Pegasus in Space (56 page)

They finished their tea, coffee, and milk, and then cleared up the dishes. Rhyssa and Peter helped Amariyah pack a few things for her stay at Rhyssa’s and lock up the house. Amariyah insisted that she walk with Peter and Johnny to the personnel carrier because she wanted to see one, having slept through the trip from Bangladesh on Carmen’s lap.

In all, Peter and Johnny were gone less than an hour. Only Madlyn had any inkling they had ever been absent.

T
hey returned to Padrugoi and almost immediately had a call from Dirk Coetzer who asked could he interrupt them now for a few minutes.

“Interrupt?” Johnny exclaimed. He looked guiltily at Peter.

“I thought Madlyn was going to cover for us.”

I did. But you’re back now and the admiral is
very
anxious to see you. I had Nicola tell him you had some very heavy ’ports on this morning’s schedule
.

“Dirk sounds smug,” Johnny said after a moment’s thought. He no longer looked guilty. Peter tried to emulate him. “At least he’s not Watari, who’d snoop at our ’ported list while he’s here.”

The admiral did seem extremely pleased with himself as he entered the conference room. He did look around it. The two kinetics exchanged nervous glances and Johnny pulled a scowl that looked very like Watari’s.

Counting the silver?
Johnny said.

Peter agreed that the admiral looked as if he was inspecting the premises.

No white glove
, he remarked.

“Dirk?” Johnny got to his feet, straightening his tunic, “To what do we owe this visit?”

“Come see,” Dirk said.

What canary has our dear commander swallowed?
Johnny asked.

Dirk made hurrying motions with his hands and, since speed seemed to be called for, Peter decided to glide instead of walk. It was faster. He did notice the smell of fresh emulsion and wondered if a door was missing on
the corridor. Most peculiar. The admiral stopped, ran his card into the security slot at the next door, and gestured for them to enter.

I see a few feathers on his lips
, Peter said, and then stopped so quickly that Johnny almost ran him down.

Warn me which power you’re flying under, pal. Wow!
Johnny repeated that aloud as he glanced slowly around the room.

“Well?” Dirk asked impatiently.

Both men were slowly and appreciatively absorbing the contents and layout of the spacious room. Obviously two smaller units on the CIC floor had been thrown together. This first section contained a suite of couch, chairs, table, and to the right, two doors: one probably the head and the other a service alcove. To the left was the larger room, programmable screens on three sides, storage cabinets underneath, and four ergonomic stations set in a U shape with worktops between.

“The office we’ve been promising you,” Dirk said at his most genial, eager to point out the amenities. He gestured to the screens. “You’ll now be able to screen cargo corrals, lists, engineering readiness, and any destination visuals you need to see.” He held up a branch of sensor pads. “All you need to record your ’ports.” He replaced them carefully and slapped at the padded chair next to him. “Ergonomically conformable chairs, the latest in worktops, extra chairs, and another station for visitors.”

“Like Lance Baden, no doubt,” Johnny said, with a cynical lift to one eyebrow.

“Yes, he’ll be here Friday, won’t he?” Dirk rattled on. “The left-hand one is a special link to Engineering. A serving alcove off the main room,” he pointed to the door on the left wall. “Coffee, Pete’s favorite tea, and high-calorie snacks already stored. Your own head and shower. And a couch long enough for anyone who needs a catnap.”

“Indispensable,” Johnny said.

“General Greene,” Peter said, glaring at his friend. “How can you be so ungrateful? You’ve been complaining every day since we got back about our need for proper office space and dedicated equipment.”

Dirk laughed and dismissed Johnny’s pose. “If he affects that attitude, I know he’s well pleased.”

“Am I now?” Johnny sent one of the ergonomic chairs spinning. Then he relented and grinned broadly. “It’s perfect, Dirk. Even paper for me to doodle on.” He touched the pristine pad prominently displayed by the
keypanel. “It’ll suit us both to the ground, as it were. Won’t it, Pete?” He stopped the chair’s rotation and sat in it, immediately stretching his legs out under the workstation, before reaching out to align the pad with the edge. “Perfect. Nearly as good as the stuff we’ve been shipping to First Base,” he added with a sly glance at the admiral.

“You are some tulip, Greene,” Dirk said, shaking his head.

“Really, Admiral, it’s so comfortable-looking,” Peter said, imbuing his voice with unreserved approval. “I mean, and the colors are great …”

“At least they’re not AirForce blue or First Base slate,” Johnny remarked, though his glance about the newly fitted room was admiring.

“Oh, do shut up, Johnny,” Peter said. “It’s exactly what we wanted and what we need.”

“I like green,” Johnny said meekly. In a single fluid motion that Peter would give anything to be able to perform when he had control of his physical movements, Johnny rose and clapped an arm over Dirk’s shoulders. “To tell the truth, I didn’t expect anything quite this elegant.” He eased Dirk to the door. “We’ll transfer our files and let you get back to work.”

Sensing that Johnny particularly did not want the admiral to know about Gadriel’s circuits yet, Peter flowed forward, quite willing to speed their guest on his way.

“You’ll need these,” and Dirk handed out two security cards. “Only Barney and I can get in.” He assumed a humble mien. “I hope you don’t object to me.”

“Never,” Johnny said warmly and clapped Dirk on the back once more before he left. “C’mon, Pete, we’d better get moving or our landlord might just evict us for failure to perform.” He paused for another moment, though, looking around the well-appointed room, and exhaled in total satisfaction.

With ease, they tuned into the Gadriel circuits and lifted all their files from the conference room, including Johnny’s latest doodle pad.

I
n the next few days, Peter experienced considerable frustration when skills he had struggled so to perform telekinetically, now had to be discarded to retrain himself to do it “normally.” He particularly wanted to show Lance how he had progressed but he seemed to get his signals switched.

“What
is
normal for me, Ceara?” he asked, throwing down the lightpen that he had been using. “I can
do
so much kinetically that it’s almost more of an effort to do it the way everyone else does. And I’m not good enough yet to do what I want to do.”

“Even world-class artists had to learn to control their tools,” she replied.

“You saw me drop the fork at lunch today?”

“Anyone could. A lot of people do,” she replied, soothing him with her thoughts. “They think nothing of such a slip.”

“Ahhhh, Ceara, don’t try to empathize me,” he said, eyeing her fiercely.

She blinked and tried to assume an innocent expression. Then gave a sigh. “Sorry, Peter, it’s second nature to me.”

That shut off his gripe because it
was
second nature to them both to use their parapsychic Talents. That was what annoyed him but the paradox existed.

She touched his arm, knowing he liked to be touched now because he had so much more sensation in his limbs. “Remember what you’re making progress
toward,
” she said with a significant nod.

Peter struggled not to blush. She was a physician, but she was also a very pretty woman and he didn’t really feel comfortable with that reference to regaining “normal functions.” In her professional capacity, Ceara was up to date on his progress and encouraged him when, as now, he lost patience.

“It won’t be long, Peter. Now, shake your hand to relax all the muscles. You’ve been trying too hard again. I think the image is coming on fine.”

“Well,” Peter said on a sigh, “I’ll try again.” He was copying the print of an ancient clipper ship. The sails were very difficult to sketch, with lines and braces. With his free hand, he ran his fingers through his hair in an unconscious gesture of frustration. And froze with surprise when he realized what he’d done. Ceara caught that gesture, too! The pen slipped from his right hand and rolled across the worktop.

“Oh, Peter! You did it. Without thinking. See, your muscles do remember!” She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him on the lips.

Suddenly, he knew what Finn had meant—that the man within him would stand up and be noticed. This was not the bath-giving Nurse Roche. This was Ceara Scott for whom he felt more than empathy at this moment.
He caught her arms and held them about his neck, levitating out of his chair and pulling her against him. She returned the embrace enthusiastically. Her eyes widened as she became aware that not only were muscles remembering but also certain glands were in working order.

“Oh, Peter, how marvelous!”

“Ceara,” he began. Her mind opened to his completely, filling him with her willingness, an urgency of her own, and an intense desire for intimacy. He was even able to lift her into his arms and carry her to the bed. ’Porting would have been faster, but there were some things a man didn’t hurry.

O
n Friday, while they were waiting for Lance to arrive, Peter wanted to level with the Australian about the Gadriel circuitry.

“It isn’t as if he didn’t know I tapped into the CERN generators to save us,” Peter said.

“Yeah, but do you want to tell him he can’t because he’s tone-deaf? That’s sorta mean, isn’t it? Let it be for now. We’re not really sure what we’re doing anyhow.”

Peter reluctantly accepted that argument.

Lance arrived and was suitably impressed with the office. “No names on the door,” he remarked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Then he put his hands on his belt and took a slow look around, nodding as he cataloged the various amenities.

“Hmm, nice digs you’ve got here.” Stepping farther into the room, he rotated one of the conformable chairs. “Bang on.”

“Coffee, Lance? Tea?” Peter said, making himself physically walk to the serving alcove.

“Hey, lookit you! On your own, too! That’s great, mate. Real great. Couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke!” Lance beamed, his eyes crinkling up.

“Coffee? Tea?”

“Tea’s fine. Haven’t had a proper cuppa since I left First Base.” He settled into the chair and exclaimed again as he appreciated its contours, supporting his long frame. “How’s Dorotea? Special sort of woman.”

“She’s fine,” Johnny said. “They conclude that she had a pin stroke, T.I.A., and she’s on medication to prevent a repeat.”

“With Amariyah watching her like a hawk.”

Lance chuckled. “Heard that little bit of nothing rousted everyone out of their skins. Talented, is she?”

Johnny held up both hands. “She has to find out for herself.”

Peter wished that he could broadcast to the world that Amariyah’s special Talent had worked a miracle on his body but he perfectly understood the necessity for silence on the subject. In that same instant, he realized not only that he wouldn’t want Amariyah to be burdened with trying to heal all the sick of the world—she’d be killed trying and she would try—but also how Rhyssa and Johnny had protected him until he was mature enough to handle his potent abilities. Very few, even those who knew him well, would have noticed his physical changes. And even fewer knew how he had extended his telekinetic and telepathic range.

“What about,” Lance paused, rethinking the adjectives he was about to use, “Shimaz and that lot?”

“Wal,” Johnny drawled, sitting back and smiling with malice, “InterLEO has been busy tagging anyone and everyone once connected with either Shimaz or Flimflam, or the other suspected accomplices.”

“Reprogrammed their ID bands?” Lance asked, idly twisting his own. “Thought they were having a good look at mine when I said I was heading up here.”

Johnny nodded. “There are enough regular checks, even on an international basis, to complete the process.”

“And the Henner estate is prickly with sensors—wall, tube, gardens, shrubs, trees, and helipads,” Peter said. “Everyone’s safe there.”

Lance made a rueful noise. “Don’t like to think that such precautions had to be taken for us psychics. We should be able to fend for ourselves.”

Johnny flicked his fingers. “Sharpen our wits a bit, put us on the qui vive. No harm done, and no harm
can
be done.”

“Did we ever find out who was cheating the Station on fuel?” Peter asked.

Johnny swiveled about to stare at him a moment. “Yes,” he said, recalling a conclusion that had obviously slipped his mind during other crises. “Pota Chatham solved it. Every single one of the Station’s suppliers was shorting tank refills.” He gave his shark’s grin. “She thinks that the bean counter at SpaceShifters started the scam. He’s far worse than Taddesse
as a CFO. The other suppliers got suspicious, saw a good thing working, and started pumping measures, too. The freighter captains were bribed, or scared, into not reporting the problem until Honeybald started noticing the fall-short dockings.
Now
all the tanks are filled while one of Dirk’s finest watches and guarantees the tank full. The suppliers all had to pay stiff fines for short weights. Thanks.” He took the fresh cup of coffee Peter handed him.