Authors: Anne McCaffrey
“How come I wasn’t warned? Least you could do. How come you’re still supposed to be at First Base? No one bothers to keep me up to date, do they? And how come you’re driving the
28
instead of the
34
you went out on? Oxbridge and Auers’re supposed to be piloting. Not Liu and Cameron. How am I expected to keep track of this port’s traffic when no one tells me anything? And the admiral has to give permission to any ship landing on the Wheel. Like I’d send a pirate in there or sompin. Ha!
Now
I’m supposed to secure this line.” There was a brief pause in the portmaster’s diatribe. “All right. Secured. Now you gotta tell me who’s onboard. As if we were expecting some minor deity or sompin. At least you know how to dock, Liu. Yes, Liu, that’s who’s piloting.
Now
they don’t
want
to know who’s onboard. Make up your mind, Admiral. Yes, they’re coming
in smooth and easy. Like all of ’em should! Sure it can dock at Bay Three. It’s a Limo, isn’t it?” Another pause. “Yes, sir. Yes indeed, sir,” the portmaster said in a far more respectful tone of voice. “I understand, sir. No, I do not need a vacation. I just got back from one. I will, sir. Thank you, sir.” In yet another change of voice, gruff rather than aggravated, “Did you hear that, Pilot Liu? Bay Three. Two of your passengers are to find their way immediately to Admiral Coetzer’s ready room. The others may disembark in the normal fashion. I’m repeating verbatim, Pilot Liu. Do you read me?”
“Loud and clear, Mr. Honeybald,” Xiang said, grinning fit to split his cheeks. “Bay Three. The two passengers have heard your message. Proceeding to Bay Three as ordered”
“W
elcome, welcome, welcome!” Dirk Coetzer said when his yeoman announced the arrival of the wanderers. “We didn’t even dare warn Honeybald, though he’s a rock of discretion, that you were due in, ETA unknown.” The admiral gazed speculatively at Peter. “Did you enjoy your look at First Base?”
“We both did,” Peter replied. He was feeling odd. Perhaps it was merely getting adjusted to gravity again. He certainly shouldn’t get twitches in his extremities for
that!
“So have you any news for us?” Johnny asked, settling himself in his chair.
“Yes, we’ve been rather busy here,” and Dirk turned an almost admonitory glance at the general, implying that they had not. “Boris Roznine is continuing his investigations downside but he left behind two Talents, both of whom have had mental contact with your old friend, Flimflam.”
“You haven’t arrested him?”
Dirk Coetzer gave an unhumorous grin. “We know exactly where he is at all times. We’re waiting to see who will contact him. We have incontestable proof that Flimflam was involved in sabotaging
Limo-34
. His accomplices are incommunicado. I am reliably informed that he is currently in a state of very high anxiety. As he can’t go anywhere that we can’t find him, we might as well use him as bait.”
“Turnabout’s fair play,” Johnny agreed. “How long’ll you play him?”
The admiral appeared to consider this. “I’d say not long after Peter begins
working for us again?” He cocked his head, his blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“Really? Hmm.” Johnny turned to Peter with a wily expression on his face. “You did take my advice and rest on the way down?”
“As much as you did,” Peter replied. “I’m ready to go to work.” He grinned amiably at Johnny, wondering how soon he’d have a chance to “work.”
“When?” asked Dirk Coetzer with such alacrity that Peter blinked. “We have a very long list.”
“I expect so,” Peter said before the admiral could elaborate. “I wouldn’t mind having a meal.”
Dirk immediately flourished a double folded sheet at him. “All the calories you want!”
Johnny intercepted the list. “When did you get this?”
Dirk widened his eyes. “It’s what you didn’t take with you on the 34.”
“Oh!” Johnny’s irritated expression faded. “In that case, let’s compare it with the list the good colonel gave me just before our precipitous departure.”
Dirk chuckled. “Watari didn’t like that, I should imagine.”
“Not at all according to his book,” Johnny said, removing a second strip from his thigh pocket. “Ah, yes.” He laid both lists on the table so the others could see. “Well, he
is
consistent and we should repay his generous hospitality as soon as possible. Dirk, will you join us? It seems to be lunchtime here.”
“Nicola, two more for lunch,” the admiral said, bending to his intercom.
O
ver the high carbohydrate meal, Dirk brought them up to speed on other developments.
“We have reason to believe, and may shortly be able to prove, that Flimflam was supplied with tools and the MPU circuits by a contract electrician, Spaz Zenoun, who had worked onstation during Barchenka’s time.”
“Has
she
been implicated in the sabotage?” Johnny asked.
“Circumstantially,” the admiral admitted. “Boris has a team reviewing the Barchenka surveillance tapes. He’s got proof that an uncle of Shimaz’s,
Riz Naztuk, visited her on three occasions, one not long after you began working up here for Space Authority, Pete,” the admiral said.
“Not conclusive enough to do anything, is it?” Johnny said.
“Boris is working on that.”
“Okay, how else is Shimaz involved? I can assure you that he’s been under increasingly heavy observation at First Base,” Johnny said. “For the past six months he hasn’t even been allowed to mix with other offenders.”
“Boris and I had an interesting conversation about that,” Dirk said, using his napkin before continuing. “I believe that, when he was sentenced to incarceration at the Lunar Prison Facility, he made threats. I believe there are fanatics among his associates who would consider it an honor to implement them. Almost a fatwa.”
“In this day and age?” Johnny exclaimed scornfully.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” the admiral said. “Boris has discovered a link with the Faithful Brotherhood who attacked you in the restaurant, Peter.”
“
What?
” Both stared at him.
“It was one of those splinter groups. They had attended Religious Interpretive Group meetings led by a certain Very Reverend Ponsit Prosit.”
“Flimflam?” Johnny’s voice came close to a squeak. Peter stared at the admiral, fork poised on the way to his mouth.
“The very man,” Dirk replied with a confirmatory nod of his head. “Once again, inconclusive.”
Johnny rattled his fingers on the table, blinking in thought. “Ah, yes, the guys who fell all over you at your birthday party would have finished their sentences by now.” He cocked his head significantly at the surprised telekinetic.
A valid reason for the cotton wool, Pete?
“That’s interesting. However, while offenders can’t get down, neither can anyone with a LEO record get up,” Dirk said. A thought also occurred to him. “Flimflam gave evidence once before to save his skin.”
“You said you were using him as bait?” Johnny said.
“If he attracts anything, that’s an entirely separate issue,” the admiral replied. “If ‘they,’ ” and he bracketed his fingers around the pronoun to indicate the unknown quantity, “fall for it, it’s all to the good. Cass Cutler says he’s in a sweat of fearful anticipation. He must be expecting a contact. And,” he raised his hand to forestall Johnny’s interruption, “we have tripled security measures in the arrivals’ hall and on the Mall. Boris sent up
two more empaths to listen, supporting Shandin, Ranjit, and Cass. Closing the Station would defeat the purpose.” He grimaced. “And we’ve all those quite legitimate freighter crews.”
“Okay, okay, we get the message,” Johnny said with a grin at Peter. “Are you stoked up enough, Pete?”
Peter had been eating an excellent meal—finishing with two pieces of a very good apple pie—while the other two were discussing the situation. He was, however, very eager to get to their office and review all those previously detestable use-energy readings to see if all his ambitious reflections on the return trip were in any way valid. Maybe he should also contact CERN and Professor Gadriel. Abruptly then, Peter swallowed the last mouthful of apple pie and got out a question.
“Admiral, I wanted to know if you’ve heard anything from Professor Gadriel.”
“The professor?” Dirk patted his lips with his napkin, concealing a small smile. “Well, yes, Peter, I have.”
Peter braced himself.
“Admittedly he was considerably confused—and a trifle irritated—when the latest set of circuits in his gestalt generator fried for no apparent reason.” The admiral raised his hand to forestall Peter’s chagrin. “When Rhyssa gave him the answer, he was delighted. He said it was proof he was on the right track.” Dirk cleared his throat. “He’s busy reconstructing them and would like very much to have a chance to talk with you. Good man, Gadriel. I said you’d make time.”
“Oh, I will, sir, definitely,” Peter said, letting relief wash over him. He put down his fork and then noticed the muscles on the back of his right hand were twitching.
“Pete?”
“Sorry, Johnny.”
“Dirk, we can work just as easily from the conference room as CIC and get at least some of this stuff cleared,” Johnny rattled the lists, “before we officially return.”
“Good notion. Most of the passengers on the
28
are in transit downside right now in the regular shuttle,” Dirk said, tapping a code into his wristcom. “Sakai, you will ignore any sudden fluctuations of the generators. Do you read me?” The admiral gave a nod of satisfaction for the
immediate and unquestioning confirmation. “Do you need anything else in the conference room? Yeoman Nizukami can supply it.”
Johnny gave a sideways grin of mischief. “Nothing we can’t get ourselves, I suspect.”
“Especially since you made it to First Base.”
“Exactly. See you later, Dirk. C’mon, Pete. We’ll earn our luxury holiday to the Moon.”
T
hey ’ported themselves into the conference room and turned up the lights. When Johnny ’ported in the recording equipment, Peter made his usual grimace. No need to alter his reaction to being recorded until he could prove his point.
“Look, we’re doing
this
according to Mr. Hoyle and with tapes to prove it. I’m not going to have you overloaded,” he said as he began placing the sensors on Peter. “
I
need logged proof of what mass you ’ported and the energy you expended. To give CFO Taddesse the proper corroboration that you’re working according to the terms of your contract.”
Peter submitted, hoping his suppressed excitement didn’t register as an energy reading. Then he spread out the list, beginning to check off the items, which included calculations of mass, descriptions of contents, and the current location in the various cargo corrals. Johnny called up separate windows for each of the locations and gestured for Peter to settle himself comfortably.
“Watari doesn’t want much, does he?” he grunted as he checked off individual units and tallied a total of their mass.
“A lot are lightweight,” Peter said, keeping his smile to himself. Once again he was diverted by the subcutaneous spasms on the back of his right hand. He didn’t feel anything, of course, but he’d never noticed a visible twitching before.
“Okay! This is the first batch. I’ll assemble them in a pack.” He grinned at Peter. “You can send them all to the main supply depot on First Base now that we both are familiar with it!”
“That’s right. We’ve both seen it.” But Peter amended to himself: It isn’t that we need to
see
where we’re going to dump shipments, though that’s essential, too. It’s that we don’t put artificial limits on ourselves, like
only to and fro between Jerhattan Space Port and Padrugoi Station. That was the distance Johnny had limited himself to. Another requirement was to use the right sort of generator for each individual until he or she could learn to “tune” in to any kind. Like the CERN generators that he had tapped in to save
Limo-34
in that critical moment. He was relieved that an official apology, and compensation for the fried circuits, had been given Professor Gadriel.
However, if he was to fool Johnny into an innocent ’port as far as the Moon, where had he been on First Base that Johnny hadn’t? Oh, and Peter felt a surge of amusement, the observatory! Were there visuals of that distinctive stain, the southern half of the South American continent? Or, using that as a design, could he render a good digital representation? The voice-address unit in his cabin was state-of-the art.
“I’ve got the first load assembled, Pete,” and Johnny pointed to the lower left-hand window on the monitor. Station lights illuminated the mix of crates.
Peter “felt” them. Then he put his mind to “touching” Padrugoi’s generators. They
were
different; lighter, crisper, easier to deal with than nuclear- or fuel-powered ones. He chuckled. They were tuned to a C major chord, the same as the CERN gestalt generators and the Farside Telescope’s solar array. Which would be best for his ultimate purpose? He wondered if his use-energy readings would mirror the light crisp feeling, the C major. Did he have to draw on them less, or more, than other types?
He couldn’t see the screen of the recorder from his angle. He could wait until the day’s work was dispatched. Back to the matter at hand, sending his bread-and-butter thank-you shipments to First Base.
The mass of the containers was not unwieldy: certainly nothing like the heavy mass of the 34, which he had heaved toward First Base. He “saw” the exact area on the depot floor against the north wall that he and Johnny had designated. He caught up the mass, leaned just the right amount into the generators, and pushed.
“Easy,” Peter said, taking a deep and satisfied breath when he’d finished.
“Now, let’s see how long it takes them to realize they’ve got their order. How do you feel, kid?” Johnny cocked an eyebrow.
“Fine,” Peter said with a shrug.
“I’ll get the next batch ready. Do you need anything?”
“Not yet. Hey, shouldn’t we tell Rhyssa that we’re back?”
“Not at three
A.M
.” Johnny pointed to the time zone clocks. The face labeled “Jerhattan” displayed the very early morning hour.