Pegasus in Space (27 page)

Manners, Peter, manners!
Dorotea rebuked him.

“Dr. Scott?” He moved toward her, making sure he looked as if he were walking, a skill he had worked on improving during his convalescence. Sometimes he could almost feel the surface beneath his feet. “Tell me what you’re bringing with you, and I’ll store it for you,” he said, extending his hand. He even managed to curl his fingers about her knuckles. He savored her essence though the contact was very short, since she was full of repentant haste.

“Mr. Reidinger, thanks, but Stu will put my packs in,” she said, indicating the young man, also a redhead, but bearing no facial resemblance to her.

The dark-haired woman who had emerged first was now directing Stu, with a maternal air, to hurry and be sure to get them all in.

“My mother,” Ceara said. “I was told this wasn’t a secured base so they insisted on coming. My father, my sister Terry, my sister Fiona, and her husband, Dr. Richard Jude,” she went on, introducing all the passengers.

“No, it’s not exactly a secured base,” Peter said. No other hands were offered him so Ceara must have warned them.

Her brother stowed the three bags, of which only one was very large. Ceara stood looking around.

“Isn’t the pilot here?” she asked.

“I’m the pilot,” Peter said, lifting one hand to his chest and smiling confidently.

“Oh, how silly of me,” Ceara said, flushing. “Mr. Reidinger’s the telekinetic I was telling you about, Dad.”

The elder Scott nodded. “Then kiss me a hug, girl, and let’s not delay him any longer.”

Kissing and hugging included every one of her party but as soon as the farewells were done, she walked briskly to the carrier. Peter waved her over to a front seat and she settled herself.

“If you’ll all stand back,” and Peter pointed to the side of the telepad
that was farthest from the generators. “Nice to meet you,” he added as he watched them scatter hurriedly out of the way.

“I didn’t delay you too much, did I, Mr. Reidinger?”

“It’s just gone noon,” Peter said, “and I’m Peter, not Mister anything, Ceara.”

“Thank you,” she said. “How long does it take to get to Padrugoi?”

Peter lightly leaned into the generators. “Not very long,” he replied, unable to resist grinning. The field vanished and they were on the telepad in Padrugoi’s transit bay, a cleaning gang just beyond the telepad circle, goggling at the suddenly materializing personnel shell.

“Ohhhhh,” her gasp was a startled indrawn breath. For a long moment, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar, she stared out the forward window at the abruptly altered view. “Ohhhh,” she said again. Closing her mouth, her very blue eyes still wide, she turned to him. “ ‘Not very long,’ huh? More like instantaneous, wasn’t it, Peter?”

“That’s kinetics for you,” he said, opening the hatch and lifting himself out. He hadn’t quite got the hang of doing that as a normal person would. She didn’t seem to notice as she emerged.

“Oh!” she said, immediately aware of the lower Station gravity.

“You’ll get used to it quickly,” Peter said.

Just then the Station alarm went off.

Pete?
said Johnny, his tone urgent.
Get up here! Fast! Some goddamn dink of a freighter captain just sliced through a very full cargo net and containers are popping out of it like pus out of a wound. Some are headed toward the Wheel. We need your ass up here
.

The ensign who had been awaiting Peter and Dr. Scott didn’t know what to do with the alarm wailing.

“Escort Dr. Scott to the sick bay, Mr. ahh—” Peter picked the man’s name out of his head, “—Patterson and then proceed to your duty station. Nothing to be alarmed about, Ceara. Safety drill sort of thing,” he added mendaciously. “Excuse me.”

And he ’ported himself to the CIC where everyone was scrambling to their stations. The main screen had been divided into multiple windows: the freighter with its empty cargo rack tangled with the cargo net; the stream of containers let loose from the corral; the gigs and tugs speeding to head off those in a trajectory toward the Wheel of the
Station; and the space-suited workers jetting to converge on the loose objects.

“Neatly timed, Pete,” Admiral Coetzer said, arriving from his ready room. “Linke, have we identified the freighter? Who’s the captain? And I want him in here as soon as he gets his damned vessel out of the net and moored properly! Find out who his employer is and about getting his contract and his license revoked. Portmaster Honeybald is apoplectic. Who’s EV watch officer? Who do we have out there that can assume command and bring order to that chaos? Pete,” and Coetzer motioned to the upper left-hand screen, “can you stop that one from tumbling? It looks to be on a collision course.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter said. He immediately repositioned himself at the engineer’s station manned by Lieutenant Junior Grade Spencer Ci. Peter hadn’t worked with him before. Not that he needed gestalt to tip the upper facet of the cube the admiral had pointed to. He pressed against it, perceptibly slowing its end-over-end motion and bringing it to a halt in space, relative to the Wheel.

Good catch
, Johnny Greene said, striding into the CIC. “Where do you want me, Admiral?”

“Screen three, Johnny. See what you can do with
that
mess.” The Station generators picked up revolutions as the general tapped their power.

“Sir, Bergkamp here, I’ve got a full unit suited up and cycling through the lock.”

“Good, proceed to the Wheel and deflect any incoming. Peter, do us a mean favor and detach that fragging freighter from the net and put it where it belongs. The dolt who’s driving it doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.” While the admiral’s suggestion was facetiously delivered, it was no less the appropriate measure to take. To judge by the erratic use of his maneuvering thrusters, the captain was only making matters worse by pushing the rest of the net’s captives hard against the far side of the net that bulged ominously. Without conscious thought, Peter leaned into the Station’s power and turned off the vessel’s thruster rockets, picked it out of the net, and deposited it at the nearest empty gate in the commercial mooring section. Pieces of the cables it had severed or tangled with floated in reaction in space. The CPO in charge of the nearest crew sent men to
secure those before they constituted an additional hazard. Almost as an afterthought, Peter secured the freighter to the wharf and connected the accordion airlock to its main hatch.

Well done, Pete!
Johnny exclaimed.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Reidinger,” the admiral said with great aplomb, slapping his armrest in one-handed applause. Cheers from the other officers echoed Coetzer’s sentiment. “Now, let’s round up those strays, patch that net.”

Lift that barge, tote that bale
, the irrepressible General Greene sang inaccurately.

“And restore chaos to confusion.” Oblivious to the ’path, the admiral finished his command. Peter choked on suppressed laughter.

Don’t do that to me, Johnny
, he said.

Relief, lad, sheer relief
, Greene replied.
Now help me get that inward bound quartet of dome arcs. Their shape makes their trajectory erratic
.

Where shall we put them?

Just stop ’em. Here comes the cavalry
, and Johnny pointed to the lower left-hand screen where EMU-clad figures were jetting into view.

“Bergkamp, get your men on those dome arcs. General, are you available?”

“On the mark, Admiral,” Johnny replied.

“Mr. Sakai, I want a secure link to Mr. Honeybald at the Portmaster’s office,” the admiral went on, handling other aspects of the emergency.

Peter
, and the unmistakable voice of Madlyn Luvaro nearly deafened him,
I have three tumblers outward-bound from the net, sou’-sou’-east at five thousand kps relative to the Station
.

I’ll get’em. Where do you want them?

The 822 looks to be the nearest gig. It’s not all that far from where they spun off. They’re panicking. Maybe Dash hasn’t heard them with so much confusion on the bands
.

Peter found the grunts easily enough by opening his mind, augmenting his telepathic range with gestalt from the generators, just as the communications officer reported their predicament.

“I have them, Lieutenant Sakai,” Peter said into the comunit.

“You do?” Dash Sakai swung his chair round toward the engineering station in surprise.

“Madlyn,” Peter said in explanation.

“Oh. Very good. Thank you, Reidinger. They didn’t think we’d see them with so much else going on.”

A simple case of ‘quis custodiet,’
Madlyn said smugly.

Peter thought her quote inappropriate but her watchfulness was not.

The pilot of the gig to which Peter shifted the three grunts acknowledged their proximity and gave them a tow back to the Station.

“Admiral Coetzer, I have the captain of the
CeeCeeD
on-line, demanding to know who turned off his maneuvering engines and who—” and Sakai paused.

“Let me have it, Lieutenant,” the admiral said with a malicious smile.

“The hell endangered his crew with that—I’d rather not repeat that, sir—precipitous mooring?”

“Inform the captain of the
CeeCeeD
that he is to be in my office with his log file at 1600 hours. Inform Mr. Honeybald that the crew is not allowed shore leave and that the captain is not to be admitted back on board without direct orders from me.”

The emergency lasted two hours, of which only the first three-quarters were critical; the rest was spent mending the broken net cables and herding the captured cargo back into confinement.

P
eter did not admit to anyone how tired he was from that spate of concentrated activity. He was unexpectedly relieved when the admiral stood the watch down from the scramble. Coetzer gave a “well-done” and a special nod of thanks to Peter and Johnny before he left the CIC for his office. Peter was surprised to see others reacting to the all clear. Temuri Bergkamp sat back from the engineering panels, dramatically mopping his sweaty forehead.

“Never appreciated what you guys can really do,” he said. “I know you shift cargo up here, but bouncing a freighter with its thrusters on is something else again.”

“I turned the thrusters off first and I thought the admiral meant what he said,” Peter replied.

“He did,” Temuri replied feelingly. “I just don’t think he thought you could do it that fast.”

“No problem with the generators the Station has,” Peter said, feeling his face flush at the praise.

“Pete loves generators, Bergkamp,” Johnny said with a wide smile. “The bigger the better. He can do anything with the right amount of power … and a place to stand.”

There are moments, General, when you’re a pain in the ass
, Peter remarked.

If anything, the general’s smile got wider.

Sorry, Pete. Let’s blow this joint
.

“Thanks for your help, Bergkamp. C’mon, Pete, I know you didn’t get a chance to settle in.”
And I won’t mention the beautiful redhead you brought up with you
.

You just did
.

Rank has some privileges. I’m grabbing some lunch. What about you?

I need to unpack
.

Catchya later
. Johnny Greene turned in the other direction and Peter gratefully went to his quarters. He’d left his bag in the personnel carrier and now ’ported it up to his cabin. He would have to apologize to Dr. Scott for leaving her in the abrupt way he had. Maybe they would have explained it all to her when she reached the sick bay. Thinking of apologies reminded him that his remarks to the general had been uncalled for, even if Johnny had not apparently taken offense. But Peter was annoyed with himself for snapping like that.

P
eter changed his waste-bag and showered, closing his eyes as he levered shampoo to his head. He stood under the fine air-driven hard spray until he no longer felt the sting of soap on his sweated face. The warm air circulated through the shower enclosure and died away as the cubicle’s sensors ceased registering moisture to be recycled.

Peter lay down on the bunk, lifting the light cover over his bare body.

“I’ll just close my eyes,” he murmured. He did, and was startled by the strident buzz of the intercom.

“The admiral’s compliments, Mr. Reidinger,” said a voice he recognized as Yeoman Nicola Nizukami, “and would you kindly join him for dinner at 2130 hours?”

Peter saw that he had an hour to get dressed.

“Yes, certainly, Mr. Nizukami. Delighted.”

He must have slept nearly three hours. He’d have to get fit. There was a Reeve Board up here for him to use and he could rig the hydrotherapy bath for swimming against a current. He’d start tomorrow morning. That is, if his schedule allowed.

“A
sked their permission?” Incredulity and outrage colored Johnny Greene’s voice as Peter Reidinger arrived at the admiral’s lounge, promptly at 2130 hours. “Asked their permission to
move
the freighter?”