Authors: Anne McCaffrey
When, after the fact of the Mutiny, he taxed Mallie Vaden about her lack of “foresight,” she replied in her own defense, “If the circumstances
hadn’t
been altered by you, the Mutiny would have succeeded and I would have ‘seen’ it. Only you intervened so it didn’t happen for me to ‘see.’ Simple!”
B
archenka’s Mutiny had been stealthily plotted. For instance, her personnel manager, Per Duoml, had known nothing about it.
“As much because he was an honorable man—in his own way—and too upright to have condoned a takeover,” Rhyssa remarked.
“Not that so much,” Johnny Greene added in private to the other Talents after they had given their testimonies to the investigating committee, “as the fact that he had finally become disenchanted with our dear Ludmilla and, in the last month or so, had begun to distance himself.”
“Did he do so because he suspected her mutiny?” Justice Havers asked. He would have loved to have sat on the tribunal appointed to hear Barchenka’s case, but having been on the Station, he was considered prejudiced. Another prominent American jurist had been chosen for the panel of five.
“Couldn’t say, Gordie,” Johnny replied with one of his shrugs. “Duoml turned his office over to Coetzer’s personnel manager the day before and was out of there like he couldn’t wait to get downside.” Johnny paused. “Of course, you might conclude that he knew something was up but he sure didn’t want to be involved.”
Fortunately, the subsequent mental probe of Duoml by Jerhattan LEO Commissioner Boris Roznine, who had been assigned to the unsavory duty by the international investigators, exonerated the man of any complicity.
“Writhing with distaste and considerable animosity toward Barchenka,” Boris later told his twin brother, Sascha, “but without personal involvement. I think, though he hid it well, he had his suspicions. There’re enough involved as it is. Including, and you’ll love this, old Flimflam, Ponsit Prosit.”
“
Who?
” Sascha gaped at Boris in astonishment. Sascha had deliberately put the scam artist out of his mind once the man had been assigned to Padrugoi as a janitor in the grunt level.
“Yup. Dirt loves dirt and he’d’ve loved doing the dirty on any Talent.”
“Just don’t,” and Sascha paused significantly, “even
think
of that scuzball near Tirla.”
Boris gave his brother a do-you-think-I’m-crazy look. “Nor in the vicinity of Rhyssa and Peter. They’ve all put that kidnapping behind them and it’ll stay there.”
“And Flimflam?” Sascha’s voice and manner had hardened.
“Well,” and Boris shrugged, “I don’t think Barchenka trusted him any more than we do. He was supposed to do one of his brainwashing Religious
Interpretation gigs on offenders, to get them to support her. I get the impression he isn’t the least bit rehabilitated. Bets a lot, but there’s no law against that up there. He can work all the scams he wants on offies and grunts. I warned Commander Ottey in Padrugoi security to watch out for any further problem from him and, well …” Boris left the rest of his sentence in the air. Sascha understood what wasn’t said.
“And his Royal Highness Prince Phanibal Shimaz is safely on First Base?” Sascha asked.
“The penal unit there is isolated from the main blocks,” Boris replied. “Colonel Watari’s tough. Goes by the book. Shimaz is out of the way for good. That child-farm of his was too much even for his family.” Then Boris sighed deeply. “And speaking of debasement, I hope I’m not required to probe Ludmilla again.” Despite his long service with Law Enforcement and Order, Boris gave a shudder of revulsion.
Sascha spared his brother a sympathetic look. “Her trial’s nearly over. I doubt you’ll have to.”
“Appalling woman.
Hates
us.” And Boris meant Talents.
“She has reason,” Sascha remarked candidly. “Of course, if I were truly honest, I’d admit that I reciprocate her animosity with interest.”
“I won’t tell.”
“You’re all heart, bro,” replied Sascha.
“So, give me some good news to go on with? I’ve five more of Ludmilla’s white-coats to scan for the hearings tomorrow,” Boris said with a heavy sigh. “Is Lance going to start training your young genius?”
“He had to settle affairs in Adelaide but Rhyssa and Peter are expecting him any day now.”
T
he tribunal hearing the case of Padrugoi Space Station versus Ludmilla Barchenka for mutiny proceeded inexorably but with impeccable impartiality to a conclusion. The attempted hostage-taking, grievous bodily harm done several distinguished guests, and her threats against their lives were sufficient to have heavy penalties imposed on her. She was found guilty of high treason by the unanimous agreement of the tribunal that had included a Ukrainian judge and was duly sentenced to permanent house arrest in a small house outside Kiev. She wore the special
double-banded wrist ID of a convicted criminal that restricted her to those premises. As an added precaution, she was surgically body-tagged with a detector that could not be removed, short of her demise. The completion bonus for the Padrugoi Space Station was sequestered and placed in a special account that would defray her costs and was budgeted to last a reasonable projection of her life expectancy. Visitors to her quarters were severely limited and those few who requested visits were scanned before and after. The pulverized remains of the plastic sculpture, which President Cimprich had presented to her, were found in the first week’s refuse.
The trial of itself formed a judicial precedent, being the first action of the independent entity, the Padrugoi Space Station, against an individual. Thus the entire world became aware of the legal independence of that entity.
“H
er biggest single mistake was in refusing to let us attend,” Johnny said to Rhyssa and Peter two weeks later, after Barchenka started serving her lifelong sentence. They were seated in Rhyssa’s second-floor office in the Henner mansion.
Johnny took a sip from his second cup of coffee and continued. “When I found out that Gordie’s name had been struck off the invite list, and bearing in mind my other information, I decided Lance and I needed to meet. In his shielded quarters on the Station, of course. He actually organized,” and he grinned wickedly, “our volunteers. When the ever-lovin’ Ludmilla formally ended his conscription—she kept calling it a ‘work contract’—she watched while he cleared his office and his computer system, not that he had left anything up on
that
. Then she had her white-coats personally conduct him to the shuttle.” Johnny chuckled. “He walked on and then walked off through the service hatch. His was the bright idea of utilizing the ventilation ducts. Had to pick people who could fit in them, too. In fact, he’d been eavesdropping on white-coat barrack conversations, trying to figure out what was going to happen. I’ll give her this—she picked the most closemouthed bastards she could find as platoon leaders. And I suspect they didn’t know the whole nine yards beforehand.”
Rhyssa slowly shook her head over Barchenka’s tactics and how very close they had come to success.
Peter cleared his throat. “You don’t know when Admiral Coetzer will let me see the spaceship, do you?”
“It’ll be a lot more interesting when it’s nearer completion, Pete,” Johnny replied. “Never fear, skeleteam! Dirk Coetzer is not one to forget his debts.”
A polite knock sounded on Rhyssa’s door.
“Come in, Sascha, Lance,” she replied, adding a mental invitation, and the door opened for the visitors.
Sascha had a now-is-the-time smile on his face that he directed at Peter as he stepped forward to allow the lanky Lance Baden to enter behind him. The Australian Center chief gave a cheerful wave including all in the room but he, too, was eyeing his new student.
Not that I don’t think I’ll be learning more from you, Pete, than you will from me
.
Peter had risen to his feet, a courtesy that Lance appreciated though he was in no way a formal person.
No need to be nervous, pal
, Sascha said on a tight ’path to the boy.
Don’t tease
, Rhyssa added, imaging her face with a severe frown. “Come in, sit down, and let’s
talk
, shall we?” she said aloud, setting the tone for the discussion of how to train a boy who was probably the most powerful telekinetic to be discovered anywhere on the planet.
Lance settled himself in one of the comfortable lounge chairs, crossing one long leg over the other and linking his fingers together, totally relaxed. Sascha took the other lounger and waved at Peter to seat himself.
“Now, I’ve a full month off from the Adelaide Center,” Lance began, “so what I’d like to do, Pete, is walk you through exactly what you
do
do and see if we can develop any theories on gestalt so that others can boldly go.” He glanced over at John Greene, who shrugged from where he was stretched out in the leather chair.
“I won’t be too much help, Lance,” the general said. “I just learned to go with the flow and I can’t tell you how I managed to emulate Pete here, except that somehow, I had to keep Dave from cracking his skull open on the edge of that swimming pool.”
“Using the electricity from the sun beds for the gestalt?” Lance asked
Johnny nodded. “I wanted him to
move
over a meter away. He did.”
“And after that you were floating drones and space shuttles to Padrugoi like so many pebbles skipping across the pond,” Lance remarked dryly.
Again Johnny shrugged. “That’s all I thought I was doing.”
Lance looked questioningly at Peter.
“Sir, it
is
sort of like skipping pebbles across the water,” Peter said.
“Then how do you estimate just how much of a skip you have to take in gestalt from the generators?”
Peter opened both hands in a helpless gesture. He was trying to shrug his shoulders as John Greene did but only his right shoulder twitched in response to his wish. “Some things I touch with my mind just feel heavier than others. Like orange juice or plasteel. Just looking at some stuff even I can tell it must weigh tons.”
“At the base in Florida,” Rhyssa put in, “the technician always had the gross weight figures of what Peter was to lift.”
“That still requires some sort of calculation, doesn’t it?” Lance added when Peter opened his hands in a gesture of continued dismay.
“Pete started off using the 4.5 kW generator we installed for him at Dorotea’s,” Rhyssa said. “And half the time now, he doesn’t even need to access that.”
“Very interesting,” Lance said, nodding with the expression of someone who hasn’t heard anything significant. “Did you use any auxiliary power during the Mutiny? For instance, when you heated up the butts of the white-coats’ weapons?”
Peter shook his head, looking more and more concerned. Then suddenly his face brightened. “I did lean on the generators when I put a shield around the admiral. I didn’t want anything to get through.”
John Greene and Lance Baden made eye contact.
“I didn’t feel any pulse,” Johnny said.
“I felt yours, Pete, when you shorted out that woman’s prompt screen,” Lance said, grinning.
“He didn’t, I did,” Johnny Greene said.
“That was you, Johnny?” Rhyssa was surprised.
The general raised one languid hand. “Guilty. She was taking far too much credit.”
“And all along, I thought it was you, Pete.”
Now a very smug smile tugged at the boy’s mouth and was echoed in his eyes. “No, I corrupted her disk.”
“Ah, so that’s why Grushkov thought you were totally innocent,” Lance said, pretending much relief at getting the culpability straight.
Johnny nodded. “I wonder what would have happened if we
had
allowed her to finish that speech.”
“I’m as glad we didn’t, frankly,” Lance said. “So, Pete—you don’t mind being Pete, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“When you were shielding the admiral, how did you make the weapons too hot to handle?”
“I just ‘thought’ them hot. But I didn’t move them anywhere.”
“Oh, I see. So it wasn’t telekinesis,” Lance remarked, one hand covering his mouth for a moment.
“Not really.” Peter paused.
Rhyssa cleared her throat, Sascha ducked his head, and Johnny’s eyes were brilliant with amusement.
“That’s as well. Can you explain it to me?” asked Lance, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands lightly together.
“Can you suggest something that doesn’t have any mass, sir?”
“Pete,” and Lance waved his hands, “enough of this ‘sir’ stuff. I know Dorotea is very keen on social graces, but I’m just another Talent, like Johnny here.”
“Not at all like me, you wombat,” Johnny said with considerable force in his voice despite his relaxed position.
“For which I am indeed grateful,” Lance shot in an aside to him before he turned back to a startled Peter Reidinger. “You and me,” and he waggled his finger back and forth between them, “are going to be working as close as mates, and you’re to call me Lance? Right?”
“Right, ssss—Lance.” Peter swallowed.
“Right! Now, I’m to suggest something that doesn’t have—mass. Well, everything has mass, including orange juice. Do you employ gestalt to transfer grams?” Peter shook his head. “Kilograms?” and Peter began to nod, “and definitely dead tons? Right?”
“Right.”
“Do you instinctively measure the volume of what you ’port?”
Peter considered this. “Well, I did look at the mass of drones and shuttles when I was doing them. I
know
that something’s dense by the feel of it.”
“What has mass in this room that you’d need gestalt to move?”
Peter eyed the objects in Rhyssa’s office and then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, pointed to Johnny Greene and promptly, those in the office heard a distant generator hum and the general, chair and all, was lifted off the floor.
“Hey, just wait an effing minute,” Johnny said, his eyes round with surprise. He didn’t move but his body tensed a moment before he obviously forced himself to relax. “Not even for you, Pete Reidinger,” and he shook his index finger at the grinning boy, “will I be a display piece.”