Pegasus In Space

16

They 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 lefthand 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.

In 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 light-pen 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.

On 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.

"Now…" Johnny rubbed his hands together. "What have we got for today? You get a special demonstration, Lance. We got some heavy stuff," and he asked for the list on one of the programmable screens. "And number one is heavy. Pete, you take that."

"Hey, they're both on First Base," Lance said, sitting up straight.

"Yeah, ain't they?" Johnny replied, grinning at him.

"You," and Lance pointed at the general, "can make First Base?"

"Yup, with a little help from my friend here."

"Remember that bollard on the parking field?" Peter asked, thinking that this was an appropriate time to mention the Gadriel circuits.

No. Not yet, said Johnny very tightly. He went on out loud. "It was 'South America' in the astronomy office for me," Johnny said, enjoying Lance's look of awe. "Pete conned me into sending ten kilos to the astronomy office at First Base. South America," he added in voice command and Peter's carefully detailed image came up on the screen.

"Well, I never!" Lance began. "How much can you shift?" he asked, professionally intrigued.

"I don't want to make him run before he can walk," Peter replied, mimicking Johnny's drawl.

"Wish I could get the hang of the gestalt," Lance said ruefully, shaking his head.

"You're not the only one," Johnny remarked, cocking his head significantly at Peter. "Still we won't hold that against you, will we, Pete?"

Abruptly the main screen lit up with the head and shoulders of a very worried Dirk Coetzer. His eyes took in the three men in the office.

"Good, you're all there." He took a deep breath as he turned to Peter. "I know this may be totally impossible, Pete, but we've just had a Mayday from Marspolar. They've had an equipment failure. The humidifier's conked out. Has been for days and now other sensitive equipment is showing the effects. So are their tempers. If we don't get replacement parts to them in the next two days, there'll be major system failures." He paused.

"You know, Dirk," Johnny drawled, "the three of us might just be able to make it that far. If the spares aren't heavy."

Are you out of your tree? Lance exclaimed.

No, just out on a limb.

"We'll need the clearest visuals of Marspolar you have, Dirk," Peter said. "Do you have replacement parts on hand up here?"

"In the priority cargo net, ready for the supply ship due to go next week. Next week'll arrive too late," he said grimly. He looked to one side. "Thanks, Nicola. Waybill AF 44MPS8276."

"I copy," Peter said.

"I fetch," Johnny said and the vacuum-sealed units appeared on the table in the lounge of the office suite, covering it.

Lance whistled.

I'm getting very good at this, Johnny said. "Doesn't mass much, Pete."

This time, General Greene, you do the 'port with me!

You bet!

"Where's my visual, Dirk?"

"There's not much space available, Pete. The dome is cramped."

"Surely they have a table to eat off of," Peter said testily. His mind was humming as he anticipated the demand on his abilities.

"Yes, but I don't have any visual of the catering area."

"A workstation?" Peter was getting anxious. It was inconceivable that there wasn't anything available to "see." "Surely there've been tapes of their accommodations, their work spaces, the hydroponics unit?"

"The Amazon craft they came in would be empty," Johnny suggested, and called up a visual of the interior of the Mars ship. "Enough space there. I got the VIP tour when it was up on the gantries."

"Might be a tight fit," Peter said.

"Plenty of floor space right now." Johnny added dimensions of the main cabin at the base of the visual.

"They went to Mars in that?" Lance was incredulous, his eyes flicking around the much larger office. "No wonder they don't have spares."

"Used parachute drones to land supplies. Tedious work." Johnny shot Peter a look.

"We'll give our best shot, Dirk," Peter said, physically and clumsily moving to the chair at the engineering station. He didn't want to waste an ounce of mental energy before this crucial long 'port. Thank God for Tomas Gadriel. The circuits would make the difference.

I'm with you all the way, Pete, Johnny said, skidding his chair over to Peter's and gripping his arm. Lance pushed in on the other side, taking Peter's free hand in a firm clasp.

The generators sang the most beautiful C major chord Peter had ever heard.

Peter got "hold" of the net.

Take the biggest breath you can, kid.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Johnny's chest rising. He inhaled, thinking firmly of the net and its lifesaving units sitting in the center of the Amazon's cabin space. As he 'ported, he felt Johnny's wide-open mind pushing with him, and a second reinforcement-nowhere near as strong but steady. Lance! He might not be able to initiate the gestalt but he could sure give it a shove, his grasp warm and firm on Peter's.

Then, like running into a wall in the dark, Peter felt a psychic stop. God! Had he missed? Had he reached his limit somewhere out there between Earth and Mars? Would men and women die because he was overconfident?

Breathe, kid.

Peter felt the elbow in his ribs. Opening his eyes he exhaled, sparkles of imminent anoxia dancing before his eyes. He let himself collapse in the chair.

"Have you done it yet?" Dirk asked anxiously, his eyes dark with concern. Someone loomed beside him on the screen. "Shandin said the generators went off the gauge."

"We can't be certain, Dirk," Johnny said, panting. "But we sure did give it a damned good try, the three of us…" He grinned at Lance. Tone-deaf he may be, but he's an asset. We'll tell him how and why later. "Knew you'd be a help. Tell Captain Vartry to look in their ship. Only space we knew wouldn't be occupied."

"Yes, of course, the ship would be a logical telepad." Dirk Coetzer took a deep breath, his eyes unfocusing briefly.

"Now don't get any ideas, Dirk," Johnny cautioned him, quickly raising one hand in restraint.

"No, no, of course not," he said, but there was just that little curl of his mouth that suggested he was not above thinking ahead. "There's a communications lag, you know."

"I know," Johnny said. "It's only thirty-seven million miles from here. Take exactly 198.6 seconds-3 minutes and 18.6 seconds."

"That long?" Peter said, desperately wanting it all to have happened simultaneously.

"And to come back," Johnny said with admirable sangfroid.

"Drink this," Lance said, putting a glass of orange juice in front of Peter, who was leaning limply back in his chair, and fresh coffee in front of Johnny.

Do you realize what we just did? Peter asked.

We shipped a package all the way to Mars, that's what we just did, Johnny replied.

We hope, Peter said with a gulp. We also just merged our minds. We did WHAT? Johnny leaned forward so quickly that he nearly knocked the cup off the surface.

Lance stared at Peter, his mouth dropping open.

I felt you, and Peter pointed at the General, and then you, his finger went to Lance, come in to help me push. We were all in on that one! Oh, we've talked together over distance, but we've never combined to 'port anything. This, my friends, is a major breakthrough! With that declaration, Peter lifted his glass and toasted them both.

"But, if you did," Coetzer went on, unaware of that telepathic exchange.

"If we did," Johnny said, winking at Peter and Lance, "there'd be a new contract. And there would be a new organization for you to deal with."

"What?" The admiral didn't quite absorb that.

Johnny! Peter protested.

"Let's just bide our time," Johnny said smoothly. "It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings. And we sure want to hear her."

In his office, Dirk was fiddling with a pencil file, turning it over and over in one hand, glancing to his left.

Johnny sipped his coffee. Peter drank his juice. Then, resorting to physical means, he walked himself to the serving alcove and found apples and carrots. He clumped back to his station, aware of Lance watching him. He wished he were a little more graceful but that would come. He hadn't quite the muscular strength in his thighs to sit smoothly and flopped down.

Johnny doodled.

Lance tapped his fingers.

Dirk Coetzer kept running the file through his fingers.

The comm bleeped.

Everyone jumped.

"They got the message," Shandin's voice said. "Vartry's going out to the ship."

Johnny's doodles got wilder.

Lance went to the head.

The tension in the office was thick enough to cut.

Peter finished an apple and thought seriously about a carrot. He looked at the records for generator use. He hadn't had the pads on so he didn't know how many calories he had burned in that 'port. He wished now that he had since that data would be necessary, he fervently hoped, in the future.

Dirk was now swinging back and forth in his chair, looking anywhere but into the screen and at the three telekinetics. He rubbed his face.

Peter rubbed his face, prickly with short bristles of beard that he was finally growing.

More time elapsed.

We could 'port some of these, Peter suggested, wanting to do something. There were some downside 'ports he felt up to doing.

You're a glutton for punishment, Johnny said.

Are you okay, Johnny? Peter reached out to close his fingers about his friend's arm.

Well, I did take a deep breath, but if there was another piece of that pie?

I'll get it, Lance said, rising.

"You're eating, aren't you, Pete?" Dirk asked.

THEY GOT IT! Madlyn Luvaro's loud voice was never more welcome. DASH SAYS CAPTAIN VARTRY HAS IT! IT'S THERE! YOU DID IT! YOU DID IT!

Johnny shouted the message out loud.

Dirk Coetzer leaped from his chair, arms flung out, face split with the joy of success. The next moment the screen showed him dancing about his office with Nicola as a startled partner.

Peter stared at the sight, for a moment weak with relief before exultation flooded his mind, soul, and body. Johnny was yodeling like a drunken cowboy, clapping his hands over his head, folding them into the victory sign. Lance was doing some sort of stamping dance around the room.

A pounding on the door reached Peter first. Dirk Coetzer was still in his office so who was at the door, wanting in so urgently? It took Peter a little effort to sense Ceara was on the other side of the door. He hurried across the room, making his legs stride, grateful that he could make such a physical effort because his mind was still reeling from that thrust. Not something they could do on a regular basis. Yet!

"Oh, Peter," Ceara cried, throwing her arms about his neck. "I've the most wonderful news for you."

Peter hugged her tightly, chuckling.

"What's happened?" she exclaimed, suddenly aware of the antics in the room and on the screen. "I've never seen the admiral like that before."

Peter whirled her about in his own excess of joy, their movements automatically activating the door-closure mechanism. This was his moment, to share with his closest friends.

"What's happened? You're glowing with it, Peter. Oh, please tell me."

"Mars, Ceara!" Johnny said, crowing. "We 'ported to Mars!"

She clung to Peter's arms for support as she assimilated the information. Her face mirrored the feelings that engulfed Peter. He'd thought 'porting to First Base, to prove to Taddesse, Leitao, and Abubakar that he could, had been triumphant. This was an even greater achievement-a merge of minds.

"Oh, it is indeed your day," Ceara said, grinning like a fool at Johnny and Lance, and still in Peter's arms. She took a deep breath and Peter could sense she had something important to tell him. "Finn and the commander just okayed the reversal." She pointed to the side on which he carried the appliance. "You won't need that anymore."

He was stunned. Now it was Ceara who supported him.

Sometimes one could have too much joy, Peter thought, as she helped him back to his chair. Johnny thrust a slice of chocolate cake in his face. Lance held out orange juice in one hand and a shot glass of brandy in the other.

"Shock!" Ceara was saying. "He's in shock."

"He and the rest of us," said Dirk Coetzer, swinging into the room, a bottle of champagne in each hand, his face reflecting the morning's glorious achievement. Shandin, Nicola, Madlyn, and Dash Sakai followed him into the office, all as euphoric as the admiral.

Let us not, in our euphoria, mention to Dirk anything about merging minds right now. And we have some good news for you, Lance, when we've a break in all this excitement. "Now, Dirk," Johnny went on, gesturing for Nicola to fill his glass to the brim, "this isn't something we can do on an everyday basis."

"You delivered the goods where they were needed most," and Dirk thumped Johnny on the back. Less vigorously but every bit as enthusiastically, he clapped Peter on the shoulder. "A toast, now everyone has a glass." He held his up. "First the Moon, now Mars." Everyone repeated the toast. "My God, I'm proud of you!"

"We're not unpleased ourselves," Johnny allowed, beaming as broadly as the admiral did.

In a flash, Peter reviewed what had begun as a simple wish to leave a hospital environment and be freed of his invalid restrictions. He had learned to kinetically manage a seemingly helpless body. He'd been able to send materiel and supplies to help complete Padrugoi. He had been at the Space Station's Inauguration and prevented a mutiny. He had learned to hack the black and help build the Andre Norton. He had reached out to the Moon and made First Base. There he had found that Callisto was the place for him to stand to 'port colony ships to the distant stars. Amariyah's gift had completed the healing process of his once useless body and he, who had never expected to be whole, had reached full manhood. How much further could he go now, with all the possibilities of the Gadriel tuning and mind-merge that he, Johnny, and Lance had discovered?

With a slightly possessive and very loverly arm about Ceara's shoulders, Peter lifted his glass.

"A man's reach must exceed his grasp," he said, grinning at everyone in the room.