marker for the lunar vehicle parking area. See that shadow?” This was barely visible but Peter nodded as one will when one wishes to show that one has been closely observing details. “It’s one of the four-man articulated crawlers.” He deposited a second image from those in his hand and chuckled as he displayed it to the kinetic. “Even got a lunar license plate: FB 3, no less. Detailed enough for you?”
Peter gave a dubious sniff, screwing his face up into a grimace.
“Ah, let’s give it a try,” Johnny said nonchalantly. He had been intently listening for the generators to reach full power. Now he shot as strong a mental reassurance to his young colleague as he dared. He couldn’t be too obvious about such a ’pathing but he counted on having confused Peter with fast talk. “Sit!” He pointed imperiously to the chair that was used for telekinetic sessions. “I’ll hook you up,” he said, putting a hand on Peter’s chest to push him back into the padded seat. “Have official readings on your performance.”
“Only three kilos?” Peter asked, eyeing the bag dubiously as Johnny bent to fit the sensitive pads of the recorder to his body.
“That’s all, bag included. Ready?” Johnny didn’t want to give Pete any time to think beyond the essential errand. He opened his mind, letting Peter feel his readiness. “Set? GO!”
The generators whined at such a high pitch that, for a nanosecond, Johnny Greene wondered if the powerful drain might not overload them.
“Hey, I don’t think you needed that much moxie on the ’port,” he exclaimed in feigned surprise. “Ease up, will ya? It’s not like you were trying for the moons of Jupiter.”
“Well, I wanted to be sure to reach the bollard.” Then Peter began to realize what he’d just done. “I felt it connect. I have to have got it there. Don’t I?”
“We’ll know soon enough,” Johnny said easily.
“Say, you can’t ’path as far as the Moon. How’d you know about Lance needing the chips?”
“Madlyn,” Johnny replied enigmatically as he watched the printout on the recorder.
“Oh.” Pete frowned. “Wait a minute. She can’t ’path as far as the Moon either. Or at least she’s never mentioned she could.”
“Sheeesh,” Johnny said, flicking his fingers dismissively. “Comcontact,
man. Which lesser mortals without your advantage regularly use to communicate. Coetzer had Madlyn ’path me when the urgent request came through. I had to pull rank to get all the chips needed. Some were highly classified, you know.” He had glanced over the sensor report. “Hope you didn’t plow that bag. Be hard to replace those items.” He clicked his tongue in mild reproach as he showed Peter the readings. “Bit of overkill on the power you used. You’ll need to refine the long thrust, I think.”
Peter looked startled by Johnny’s matter-of-fact appraisal and Johnny grinned wryly as Peter gave a worried gulp.
“When will we know if I did it right? If I did. And you weren’t in on the thrust either.” Peter glared accusingly at Johnny.
“I wasn’t needed,” Johnny replied with injured innocence. “Two of us might’ve blown the generators and really messed up that shipment.”
“So, when will we know?”
“Didn’t think you could do it, did you?” Johnny said, grinning. He made a fist and gave Peter a mock blow to the jaw.
“But we don’t know if I did.”
Johnny chuckled confidently. “Lance should call through on the Center’s comm,” and Johnny tilted his head at the comunit. “Lemme know when he does. I’m not worried. And I’ve got the figures to prove you did it, too.” He jerked his thumb at the readout. “Well, I’d better get back and reassure the wife. I forgot to tell Senator Sally I’d be missing early this morning. I’m sure she’d’ve sent you her love if she’d known I was going to see you.” He put a comradely arm about Peter’s shoulders and guided him through the foyer to the door. “ ’Portation sure helps not having to deal with diurnal displacements. Give me a push, will ya?”
“Where?”
“Back home,” Johnny said, “now I’ve my own telepad.
Then
I’ve got shuttles to waft up to Dirk. Who sends you his regards.” He had landed his personal carrier neatly on the packed red dirt in front of the Center. He had left the hatch up—for a quick getaway—and now slid back into the seat. “Say ‘hi’ to the gang here. Sorry to miss them.” Then he closed the hatch.
Ready when you are, Pete
. He raised his hand in a farewell salute and touched the kinetic’s mind.
Peter Reidinger accepted the contact and, still confused by Johnny’s whirlwind visit, ’ported the carrier back to the Jerhattan telepad.
“G’day, Pete,” and Harry arrived on his pushbike. The mulgah trees that obscured the Center from the roadway half a mile away had also hidden Johnny’s carrier. “Up early, ain’tcha?”
“Nice day,” Peter said noncommittally.
Later that morning, Lance contacted Adelaide, spoke at length to the duty officer, and then asked to speak to Peter.
“Thanks for that package, Pete.”
“You got it? I didn’t damage anything, did I?”
“Nope,” and Lance chuckled. “Plowed up a ridge of moon dust against the bollard though. Some thrust!” His voice went off-line for a moment. “Hold it, guys, be right with you. We got those chips you’ve been looking for. Thanks again, Pete. See ya.”
A
weary general was admitted to Admiral Dirk Coetzer’s office on Padrugoi Station.
“Johnny, what brings you up here today?” The admiral waved him into the nearest chair and gestured to the coffeepot on its warming plate that was a feature of most naval offices.
Greene shook his head as he sat heavily down.
“I did it,” he said.
“I don’t think you mean the drones that arrived this afternoon.”
“Not them.” Johnny flapped his fingers in dismissal. “I got Rhyssa Lehardt to see to the wisdom of letting Peter Reidinger get into space, instead of farting around pushing junk from one continent to another.”
“How’d you do that?” That was the best news Coetzer had had all morning, what with the rumor that fuel prices were going up and a very expensive component that had to be rescued from tumbling out of sight in space. “I didn’t think she’d put him at risk. I’d prefer that he had the gumption to speak up for himself.”
Johnny let go a sigh. “I would, too, Dirk, but he’s still in grateful mode for her rescuing him from the A frame, hospital, and all that shit. I reminded her that he’s less at risk up here than downside. Risk of boredom. He’d have real work to challenge him,” was Johnny Greene’s reply. He cocked an eyebrow. “Of course, you’ll have to promise to give him the proper EVA training.”