Pegasus In Space

6

Rhyssa invited Peter, Dorotea, and Amariyah to dinner with her family on his second night downside. Dorotea discreetly informed her that the first thing Peter had done was to ask Amariyah to help him pin up a digital print of the Arrakis over his treasured diagram of the Andre Norton. The second thing was to take a stroll though the grounds with Amariyah hanging on to his hand, so that she could show him what she'd been doing while he'd been away and question him about anything new in the Station hydroponics unit.

When he walked into Rhyssa's house the next night, she was instantly conscious of his air of competence and assurance. She embraced him gladly, allowing him to feel her delight in seeing him and her pride in his latest accomplishment.

I'm not at risk in space anymore, Rhys.

As Johnny would have it, you've been 'in space' since I sprang you from that awful hospital bed, she responded. "Oops, the thundering herd knows you're back!"

She stepped aside as her three-year-old son Eoin stampeded into the living room, yelling "Petey, Petey, Petey." Instantly Peter folded himself down to the child's level, smiling warmly, holding out one hand.

"Hey, there, Eoin, how's the man?"

In his brother's wake, Chester toddled as fast as he could pump his legs to clasp the other hand, squealing with delight.

They ignored Dorotea and Amariyah, dancing about until their mother settled their good friend on the couch where they could climb up on him.

"I guess I know who counts," Dorotea said with a disdainful sniff. "Evening, Dave, " she added when Lehardt arrived with a tray of drinks and handed her the dry sherry she preferred.

"They don't see Peter every day like they do us," Amariyah remarked imperturbably, sitting on the velvet footstool beside Dorotea's chair and smoothing the dress she and Tirla had bought for the occasion. It was the one Peter had liked best when they were shopping that afternoon. Going shopping-and to the Old-Fashioned Parlor of Gastronomical Delights-was almost a ritual for the three of them. "Thank you, Dave," she said, accepting the fruit juice Dave served her.

"Didn't know what you'd be drinking now that you're a certified space-walker, Pete."

"Same thing I drank when I wasn't," Peter replied, draping his arms about each of the two limpetlike boys as they snuggled into him.

Rhyssa sat close enough to remove either or both of her sons if they squirmed too much. Peter did slip free of one clinging paw so he could "hold" the glass of ice water Dave offered. The boys, who were close to their bedtime, were being very good so they could stay up longer. Rhyssa was grateful that Peter hadn't lost his calming effect on them. Rachelle would shortly come to take them for their bath.

"How d'you get on in space, Pete?" Dave asked as he gave his wife her cocktail and settled himself with his drink in the leather conformable chair.

"Well, book was made on whether or not I could hack the black."

"No kidding. They had a wager going?" Dave was amused. Rhyssa was not.

"Standard operating procedures, Rhys"' Peter said, sensing her annoyance. "They're always betting up there. On anything, like who'll be the next one to take a tumble or how big the fine'll be for losing work-hours."

"And I'll bet," Dorotea said proudly, "you were far too deft to incur a fine."

"I had to prove to Chief Silversmith that I wouldn't, you know."

"Oh?" asked Rhyssa, catching a flash of suppressed hubris. "The chief didn't like you?"

"Well," and Peter demurred, "I think I irritated him…" he shot a quick look at Rhyssa over Chester's head. Honest, I didn't peek. The guy radiated such waves of hostility I'd have to have been deaf not to be aware. Aloud he said, "I don't quite know why I ticked him off. I did everything he told me to."

Dorotea gave a polite chortle, tapping her lips with her knuckles, her eyes dancing.

"That might have had something to do with it," Rhyssa remarked.

"Probably he's never met anyone quite like you before," Dave said in a dry voice.

"There isn't anyone else like Peter," Amariyah said primly, eyeing Dave in dignified reproof.

Dave was accustomed to her blunt remarks and grinned. "You're quite right, of course, Amariyah, but petty officers in the navy are often a law to themselves."

"Chief Silversmith had to keep his reputation as an instructor," Peter told Amariyah. "I certainly didn't want him to fail with me." He made eye contact with Rhyssa. "He didn't have a bet on me, either way. I had the sense he didn't know which he wanted most-for me to fail or succeed."

"You had a choice?" Dave asked lightly.

"What do you think, Dave?" Rhyssa replied, wishing not for the first time that her husband had some empathy. He winked at her and she knew she'd taken his bait. She made a face at him. "Of course you had to succeed. Johnny was sure you would."

"Is that why he personally bird-dogged me and had extra grunts assigned to wherever I was working? I know for a fact he's not keen on EVA. And don't think I didn't feel Madlyn's touch every minute I was outside."

Rhyssa had the grace to look abashed. You know I had to.

"How do you know Johnny doesn't like working in space?" Dave asked, surprised.

"I just do," Peter said, and he lifted his shoulders in the general's characteristic shrug. "You get to know who likes EVA and who's the least bit nervous." A genuine case of mind over matter, Rhyssa.

"Why do they work in space then, if they're nervous?" Amariyah wanted to know.

"It's a good job and pays well," Peter said.

"And safe enough once Barchenka was no longer in charge," Dave remarked.

"Why? Wasn't it always safe?" Amariyah tilted her head inquiringly at Peter, wanting his opinion.

"No, it wasn't, Maree, but no one needs to worry about getting lost in space anymore."

"Why? Do you rescue them?" she asked, although she indicated there could be but one answer.

Peter dropped his eyes to his drink.

"Well, do you?" she insisted, leaning toward him. "You can do anything you want."

"I suspect that if Peter needed to rescue anyone, they wouldn't be aware of it. Would they, Peter?" Rhyssa asked.

He grinned at her. "More or less. Didn't happen often anyway. All they needed was a bit of a halt to stop their spin."

"Did you have eyes in the back of your helmet?" asked Dave, amused.

"No, I had Madlyn looking out for me and she knew the signs. "So," and his grin was self-deprecating, "it was more her than me, Maree, preventing the need for rescue."

"When I've learned hydroponics and work on the Space Station, will I get to go out into space? Will you rescue me if I need it, Peter?" Amariyah asked.

"Of course I will," he said stoutly.

Rachelle appeared in the doorway. Eoin and Chester saw her and clung to Peter's arms.

"You've had an extra fifteen minutes, boys," their father said, gesturing for them to go to Rachelle. They grumbled and shifted about, hoping for a reprieve.

"C'mon, boys. The bubbles are all ready for your swim," Rachelle said, holding out both hands.

"Which bubbles?" Eoin wanted to know, reluctant to leave Peter.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning, Eoin. You can tell me which ones then," Peter said, and gave the little boy a subtle push off the couch. Rachelle saw the obstinate look on Chester's round face and went to scoop him off the couch. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, too, Chester. It's great to be back!"

"I think dinner's ready," Rhyssa said, rising to her feet and indicating to Dave that he should escort Dorotea to the dining room.

During dinner, Rhyssa brought Peter up to date on all Center news. Lance Baden was back in Adelaide, flown directly into the Woomera Space Station, his contract for the Moon expansion completed. He would probably sign up for another. Dorotea had Peter repeat some of the tales he had recounted the previous evening of his experiences on Padrugoi. Rhyssa was not unaware of some of the pressures he had experienced. That was why the subtle Dorotea had prompted him to repeat them. Rhyssa had plenty of food for thought while Peter, with great relish, ate the meal she had prepared for him.

"Not that I can't get anything I want up at Padrugoi," he hastily amended.

"Food eaten in the company of good friends always has more savor," Dorotea said pontifically.

"Why? We're eating the same things you cooked last night," Amariyah said.

Dorotea cleared her throat and rolled her eyes heavenward at such tactlessness. Dave guffawed.

A bit like Tirla, isn't she? Peter said, reassuring Rhyssa with a wide grin. "I'd like seconds of the garlic potatoes, please. That's one thing they don't use on the Station."

"Why not? Garlic has many healthful properties," Amariyah said.

"It also has one effect that may not be appreciated in a recycled air environment," Dave said.

"What?" Amariyah asked.

"Bad breath," Dave replied, ignoring flatulence.

"Elephant garlic has no odor," the girl said.

"We take the point, Maree," Peter said, grinning with mischief.

"He's growing up," Rhyssa said wistfully to her husband when they were getting ready for bed that night.

" 'Bout time. And he's enjoying life. All of it, I hope." Dave rolled his eyes.

"David!" she said in protest, because his expression was slightly salacious. "He's only eighteen!"

"Honey, I'd had my first sex by the time I was sixteen."

"You did?"

"We won't go into that. It was youthful exuberance, love!"

"Peter's not sterile," she added. "The medics say that paraplegics can, you know."

"I know. I asked," Dave said.

"Then kindly don't encourage him."

"It's not for a guy to encourage him," Dave said with a second suggestive leer.

"David!"

"And he's closer to nineteen, you know." He tried to change the subject. "So he has a week home, and then another three being a stevedore?"

"Stevedore?" Rhyssa gave him another hard look for his word choice.

"All right, transport and construction kinetic!"

"That's better. I wonder who else we could send up to Padrugoi from the Center?"

"I thought you didn't want him to experience 'life' yet?" Dave asked, stacking the pillows behind him so he could watch Rhyssa at her nightly beauty ritual. Privately he didn't think she needed to fuss with creams and lotions, but he liked watching her.

"Another male his age. He's very lonely. I caught that."

"He is? I thought he was having the time of his life, doing what he's wanted most! Building a colony ship."

Rhyssa swung round from her dressing table mirror. "I couldn't let him go on a colony ship."

"Did I say he wanted to go on one? But sometimes, my telepathic darling, you don't notice the obvious."

Rhyssa blinked her eyes, then had to blot the cream out of them.

"He feels out of place," Dave explained. "He hasn't formed any friendships with the Station personnel."

"Even now he's doing EVA?"

"Dorotea noticed it. Amariyah didn't."

"How would you know that?" she asked.

"She'd've been on it like a shark. She doesn't miss much about Pete, you know."

"Oh, dear." Rhyssa paused in wiping off her cleansing cream. "We don't have another Tirla-Sascha item, do we?"

Dave shrugged. "That wouldn't be all bad, would it? What does Dorotea say?"

"It's true that Maree adores him. Almost-"Rhyssa paused to chuckle. "-as much as she does gardening."

"There're gardens on Padrugoi and at First Base. And I suspect they'll be even more important on that proposed Mars Base."

"If," and again Rhyssa paused a beat, "the Space Authority ever makes its mind up on the project."

"They have Pete now."

Rhyssa finished removing the cleanser. "Yes, they do, but do they know what they have in him?"

"I doubt it. Hey, come to bed, love."

On his nineteenth birthday, Peter opted to take his special friends to dinner in a well-recommended uptown ziggurat restaurant. Rhyssa, Dave, Johnny Greene, Lance Baden, Tirla, Sascha, Dorotea, and Amariyah were his guests. It was Amariyah's first adult outing and Tirla had taken her shopping. Amariyah Bantam had inherited her parents' estate, including their insurances, and they had been prudent managers, so she had independent means. Although the interest from the total-which was carefully invested by the Center's Financial Office-was more often spent in acquiring horticultural rarities, she could afford to dress herself stylishly. Peter had reserved a first balcony table, which had not only the hanging baskets of exotic flowers that fascinated Amariyah but an impressive, downtown view of Jerhattan. Theirs was a more sedate party than the one on the balcony above, which got louder and louder as the evening progressed.

Rhyssa, watch out! Amalda Vaden's telepathed warning distracted her from accepting her slice of birthday cake. It took Rhyssa a moment to wonder what Mallie was warning her against and then it was almost too late. She had little time to react because events had already been set in motion. The party above them had erupted into angry shouts and curses. She had time to try to get a shield out over Peter's guests. The next moment two bodies hurtled over the balcony railing and dropped, striking Peter flat against the table, knocking both Rhyssa and Amariyah, seated next to him, off their chairs.

Johnny and Lance "lifted" the pair off, dumping them unceremoniously to the floor to continue flailing at each other. Dave helped Rhyssa to her feet, Sascha went to Amariyah, who had been dazed by a blow to her head. Dorotea was bending over the unconscious Peter, feeling for a neck pulse. Amariyah surged to her feet, covered with cake, and lunged for Peter with an inarticulate cry. Tirla, being nearest, caught her. The child struggled, moaning with anguish.

He didn't have his shields up! Dorotea cried in consternation.

Why would he? At his birthday party and in a respectable restaurant, Rhyssa replied, caustic with fear and anger as Dave steadied her. I tried to help. Is Peter all right? She pulled Dave with her as she joined Dorotea examining him. How is Amariyah?

She's got cake all over her, Tirla said in disgust, and reached for napkins and a water glass.

Secure those two, Rhyssa said needlessly because Johnny and Lance had already exerted force on the drunken pair and they were locked motionless, face to face on the floor, arms outstretched as each was aiming blows at the other. Gargling sounds came from their throats but they couldn't move. I want a medical team here instantly, Sirikit, she 'pathed to the Duty Office at the Center. Johnny and Lance can 'port them. Just tell me who!

All conversation had ceased in the restaurant at the sound of the crash. Now curious guests were trying to see what had happened. Those on the upper floor were leaning over, their queries slurred by the drink they had taken. Two waiters came forward, one of them beckoning urgently to the maitre d' who hurried up the short flight of steps, undoubtedly forming apologies and stopping short as he took in the damage, and the inert body.

The lights of the restaurant dimmed as Johnny and Lance used that source of power to effect the arrival of the medicopter. Instantly the emergency trio homed in on Peter.

He's got broken bones, Dorotea said, anxiously wringing her hands. Peter had not yet developed osteoporosis but brittle bones were associated with long-term paralysis. His exercises on the Reeve Board and frequent massage were supposed to slow the onset.

Dave had an arm about Rhyssa's shoulders, trying to console her. Sascha gave them a short nod, indicating that he had reported the incident to LEO headquarters.

Boris is coming. Johnny, Lance, bring him in, Sascha added and suddenly there was a LEO copter hovering sideways outside the windows. Boris Roznine peered into the restaurant and then gave crisp orders. The copter swept away to the helipad on the next level. In moments, uniformed officers were rounding up those in the disruptive party. Boris arrived on the first balcony with two more officers. He halted when he saw Peter.

Is he all right? he asked Sascha.

We're checking. Those are the ones responsible. Bury them deep in the LEO cells, will you, bro?

As deep as the law allows me, was Boris's response and he signaled for assistance.

"Fractures to the right arm, leg, and rib cage," the emergency medic was reporting to Rhyssa. "I don't think his neck, or his back, are injured. His pelvis might be. A portable scanner's on its way in."

Rhyssa came as near to fainting as she ever had, leaning into Dave's supporting body. Dorotea started to weep. Lance, who was nearest, assisted her to a chair and ordered a brandy. Cursing and uttering dire threats in a variety of languages, Tirla was attempting to clean cake off Amariyah's pretty dress. Amariyah, tears streaming down her face, kept her eyes on Peter. Then Tirla grabbed the arm of one of the medics, and pointed to Amariyah.

"She's in shock," she said, and the woman swung round to check the dazed child.

I'm terribly, terribly sorry, Rhyssa, Mallie said. It all blew up so suddenly. One moment it was all right and then I felt the precog. How badly is Peter hurt?

We don't know yet. I saw the falling bodies and tried to shield him. The portable scanner just got here. He's alive. Tell me something good will come of this, Mallie. There's got to be something good out of it.

A long pause. He isn't going to die. He can't hurt, you know. He'll heal. I see nothing else.

Thanks.

Wish I'd been just that little bit faster, Mallie's repentant voice dwindled into silence.

"He will be all right, Rhyssa," Dave said. "He survived the wall. He'll survive this. He is a survivor!"

The portable MRI scanner was in place, clicking as it was slowly passed over the unconscious victim. Rhyssa leaned close enough to see the monitor that Bob Gerace, the emergency medic, was intently watching.

"Yup, buckle fracture of the humerus, three, no four, broken ribs, a hairline fracture of the right pelvic bone, a break in the femur, fortunately just past the joint so he'll," Gerace hesitated on "walk again" and then continued briskly, "well, nothing that won't mend. No internal injuries that are visible on the portable. It could have been worse, Rhyssa."

"It's quite bad enough as it is, Bob," she said tartly, and felt Dave's hands on her elbows, calming her. "No further damage to his spine?" she asked because she had to know.

"He had enough to begin with, Rhyssa," Gerace said with a grimace. "It was obviously a glancing blow, all the injuries are on the right side. Okay, people, let's immobilize him." He visibly winced at his choice of words, apologizing for his gaffe even as he placed a protective shell over Peter's upper arm.

With skill and speed, the breaks were given first aid. Johnny and Lance kinetically turned him over and laid him very, very carefully on the litter.

"D'you know Henry Hudson Hospital?" Gerace asked of no one in particular. "It's nearest."

"I do," Rhyssa said, turning to Johnny and Lance. Take the placement from my mind. She let them see the accident and emergency facility at the uptown hospital.

Again the lights dimmed as the 'port was made.

On the level above, indignant guests were complaining about being detained by LEO officers. Conversations were muted in the main dining room and most of the curious diners had gone back to their tables.

"C'mon," Boris said, with a jerk of his head in the direction of the stairs. "I'll fly the rest of you there."

"I think, if you don't mind, I'd like to take Amariyah home," Dorotea said.

"We'll come with you," Tirla said, gesturing for Sascha to accompany them.

"I'll get transport," Boris said, giving a crisp order on his wristcom.

The maitre d' was hovering on the fringe. "Ah, there's the matter of the bill…" he began, and then backed off, scissoring his hands to indicate he hadn't meant that at all as Boris and Sascha both glared fiercely at him.

Boris motioned for the others to follow him to the helipad. They reached the accident ward just as Peter was being taken to surgery. He had not regained consciousness but Bob Gerace and the resident orthopedic man had conferred over the results of the MRI and decided how to proceed. Gerace was trying to argue the doctor out of anesthesia since Peter had no feeling in his body.

"What if he wakes up in the middle of the procedure?" the man demanded.

"I am Rhyssa Owen Lehardt," she said, marching up to him. "I will be present. Just in case he decides to 'port himself out of reach. Which is, I assure you, the more likely danger than that he would have any sensation. He also reacts badly to anesthesia."

"Oh." The doctor acquiesced without a single word about hospital protocol.

"We'll be right outside," Johnny said in his best military voice.

Peter did not regain consciousness until he was in the bed of a private suite of rooms in the Henry Hudson Hospital.

You're all right, Peter, Rhyssa said in the softest possible 'path when his eyes slowly opened. I'm right here.

He blinked, swallowing. He didn't feel a thing but he could smell "hospital" around him. He turned his head toward her.

"What happened? One minute I'm cutting the cake…"

She explained tersely.

"I can't feel a thing, you know."

"Fortunately," she replied in a light tone. "They've glued you back together. You're in one piece again."

"That's good," he said, matching her levity. "Maybe I should have taken you all up to Padrugoi. The view there is terrific, too, you know."

"You'd've at least had your shield protecting you up there," she retorted, letting some of her anxiety show.

He made a face. "I should've kept a shield up. I'm sorry, Rhyssa, but I didn't think I'd need it at my birthday party. And in such a respectable restaurant." Scaring her, he shot upright in the bed. "Did anyone remember to pay the bill?"

Rhyssa was on her feet beside him, trying to get him to lie back as the monitor caught the rise in his vital signs and set off the alarm. Nurses and a doctor rushed in, gawked to see the multiple-fracture patient able to sit upright in the bed.

"He's all right. He's a kinetic. He can do this," Rhyssa explained.

"I don't care what he is, madam," the doctor said, attempting to push Peter down to the mattress. "He's on complete bed rest."

"Peter!" Rhyssa said, urging him with voice and gesture to a supine position.

"How'd he do that?" asked the nurse who was examining the monitor screen.

"Trade secret," Peter said, suddenly hoarse. "I'm thirsty and hungry and I missed my birthday cake."

The intern was not amused but, after he had assured himself that the antics had not interfered with the newly set bones, he left.

Rhyssa didn't know whether to cry with relief or give Peter a piece of her mind.

No need to do either, Peter said. "But I am hungry and I am thirsty and I don't know where the kitchens are in this place."

"We have one handy," Rhyssa said, and went to the serving facility of the suite to see what was on hand. "Just about anything you want. A piece of birthday cake will take a little longer."

I'll make one immediately, Dorotea said in her mind, immeasurably relieved.

How long have you been listening? Rhyssa wanted to know.

I didn't stop listening, Dorotea replied in a tart mental tone. What kind of cake do you want?

I'd like double chocolate with boiled icing, Peter promptly replied.

I'll just turn the oven on and get Amariyah to help me. And, if she isn't allowed to see Peter at the first available moment, I won't be responsible for her mental state.

Could she hear me, Dorotea? Peter asked, his expression anxious.

Try. She might just be receptive. She's been so worried about you! Good Lord. I think she did hear you. She's just stopped that silent weeping of hers. She's got the funniest expression on her face. Yes, Amariyah, Rhyssa's with him and we're to bake a chocolate cake with boiled icing to make up for the one he didn't get to eat. All right, now just get out the big bowls.

"Is Dorotea 'pathing to her?" Peter asked, astonished.

"No, she's vocalizing to Amariyah. Juice? There's anything you can name."

"Apple if there is some."

"Apple it is," and Rhyssa returned quickly with a large glass. "Don't you dare sit up again, Peter Reidinger. You're to use a straw or that monitor will have them all in here again."

While he dutifully sipped, she sent word to those waiting anxiously to hear from her. Dave, Lance, and Johnny were in the cafeteria, drinking coffee. They came up to reassure themselves with the vision of Peter, 'porting the glass and dutifully sipping from a straw. Then Dave insisted on taking Rhyssa home. Johnny said he'd take the first shift and Lance made himself comfortable in the small guest room of the suite.

"Can't I have pretty nurses?" Peter asked with mock petulance.

"I know it's breakfast time," Dorotea said when she and an anxious Amariyah arrived in Peter's room the next morning, bearing a covered cake dish and a bouquet of choice blooms from their gardens.

Amariyah instantly put the flowers down and laid her hands delicately on Peter's right arm.

"Do you hurt?" she asked, gently touching each of the break sites as if to reassure herself.

"I can't hurt, honey. My body has no feeling, you know."

"That doesn't mean you can't hurt," she replied, her fingers lingering. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a carefully folded square. "Where shall I put it?" she asked, unfolding the paper.

Peter identified the drawing as a copy of his talisman, the diagram of the Andre Norton.

"Good thinking, Maree. Over there, right across from the bed. Stick it over that stupid print. Did you bring tape?"

She nodded, bringing the roll out of the other pocket. "I knew you'd need this to help you get well," she told Peter.

Alerted by their voices, Lance entered the patient's room and helped her stick it up.

"You're here early, Dorotea," he said, finishing that task.

"You didn't think I had much choice, did you?" Dorotea said dryly, indicating Amariyah.

The girl settled herself on the chair at the foot of Peter's bed and said not another word, except "thank you" when she was offered her slice of cake.

The staff of Henry Hudson Hospital began to notice the various notable people who came to visit the young multiple-fracture case on the thirty-sixth floor of the medical ziggurat. Rhyssa, who came daily, was identified by one of the empaths in the hospital as the head of the Eastern Parapsychic Center. The fact that there were LEO guards posted in the waiting room on Peter's hall was soon common gossip. The floor nurses mentioned that he was a nice young man, not at all demanding, unfailingly polite, cute in a "young" way, and very personable. One oddity, though, was that he had not been prescribed pain medication, despite having six fractures and severe contusions. Everyone loved a mystery, which spiced up dull and repetitive duties no end. And he had such visitors! LEO Commissioner Boris Roznine was recognized. He arrived with his twin brother, Sascha, and Sascha's exotic-looking young wife, Tirla. She and her husband were in every day. Jerhattan Mayor Teresa Aiello paid several short visits. But when General John Greene, on whom one of the radiologists had had a crush since he had survived his crash as a famous etop pilot, arrived with his wife, the Senator, in the company of Admiral Dirk Coetzer, Peter Reidinger was established as a celebrity. Their colleagues tried to find out why a nineteen-year-old boy attracted such distinguished guests and quizzed the floor nurses. Naturally, every ambulatory patient who could, found some business on the thirty-sixth floor, welcoming the diversion.

A spry older silver-haired woman and a pretty black-haired girl visited every day with flowers and homemade cakes and cookies but they weren't relatives nor were they recognizable personages. His grandmother and perhaps his sister, though the patient bore no resemblance to either.

Of course the circumstances of the disgraceful accident were public knowledge. An entire chapter of a fraternal organization was charged with drunk and disorderly conduct as well as causing grievous bodily harm during a fracas in one of the uptown restaurants. The LEO guard made certain that no known member of the media dallied on the floor to pester the victim. Nevertheless, Peter's amiability was sorely stretched by casual visits from fellow patients and staff.

"I don't mind, really," Peter told Rhyssa on the morning of his sixth day in hospital, "but I can't even change my damned bag unless I lock the door. And then they pound on it, asking if I'm all right."

"At least I was able to get the vid-cam turned off so you can be private. " She pointed to the wall brackets where a security camera had been located.

"Look, Rhys, can't you get it through their heads that I'm okay? That I can leave here?"

"Not until those breaks begin to mend, Peter," Rhyssa said firmly to end that argument.

"Do I have to stay in this damned bed all the time?"

"It really is wiser, Peter. You may not feel anything, but the least little jar might displace those bones. You've seen the scan report. You know how many fractures you have. Give them a chance. I'll spring you from here," and she smiled winningly, "as soon as possible. There's no reason you can't work from Dorotea's, you know."

"So this is my vacation for the year?" He 'ported his right arm up, cast and all, gesturing around the room.

"Don't do that to me, Peter," Rhyssa said, hand on her chest in alarm at his movement. "And no, this is sick leave. Which I don't think you've claimed ever since you came to the Center. Where would you like to go to convalesce? Down to Florida… lie in the sun, swim in the sea?"

"I just want to get out of here," he repeated, as near to sulky as Peter ever got, shaking his head from side to side on the pillows. "And I'd rather be on Padrugoi than Florida," he added.

Johnny! Johnny! Please wake up, Johnny. Peter's urgent voice roused the general.

"Huh? What?"

Johnny, it's Peter Wake up!

Johnny tried to focus his eyes on the digital clock on the bedside table. For God's sake, d'you know the time?

She's giving me a bath!

Who's giving you a bath? Johnny gave the clock a second look. Yes, it was three-thirty in the morning.

The nurse.

Which one? Johnny said, suddenly quite alert and grinning.

Does it matter which one? Peter's voice sounded desperate. I had a bath this morning!

If you don't want a bath, or anything else, dump her in the corridor, with the bathwater, lock the door, and let me get back to sleep.

He settled the covers over his shoulders and snuggled up to his wife's warm body. He wondered if it was the redheaded nurse who had tried to seduce the kid.

As far as Johnny knew, Peter followed his advice; neither made mention of that three-thirty A.M. call. During his morning visit the next day, he avoided eye contact. He did notice that Peter's face was flushed when he entered. So Johnny became all business. He'd brought with him some of the elements that were waiting to be transported, one way or another, to the Moon Base.

"I know this accident has put us all off schedule, Pete," Johnny said, pulling a chair closer to the bed. "And it's going to affect their perception of you."

"Why? I didn't have an accident, it happened to me."

"I know, I know, Pete. But you're going to have to convalesce and pass their physical before you'll be allowed back up to the Station."

At the flow of indignant curses Peter let out, Johnny realized that one facet of his education had been remarkably enhanced during his Station employment.

"Where'd you learn all that?" asked the general.

"Oh, the grunts are colorful."

"Just don't let Rhyssa or Dorotea hear that kind of language, or my name'll be mud."

"I'm not stupid," Peter said sharply.

"Never thought you were, Pete. Well, to the matter at hand. Dirk's on our side," Johnny said, passing sheets over that Peter "held" in front of him. "Especially after I showed him the Bollard Thrust. I've been saving that one for a propitious moment. But we've now got to overcome the reaction to your broken bones."

"It's not my bones that teleport," Peter said in an angry sullen tone. He hated hospitals. He hated nurses-especially after last night's incident. He had dumped the bathwater on her after he had kinetically ejected her from his room. Bet she hadn't known he could do that! But the incident had upset him a great deal. She'd thought he was helpless. Everyone thought he was helpless: built like one of those beanpoles in Amariyah's vegetable garden. No one knew what he could really do if he set his mind to it. Even himself! Then he caught Johnny's blink of surprise and he tried to suppress his anger and deep frustration.

Johnny had never heard that tone from him. Peter was invariably good-humored and willing. He wondered if he should have responded differently to that early morning conversation. He shot a sideways glance at his profile. Pete wasn't bad looking, in a young sort of way. He had the sort of features that would age well. And right now, he'd have an especial appeal that could easily rouse feminine lust. Or was it the mothering instinct that Pete awakened?

"We always bill you as the mind-over-matter kid, skeleteam," Johnny said in a careless drawl. "So let's use that strength to our advantage. Now the design of these babies," and he indicated the glossies of the grossly clumsy freighters that Peter was examining. "Originally, we were shoving projectiles, especially devised to break free of gravity and penetrate an atmosphere. These," and he flicked one with his finger that was a collection of diversely shaped objects secured to a framework, "wouldn't last in gravity but should be easy to maneuver in space."

Peter moved that one out of the hovering pack and examined it closely. He gave a little snort and glanced down at the manifest, noting its dimensions and mass.

"We shifted heavier stuff than this from Earth to Padrugoi," Peter responded, slightly indignant. "If nothing's fallen off it before now, it won't in a 'portation."

"I figured that out myself," Johnny said caustically. "I know, you know, Lance knows, Dirk knows. No one-except Rhyssa-thought you could land a shuttle in a monsoon at Dhaka. You did. Only a few folks thought you could shift heavy drones from surface to Station, too. We'll just have to shift something like these, the pickup sticks" and he added the picture of a massive bundle of plasteel girders to those orbiting Peter's face, "to convince their plodding earthbound minds."

Peter made a face. "They're not that massive."

"Neither were the chips you sent to Lance," Johnny said.

Peter shot him a glance. "These are not that light," and quickly he broke eye contact, flushing again.

"It's still a matter of mathematics, Pete," Johnny reminded him. "And you don't have to cope with gravity. Just a slow easy thrust… sending the load on its way."

Peter's expression altered from outright denial to thoughtful consideration.

"Look, Pete, you keep telling me that all you need is a place to stand. Right?" And when Peter hesitated, Johnny went on. "So you stand on Padrugoi and 'port to First Base. You'd have all that power available and that's megawatts more than you had for the monsoon caper. Even more than in Florida, until I made them upgrade the power system." Johnny's lips twitched, remembering just how quickly he'd been able to get funding for additional power once Barchenka started seeing the supply shuttles homing in. The bitch had been good for something.

"But that's still a lot of mass to shift!"

"Okay, so we shift mass!"

"We?" Peter caught him up on the use of that pronoun with an ironic grin.

"Yeah, yeah, this time I'd be in the 'port, I promise you' " and Johnny crossed his heart. "But I proved to you that you could shift something all the way to the Moon, didn't I? So, we build on that. We use windows when the Moon's at perigee in respect to the Station."

"That only cuts it down about fifty thousand klicks," Peter was still skeptical.

"Every bit helps," Johnny blithely reminded him. "Or," and he pretended to submit a second option, "we could send lighter components. Reassembly's an option, you know. First Base has the technicians."

"Is Lance back up there?"

"No, but he could be," Johnny reassured him. "We could push and Lance could catch. No matter how little or how much we send on its way, First Base is that much further ahead. Look, it's put-up or shut-up time, Pete. Fuel's just gone up in cost and you know how much those guzzling freighters take to break loose from the Padrugoi orbit. Dirk's counting on you, too. If we don't show the Space Authority a cheaper way to continue with our expansion into this system," and Johnny paused a beat to emphasize his next words, "they might abandon it entirely."

"No!" Peter jerked upright at that, staring in alarm at the general, his face paling at the thought.

"Well, I wouldn't like that any more than you would, Pete. We'd both be out of the jobs we love. So, look this stuff over. Get familiar with the shape and mass of them. Think hard about just easing them," and Johnny linked his hands, emulating wings gliding through the air, "where they need to go." He dumped the pile of pictures onto Peter's lap. "Hell, for that matter," and this was an honest inspiration, "we could get them to set up a midway station. All I'm asking you to do now is think about it."

Peter looked over at the door and Johnny heard the click as he locked it. "People barge in here all the time." He activated the electrical unit that altered the bed into a sittingposition. He rearranged the pictures into a semicircle in the air around him.

"Whatever suits you, Pete." Johnny settled back down on the chair by the bed and, crossing his legs, idly swung one foot as his partner looked keenly at each picture.

There was a tentative knock on the door. "Who is it?" Johnny called.

"Nurse Roche," was the reply.

Peter's eyes rounded and he shook his head vigorously. Don't let her in!

"Come back in a few minutes, Nurse," Johnny called, without interrupting the motion of his swinging foot. He kept his expression bland. "D'you think those girders will give us a problem?"

"Uh? Oh, no, I don't think so." Peter glanced back at the specs, glad to concentrate on them. "Those plasglass panels might. Odd shapes."

He hadn't looked at more than three sheets before there was another knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Johnny called.

"Dorotea and Amariyah," was the muffled response.

"Oh, in that case, advance and be recognized," Johnny quipped, unlocking the door and standing up. He swept a low bow to the visitors, laden with flowers and Peter's favorite cookies.

Johnny didn't stay long after that but took the sheets with him. "Top secret, you know. 'Bye, now," and he waggled his fingers at Dorotea and Amariyah.

Peter was safe enough with them. However, the nurse he passed on his way down the hall was a very attractive redhead. She had a determined look on her face as she stopped outside the room he had just left. He wondered if she were Nurse Roche.

Peter was released from hospital three days later, the orthopedic specialist astounded by the rapidity with which the fractures had knitted. The ribs and the humerus fracture were almost healed.

"Most unusual, most unusual," he said, frowning at the evidence on the scan monitor. "Especially with the presence of some osteopenia and muscle atrophy."

"He's good about his Board exercises, swims almost daily, and has been conscientious in taking supplements. He's never been sick," Rhyssa said. "Since he joined the Center, that is," she added hastily when the doctor's eyebrows rose in surprise. She was equally surprised but wondered if such rapid recovery was some facet of Peter's maturing Talent. He was bound and determined to leave the hospital at the earliest opportunity. Not that she blamed him, knowing his antipathy to a hospital environment. With all the visitors, he wasn't getting enough rest either but she couldn't exactly hint to the admiral or the mayor to suspend their kindly meant visits. "Since there is knitting, can he leave now? We'll take very good care of him, I assure you. We're just as anxious that he heals completely as you are. He spent so long in the hospital after the other accident, I know he'll progress much more rapidly at home."

"Highly irregular, Ms. Lehardt. Ordinarily I would insist that he went to a convalescent home where proper nursing care is available twenty-four hours."

"He isn't ordinary, Doctor," Rhyssa said gently, and the doctor flushed. "He'll do much better with Ms. Horvath, I assure you. She's an excellent nurse and very strict. She won't let him lift a finger." She smiled at her most radiant and charmingly insistent, and with firm mental assurances.

"Medically I have no reason to keep him here," he said, tapping the scan's evidence. "It isn't as if he's on a course of medication."

Rhyssa was able to sense the reason the doctor wanted him to remain: he'd never had a chance to examine a parapsychic before. There had to be something that would show up on a Somatosensory Evoke Potential. But he doubted he could get permission to do one. This kid was too well connected to be used as a guinea pig. Reluctantly he agreed and signed the release.

Peter was nearly bouncing off the firm hospital mattress before the doctor was out the door.

"Hang on, will you, Peter? I've the Center ground vehicle in the parking lot. The hospital'll insist you go down on a grav-pad but don't… for Pete's sake," and she grinned at him, "fall out of your multiple-fracture role? Okay?"

He 'ported the clothes she had brought and she discreetly retired to the guest room while he put them on. Then she called for the transport and waited, Peter almost vibrating with anticipation. It seemed to take a long time. Then both of them became aware of voices in the hall, growing louder and louder. She opened the door to see four nurses arguing, with some heat, as to who was to escort Mr. Reidinger. If Peter pulled his head back in dismay, he also came as close to levitating his body onto the grav-pad as made no difference. The other nurses followed them to the elevator, pleasantly chatting about how glad they were he was well enough to go home, that he was to take it easy and not overdo, and they were glad to have been of assistance to him.

Only when the ground vehicle swung away from the exit did he seem to relax into his seat with an exaggerated sigh of relief. "That glad to go home, Peter?" Rhyssa asked.

"You've no idea!" he said fervently.