Pegasus In Space

9

When Peter got to the officers' mess, he wasn't sure that he was hungry. He wasn't sure what he felt. By rights, he should have been elated at having 'ported two packages all the way to the Moon. He kept seeing the expression on Mai Leitao's face, her scrambling move away from him. As if he were unclean or his Talent was a disease that could infect her. She reminded him of his mother and her altered perception of him. He also realized that he had been shielded from such mundane attitudes and reactions. Carefully shielded. Maybe he should opt for his own apartment, and not in the Talents' special enclave where he would gain no realistic knowledge of how his sort were perceived by the other 99.97 percent of Earth's inhabitants.

"Peter?" said a cheerful voice behind him. He spun about. "It's just Ceara Scott," she added, reassuring him before he had completed the turn to face the redhead. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just saw you there and," she gestured to the empty mess, "thought it would be nice to have someone to eat with. If you're eating? I'm taking a break before this place gets too crowded and all the best entrees are gone. There's fried chicken today." She sniffed deeply. "Doesn't it smell divine?"

Despite her red hair, she wasn't at all like Nurse Roche. Color was different, too; not the same shade of red, Peter thought.

Her smile began to waver.

"I didn't mean to intrude."

"No, no, not at all, Ceara. I'd like company, too. The fried chicken does smell good." He raised his arm to gesture for her to lead the way. She chose a table at one side of the mess.

They were served deftly by the rating who suggested the corn bread and okra as suitable companions to the chicken.

"Good eatin', ma'am, suh," he said, grinning broadly. "Smart of you to get in here 'fore the rush starts."

"And keep away from it, too," Ceara said in a low voice as he had gone off with their order.

"Are you settling in here all right, Ceara?" Peter asked, thinking he heard an uncertain note in her voice.

"Oh, yes," she said quickly. "They're all very helpful. It's so different from university labs where the competition can be fierce." She paused, searching his face. Peter saw anxiety. "Sometimes it's difficult being an empath. You can't avoid sensing what other people are thinking."

"You're an empath?"

"Yes." She seemed surprised. "Didn't you know? A latent, I admit," and she smiled shyly. "I just didn't know how I knew some of the things I did-like how other students felt about me. It was almost a relief to know it was a perfectly normal empathetic response."

"I see."

"Do you?" She gave him a sad little smile. "They said at the Center that I'm not obliged to inform people I'm an empath, since I'm not all that strong and I'm not really working as one. I thought I'd better tell you." She made eye contact as she lightly touched his right hand where he had placed it on the table.

The physical contact was meant to allow him to "feel" that she was telling the truth. Hadn't anyone mentioned he didn't like to be touched? Well, no, why should they? Empaths and telepaths preferred to make tactile contact; that was how they were able to reach a mind the next time. She must have been briefed about him, that a wall had paralyzed his legs and then the damned body brace had shorted the nerves in his arms. That is, if she hadn't guessed by the odd way he moved about. Her public mind was earnest, anxious, and orderly. He would have expected that in someone trained in medicine. She was certainly speaking the truth, though he also perceived that she was anxious about his acceptance of her.

"Thank you, Ceara," Peter said. "It's sort of a relief," and he gave her a reassuring grin, "to have another Center person up here."

"Yeah," she said with a little smile. "I'm glad you're here, too. I don't know many other psychics. It's all new to me. Just like this grant." She still had her hand on his and he could feel her sparkling with excitement, pride, and anticipation.

"How come you were sent up to the conference room?" he heard himself asking.

She shrugged both shoulders. "Coincidence. I am a licensed medical practitioner as well as a medical researcher. I want to keep my hand in and so I said 'yes' when they asked me would I assist in medical emergencies. They put me up on the duty roster so fast I couldn't renege. So I was next up when the call came in. I don't think I ever want to be that dedicated to my work." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Agoraphobic as well as psychophobic. What a combination! Ah, here comes lunch."

The meal did look especially appetizing and Peter felt his mouth watering. He never felt his stomach rumble, of course. He was grateful that he could smell and taste what he ate. The officers' mess on Padrugoi served excellent food, not that Dorotea wasn't the best cook in the world, but it was nice to taste other cuisines. There was quite a selection of international dishes available here.

"Your family sure didn't want you to leave," he said. "Neither did my sister. Dorotea wouldn't let her come to the telepad."

"Dorotea?"

Peter could sense her curiosity even though she maintained a polite expression.

"Dorotea's my adopted grandmother. I've been staying with her at the Henner estate, you see, since I emerged as a kinetic. A ward of the Parapsychic Center."

"The scuttlebutt is that you're stronger than General Greene."

"Well," Peter demurred, "that's still debatable. But I've been living at the Center and so has Amariyah. She's an orphan. Her parents died in the floods in Bangladesh, oh, five or so years ago now. We're sort of brother and sister. She's crazy about flowers. We'd have plants all over the house if Dorotea let her. Maree wants to be a hydroponic specialist when she grows up. She's not quite ten now. Sorry. I'm babbling," Peter said.

"That's all right. I'm the one who usually does that," Ceara said, smiling until her eyes crinkled.

The steward came by their table, offering seconds before the chicken was wolfed down or dessert. Ceara ordered pecan pie, and talked Peter into it, and an herbal tea.

"I prefer them," she admitted shyly. "Too much caffeine and my eyesight blurs when I'm doing slides."

"Funny, I can drink tea with no bad effect but coffee's no good for me. Johnny-General Greene, that is-can't function without constant cups of coffee."

"Probably because he's been a pilot so long," she said with a disarming crinkle of her nose.

The topic of likes and dislikes was being discussed when the steward returned with their orders. It wasn't until Ceara's wristcom bleeped a reminder that they parted, with some reluctance on Peter's part. He briefly wondered if he had felt so comfortable with her because she was empathic. But he didn't care. He had felt comfortable with her and had unconsciously relaxed from the stress of the morning.

Peter went back to his quarters. He planned to go to the gym and work out on the Reeve Board; he fancied he felt tingling in his chest and upper arms. Or was it a reaction to the pleasant time he'd had with Ceara? When he got in, the message light on his comunit was blinking.

"Pete? Greene here. We got transport at 0300 tomorrow, Limo-34. First Base's in conjunction for another five days so we'd better get cracking if you want to do a walkabout at Oceanus Procellarum. Not that there's much to see, since they planted the base on the most uninteresting real estate the Apollos could find. Please check in with me."

The formal request, not the usual flip "catch me, will ya?" that was Johnny Greene's usual style was, as troubling as it was, in another fashion, satisfying. The general was worried that he had overstepped the parameters of their long association in this morning's meeting. Ordinarily, Johnny just made a telepathic contact when they were both onstation. And they were going in a Limo, huh? Peter grinned. Maybe he was just in the way of giving General J. Greene a surprise on this Lunar Insertion Moon Orbit shuttle.

When he did make mental contact, Johnny sounded a bit tentative.

Just sent the SA party down. Leitao was totally out of it. Fraga was closer to her than a blister. Wonder if there's something between them? I'm checking out the crate I'll be flying.

I thought the admiral said there wouldn't be transport until late tomorrow?

I'm speeding things up. Silversmith is checking out our EMUs. I used rank to get the galley stuffed with decent chow instead of standard grub. I bumped one other passenger so we could stow as much of Watari's wish list as the shuttle'll take. Since he now knows who to ask, he sent us another list of urgent items. We take 'em with us, he's got no gripe that you're joyriding to the Moon. On a totally different tack, the general added: Did you have that fried chicken they were serving in the officers' mess?

Peter hesitated briefly. Had some of Leitao's paranoia rubbed off on him that morning? Was Johnny serving notice that Peter had been seen with Ceara Scott? Or just being friendly?

Yeah, with the corn bread and pecan pie.

I missed a good meal and everyone informed me that I had, and there was genuine regret in his voice.

Does Rhyssa know we're going to First Base?

Yeah. I had Madlyn tell her that.

And about the meeting? Peter really didn't want Rhyssa to be upset about the responsibilities he had just undertaken.

Noooo, not exactly, Johnny said, hedging, sounding more like himself. Madlyn didn't know either so scuttlebutt's been contained. For a while, he added cynically. We'll make our getaway before that goes public. See ya down at boat bay twenty-nine, kit and caboodle, no later than 0230. Get an early night. Okay?

Okay!

Curious about which pilot would be flying the Limo-34 with them, Peter put in a call to Nicola Nizukami, who was certainly quite willing to tell him that Lieutenant Xiang Liu would copilot the flight with General Greene. Peter thanked her, smiling to himself. Couldn't be better. A Limo, had a crew of four and accommodated a dozen passengers, including service personnel who could be counted on to stand a watch. He began to pack, knowing he was limited to one kilo since a Limo's facilities were spartan. First in was his EMU skin. So he was really going to get to the Moon. Almost absently, he slipped in the papers he'd need.

That done, he decided that he'd better put some time in now on the Reeve Board. He needed a workout if only to get rid of the tissue salts built up by the morning's tensions. Maybe it would take care of the tingling sensation he'd been getting in his chest. He didn't have time to be sick or anything. Not when he could get to First Base.

Johnny made his way to the Limo's cockpit as the rest of the passengers and crew settled themselves and strapped in. He noted the three seismic engineers from the Japanese army, three servicemen in First Base slate-gray fatigues on their way back after R and R, the two replacement cooks, both women, and the four men who must be the solar heating engineers. Johnny nodded a greeting to the young lieutenant in the copilot's seat.

"Well, Mr. Liu, I can see that the admiral is sparing none but the best for our jaunt, " Johnny said with a grin. He looked around, noticed that Peter had taken the engineer's chair and absently waved him out of it. "Peter, that's the chair for the third officer. We stand three watches on a Limo." He turned back to Xiang Liu. "Who have we got for third watch-Carnegie?"

Lieutenant Liu glanced at Peter before replying blandly, "Sir, we're at full complement now."

"What?" Johnny groaned. "We're going to fly this tub watch and ward?"

Peter cleared his throat. "The admiral thought I could stand in."

"You?" Johnny's green-flecked amber eyes widened. "Peter, flying a Limo is serious work, it's-"

"Ninety-eight percent boredom and two percent sheer terror," Peter said, finishing Johnny's famous quote. He pulled some flimsies from his pocket. "Here's my flight certificate, simulator log book, and rating."

Behind him, Liu nodded and smiled encouragingly.

Johnny spluttered. "But those ratings have to be signed-"

"By Admiral Coetzer himself, sir," the lieutenant said. "He's taken a great interest in Mr. Reidinger's progress."

Johnny narrowed his eyes at the young lieutenant. "And what do you have to do with this?"

"Xiang was one of my three flight instructors," Peter replied. "Don't you remember encouraging me to learn more while I was busy healing?"

"Coming up on our launch window in two minutes, sir," Lieutenant Liu reported in a circumspect tone of voice, forcing the general to make a decision.

Johnny frowned. Peter, you don't have to do this, you know.

But I do!

General John Greene pursed his lips tightly. After some moments he nodded abruptly. "Very well, Mr. Reidinger, is the ship secure?"

Peter suppressed an exhilarated grin, forcing himself to check the engineering gauges. "Cargo locks secured, port side passenger lock closing-now!" he said, adding formally, "Sir, the ship is secure."

"CIC's hailing us, sir," Lieutenant Liu said, tapping his headset.

Johnny tensed to respond and then sat back, waiting. Peter didn't need the hint to know that as junior he was responsible for all radio traffic. He adjusted his headset and responded, "CIC, this is Limo-34."

Admiral Coetzer himself responded. "Roger, Limo-34, what's your status?"

Peter turned to Johnny. "CIC asks what's our status, sir."

"And what is our status, Mr. Reidinger?" Johnny replied, continuing his own test of Peter's knowledge.

Peter glanced over the control panels. Environmental: green, Electrical: green, Nav. and Comm.: green, RCS: green, Main engines: green, Computer-

"Sir, there's a fault on main processing unit two," Peter said.

Lieutenant Liu glanced up from his preflight check, toggled a switch, and went back to work.

"Taking MPU Two off-line," Liu announced. He muttered, "We've got five more."

"Sir, our status is green," Peter said. "Will you check me?"

Johnny smiled. "Yes, Mr. Reidinger, I check you. Our status is green."

"CIC, Limo-34 reports status green."

"Roger, 34, you are cleared for departure. Once clear, contact Padrugoi Departure on 120.41" the admiral replied.

"Limo-34 on 120.4," Peter repeated, punching in Padrugoi Departure's frequency on the second radio. To Johnny he said, "Clear for departure, sir."

"Roger," Johnny said. To Liu, "Unlock clamps two forward, three aft, four aft, and one forward."

Liu ran quick fingers over the control panels. "All clamps unlocked."

Johnny pursed his lips for a moment, then said, "Mr. Reidinger, take us out."

Again Peter had to suppress a surge of excitement as he punched in the codes to power his thruster control panel. "Mr. Liu, are we scheduled for a standard departure?"

"Yes," was the prompt reply.

Peter nodded, put in the standard codes he had memorized under Xiang Liu's guidance, and radioed CIC. "Limo-34 is free and thrusting negative-y at five point zero meters per second on standard departure vector."

Peter half expected Johnny to quiz him for saying "negative-y" instead of "down"-a question he'd been asked many times in training and he had his answer ready. "Down" is too vague in space; saying that you're thrusting on the negative-y axis states exactly what you're doing relative to Padrugoi-which is the largest craft.

And all spacecraft maneuvers use the largest craft's frame of reference-a very good explanation! Johnny agreed with a chuckle.

Peter was chagrined to discover that his subvocalization had been so loud that Johnny had heard it.

"Roger, 34," a new voice, not the admiral's, responded. "Radar has a clean separation. You are go for de-rendezvous maneuvers."

Peter knew from his long hours in the simulators that the motions of the two spacecraft in close orbit were not at all intuitive. In fact, in order to slip behind Padrugoi, Limo-34 would have to speed up-and it would take a wild ride around the front of Padrugoi before the shuttle got behind the space station. But first the Limo would have to crawl to a safe distance from the Station before it could fire its thrusters. Moving at a meter a second, it would take over three minutes-Peter checked the countdown clock-before the shuttle could begin the de-rendezvous maneuver that would put Padrugoi safely out of harm's way.

There was an age-old tradition in military and paramilitary services of hazing any new trainee or officer. Because of his duties and peculiar condition, Peter had escaped that. John Greene felt that most of the hazing he had ever seen had been cruel and a waste of effort all around. With one exception.

"Mr. Reidinger, outline our flight profile," Johnny ordered.

"Yes, sir," Peter replied. "Our de-rendezvous maneuver will move us from a circular orbit identical to Padrugoi's to an elliptical orbit with an apogee 5,000 kilometers above Padrugoi's orbit-and change the time it takes to orbit the Earth from eighty-eight minutes to one hundred and forty-two minutes."

Johnny motioned for Peter to continue.

"That burn is designated OAM-1," Peter continued. "The next burn occurs at the top of that orbit, seventy-one minutes later. The purpose of the burn is to change the inclination of our orbit from Padrugoi's 28.5-degree inclination to the Earth to the Moon's fivedegree inclination-so that we are in line with the Moon.

"That burn is designated OIM-2, orbital inclination maneuver two," Peter went on. He could feel Xiang's approval. He didn't dare reach for Johnny's yet. "Seventy-one minutes after that we will be back at our closest point to the Earth-"

"Where will Padrugoi be then?" Johnny asked quickly.

Peter had his answer ready. He'd done his homework. "Padrugoi will be at the same altitude but two hundred and twenty degrees away from us."

"Why?"

"Because our elliptical orbit takes longer to complete than Padrugoi's circular orbit. Padrugoi will have made a full orbit and nearly two-thirds of its next one before we're back down to the same altitude," Peter answered smoothly. He took a deep breath and continued. "At that point-if all systems are go-we will initiate our translunar orbit insertion and head out to the Moon. That burn will be TLI-3. Just short of five days from now-by 36.5 minutes-we will be on the far side of the Moon and initiate our lunar landing insertion burn, designated LLI-4. At that point, barring some short maneuvering burns to handle the effects of lunar mass concentrations, we'll be locked in for a landing at First Base fifty-nine minutes later."

"And how much fuel will be required?" Johnny asked, continuing the interrogation.

Peter refused to be rattled. The admiral had lectured him on fuel requirements often enough.

"Our propellant to payload ratio is 2.00," Peter said, "but because we also want to take the Limo with us, we have to provide fuel for it, too. So the total propellant ratio is 2.2l."

"And how much fuel should we have on board?"

Peter sensed a trick question. "Our fuel is liquid hydrogen, which we burn with liquid oxygen. We burn twice the volume of hydrogen as we do oxygen. Limo-34 in its current configuration masses 2,203.5 kilograms, and our payload including crew and passengers masses 11,004 kilograms. Total final mass at First Base will be 13,207.5 kilograms. Or 13.2 metric tonnes. That will require 3,246 kilograms of liquid hydrogen and 25,968 kilograms of liquid oxygen."

He glanced at his display "But we are carrying a ten percent fuel reserve that changes the fuel loading to 50.1 metric tonnes."

"What's Limo stand for?"

Peter grinned. "Lunar insertion, Moon orbit, sir."

Johnny allowed the silence that followed to stretch out uncomfortably but Peter knew he'd answered correctly and fully. "Sir, we are in position for OAM-1."

"Roger," Johnny said, "initiate OAM-1."

"Aye, sir," Peter said, aware that he had passed the test. "Departure, this is Limo-34, we are go for OAM-1."

"Limo-34, OAM-1 at your discretion," Padrugoi Departure responded.

Peter let Limo-34's remaining five computers start OAM-1.

When the shuttle's three main rocket engines fired off with a gentle kick, Peter added, "OAM-1."

"Roger, OAM-1 for Limo-34," Padrugoi Departure confirmed.

As soon as the engines shut down, Departure radioed back. "Our computers have you in the green on that burn, Limo-34."

Peter checked the shuttle's computers. He frowned, ran diagnostics on MPU Five, and said, "Computer five is voting against the solution, sir."

Johnny had followed Peter's diagnostics on his control panels. "I see."

Xiang Liu snorted. "That's why we carry six computers on board. They're always going down."

"Sir," Peter said, remembering his drills, "flight rules state that we report when we fall below five voting computers."

"If we tell them, Peter, we won't be going anywhere," Johnny replied at his drollest.

"Let me see if I can jog it back on-line," Lieutenant Liu offered. "And I'll look at MPU Two while I'm at it." He got out of his seat, graceful in free fall as he pulled himself over to the MPU control rack and started pulling off access panels.

"Good idea, Mr. Liu," Johnny agreed.

Peter was still uncomfortable. "Sir, I was told that there were no old, bold pilots."

Johnny snorted at Peter's re-rendering of the old saw: There are old pilots and there are bold pilots but there are no old bold pilots.

"Mr. Reidinger," Johnny said, "we have seventy-one minutes until OIM-2. If we can't get one of the computers back by then, we'll abort the mission. In the meantime, I want you to stand watch while Mr. Liu and I troubleshoot these wonders of electronics provided to the space station by the lowest bidder."

"Probably Russia," the copilot murmured, but only Peter heard him.

Xiang Liu managed to get MPU Five back on-line after jiggering with it for some minutes.

"Okay, now we'll be go for OIM-2," Johnny told Peter. "I'm going to head aft and suss out the rest of the crew and the passengers."

Before he gave permission to unclip safety harnesses, Johnny gave the usual reminders about the hazards of free fall, the procedures to take in the event of nausea, and the action-reaction phenomenon. He advised the newbies to keep one hand on something. Anything a luminous pale blue was safe to grab. Peter quickly recognized who had traveled in space before. The noncoms floated gracefully up and away from the safety seats; two of the Japanese army officers moved with equal facility and were encouraging their tentative and nervous comrade. The solar heating engineers, all civilians, were very cautious about moving at all: obviously the matter of action-reaction had been emphasized in their briefing for this journey.

Johnny checked readouts with the copilot and then assigned watches. Sergeant Bat Singh and Corporal Gopal Ahn were getting crew pay on this leg of the journey and Peter was to get experience. Then Johnny called a coffee break.

"This your first time in space, Reidinger?" one of the noncoms asked, watching Peter glide easily toward the galley while evading the clumsier movements of the engineers.

"I've done some EVA," Peter replied modestly, grinning. "Great feeling, being weightless."

"Not that you carry much," the sergeant remarked, eyeing Peter's light frame. Bat Singh had massive shoulders, a heavy torso, and arms disproportionately long for his height.

"Wrestler?" Peter asked.

Bat Singh shrugged and nodded, pleased by the guess.

Just then one of the engineers vomited. Liu hurriedly slapped the access panel back over the control rack to prevent any further accidents occurring with the ship's computers.

"There's always one," Singh remarked in an undertone that only Peter was near enough to hear as the sergeant pushed off the side of the cabin to get a spew-bag.

The sicker was strapped into his bunk in the sleeping area where he was assured he would recover.

"What if I don't?" he asked anxiously as he was assisted aft.

"I haven't heard of anyone who hasn't," Bat Singh replied genially. "Not if you passed phobics."

Peter was relieved of his watch by Xiang Liu who told him with a certain amount of disgust, "Those computers are always going down and I'm sick of babying 'em. Why don't you take a break? You did real good, Mister Reidinger." He grinned as he gave the thumbsup of approval. "You can come back up for OIM-2."

"Yes, sir," Peter said, happily floating toward the rear of the cabin.

The passengers were all grouped around the ports, looking at Earth. Peter found himself following the Earth's geography and referencing the list of gestalt-capable generators at the same time. Let's see, he said to himself. Dhaka had the Ehrain Station, then Hong Kong, Brisbane, Melbourne, Auckland, Midway, Honolulu, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego all at once, followed by Denver, Dallas, Jerhattan, Miami, and Buenos Aires. Then there were no big stations until Europe. Peter hadn't worked with many but he'd seen pictures of the huge installation built by the CERN people in Geneva.

He did know that the nice people at the Conseil Europeen pour la Recherche Nucleaire had been the first to put together gestalt circuitry. They were trying to understand how psychic powers worked in the physical world, so the gestalt was more of a scientific curiosity than a practicality for them. Peter remembered hearing Rhyssa comment once about how the CERN and FermiLab physicists were vying for the very small amount of research time the Eastern Parapsychic Center allotted for telekinetics. If Professor Gadriel had not had some minor telekinetic ability, that vital research might never have been as enthusiastically pursued. And Gadriel was always trying to get complete use-energy readings for his investigations-like those that Peter and Johnny had been generating for their Padrugoi contract. Peter made a note to contact the professor and see about giving him copies of the data.

It seemed like five minutes, not the sixty-five that had really passed, when Johnny hailed Peter back to the cockpit.

"I think you've had enough excitement for your first flight," Johnny said. "I just want you to observe the next couple of burns."

Peter grinned. "That's fine with me, sir." He strapped himself back into the engineer's seat and walked through the OIM-2 preburn checklist.

In his mind, Peter called up the carefully memorized schematics of the Limo's construction. Limo-34, part of the three-oh series, was the fourth of its class completely assembled at Padrugoi. The Limo one-oh series had been mostly assembled on Earth, with only bolt-together occurring in orbit. The Limo two-oh series crafts were about 70 percent complete when brought up from Earth.

Because they had never had to be lifted from Earth as nearly completed craft, the Limo three-ohs looked the least like a traditional spacecraft than anything since the Lunar Module of ancient Apollo days. For all of that, Limo three-oh still bore a striking resemblance of plan to the US Space Shuttle-but stretched.

The long cargo compartment was almost exactly twice the length of the old Space Shuttle's cargo compartment because it was constructed from the original Space Shuttle tool-and-die set. There were no wings because they were not needed; Limo was never intended to reenter the Earth's atmosphere. At the rear of the lengthened cargo bays, where the wings might have been mounted, there were instead the spacecraft's fuel tanks. Stubby landing pads were located under the fuel tanks-with the forward pair sticking out from the front of the crew compartment. Instead of the black heat tiles and white heatresistant felt covering, the Limo gleamed all over with protective gold Mylar covering. The forward compartment was a modified version of the Space Shuttle shirtsleeve crew section-nearly half again the length-and there were three EVA airlocks.

The Limo didn't require the three huge Space Shuttle Main Engines and that, right there, saved a lot of mass. For its engines, Limo-34 had two OMS kits-Orbital ManeuveringSystems-at the rear and a series of maneuvering thrusters on the ship's nose. The OMS kits were another Space Shuttle hand-me-down and included both the large 26.7-kilo Newton thrusters and a series of smaller maneuvering ones. And the Limo did not need a tail. Instead, the designers had mounted an antenna array in the same spot. As a safety precaution, the Limo designers had made the entire rear section of the Limo-tanks, antennae, OMS, and all-to be ejectable.

"Of course," as Lieutenant Liu had remarked to Peter when he had explained this feature months ago during his training, "all you'd have left then is enough life support to keep you alive until you could get to the life pods and enough maneuvering thrusters to stop the ship from tumbling. If you were lucky."

Peter didn't need Xiang Liu to tell him that any crew that had to jettison their propulsion system was quite obviously not lucky.

While the first burn, OAM- 1, had required only 76 percent of full power for just a little over a second-and a thrust of a bit more than a tenth of standard gravity, OIM-2 would require the Limo's two main engines to use 95 percent of full power for nearly two seconds-but again at the same thrust.

The burn went perfectly. Except that MPU Five and One both went out.

"What is it with these things?" Liu muttered angrily under his breath, as he pulled the two failed units off-line and opened the access panel to them. It took him the better part of half an hour before he got MPU One back on-line. He spent the next thirty minutes working with Bat Singh as they tried to troubleshoot MPU Five.

"Computers report high oxygen readings," Peter told Johnny.

"Accept their change," Johnny said. "They reported the same problem about half an hour ago and I took their advice. We're feeling no pain, are we?"

Peter had to agree. He yawned. Maybe the stress of the mission was beginning to get to him.

"Liu, Singh, cover up that access panel and get into position. We're coming up on TLI-3," Johnny ordered. "After that we'll coast on up to good ol' Luna for five days and drop ourselves in on Colonel Watari." He switched on the Limo's intercom and called the passengers. "Everyone strapped in back there?"

When he got no response, Johnny sent Sergeant Singh back to check up. The sergeant came back in a few minutes with a big grin on his face. He yawned hugely for a moment, then excused himself. "Sorry, sir. Everyone back there is all netted into their bunks and asleep."

"Can't blame them," Johnny said. "Passengers usually crash about now-although they tend to gawk down at Earth until TLI."

"Three minutes until TLI-3," Lieutenant Liu reported.

Peter checked his engineering panel again. "Computers are reporting that the oxygen levels have crept back up."

Johnny yawned and nodded. "I see it. I'm correcting it."

Oxygen levels were very special in space. The Limo's environmental control system regulated oxygen by partial pressure. On Earth, while total air pressure was one standard atmosphere, oxygen made up only 21 percent of the air and so the partial pressure was 21 percent of one standard atmosphere. In space, rather than building spacecraft capable of handling Earth's standard atmosphere, a lower pressure was used with a correspondingly higher percentage of oxygen so that astronauts could have the same amount of oxygen.

Fires consumed oxygen when they burned and a fire in pure oxygen could burn much hotter and faster than the same fire in a standard atmosphere. Until the Apollo 1 disaster-when one such disastrous pure-oxygen fire in the Apollo capsule had claimed the lives of three astronauts-the United States had used a pure-oxygen system. Afterward, to avoid such disasters, the US switched to a mix of oxygen with just enough nitrogen to prevent explosive fires.

If the oxygen pressure got too high, it could cause euphoria and loss of concentration as well as damage to nerves, especially eyes. If the oxygen pressure got too low, the astronauts could be asphyxiated.

Spaceflight was still a tricky and expensive proposition. Because of that, any spacecraft on any flight was subject to intense scrutiny. Since the days of the US Space Shuttle, there had been ways to keep in contact with ground stations regardless of the shuttle's position above Earth, and in modern times, those methods had been considerably improved. Tracking Data Relay Satellites, or TDRSs, ringed Earth and provided continuous telemetry and communication between spacecraft, Padrugoi, and Earth.

Limo-34, by virtue of its crew and mission, was subject to even more scrutiny than most.

Commander Sakai had made special arrangements to get a data feed to his console and had monitored all the problems the Limo had experienced.

While he had followed many Limos in their flights to the Moon, there was something about this one that bothered him. He couldn't put his finger on it, at least not enough to call it to General Greene's attention or suggest to Admiral Coetzer that the mission be scrubbed, but there was something. He scratched his head, trying to make sense of it.

"You know, we're being watched," Johnny said with a laugh.

"Watched like a hawk."

Lieutenant Liu nodded. "All the time. Corning up on TLI in thirty seconds."

"Committing TLI parameters to the computer," Johnny said. "Now all we have to do is sit back and relax." He turned to Peter. "Pretty soon you'll be able to walk around the old Apollo 12 site. It's just a hop, skip, and a jump from First Base, you know."

Peter spent a moment recalling pictures of the Apollo 12 Memorial Park. He had enlargements up on the board in his room. He'd watched the tour videos, too. He felt a thrill as he imagined being there himself: the kid who'd never once thought he'd get out of the damned hospital bed. You never knew, did you?

"You know," Bat Singh said to no one in particular, startling Peter with almost his exact thoughts. "Either I could use some sleep myself or I could use a beer."

RHYSSA! Amalda Vaden's sharp cry jolted Rhyssa out of a deep sleep. Something's wrong. With Peter.

In the Eastern Parapsychic Center alarms blared suddenly, alerting everyone on duty.

What is it? Rhyssa demanded of both Mallie Vaden and Budworth, the watch officer.

The precogs! They've got something, Budworth replied. I've got five corroborations, all strong.

What? Rhyssa shot back, willing Mallie, the strongest precog that she had set on watch for anything involving Peter, to answer.

Fire in the sky. They all see a huge fire in the sky, said Budworth.

So did I, and there was a profound sorrow in Mallie's mental tone.

Fire in the sky? Peter? Oh my God! Peter! Fire in the sky!

Confounded by Limo-34's telemetry, Commander Sakai leaned back in his chair, stretched, and indulged in a good yawn. He forced his mouth shut halfway through and arched out of the chair, punching up Limo-34's frequency.

"Limo-34, Limo-34, declare an emergency," he yelled into his headset.

"Oxygen levels are going back up again." Johnny swore as he did a final scan of the control panels just before the computers commenced the TLI-3 bum. "That can't be right."

"Well, the computers all agree," the copilot replied, "the levels are too low."

"They don't feel low," Johnny said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Peter yawned again, his cheeks tingling.

"Limo-34, Limo-34, declare an emergency," the voice of Commander Sakai blared over their headsets.

Oh my God! Peter! Rhyssa's voice shrieked in Peter's head. Fire in the sky!

"The computers have initiated TLI-3," Lieutenant Liu reported.

The computers! Peter shouted to Johnny. Johnny responded with a moment of sheer terror that he rapidly brought under control but it was too much for Peter.

Later, no one could quite remember what happened. Rhyssa felt a sudden wrench in her contact with Peter and collapsed against Dave. In Geneva, at the site of the newly commissioned CERN gestalt generators, Professor Gadriel swore as his latest set of circuits burned out, while in the background the generators keened in agony.

Commander Sakai dropped back to his seat in horror as the TDRs relayed the growing fireball in the sky when Limo-34's fuel tanks exploded.

With the image still burning in his mind, Commander Sakai punched up the admiral's office.

"Sir, this is Commander Sakai," he said, trying to keep his voice even. "There's been a terrible accident."