PROLOGUE

 

*$• ^ During the late twentieth century's exploration

of space, a major breakthrough occurred in the validation

and recording of extrasensory perceptions, the so-called

paranormal, psionic abilities long held to be spurious. An

alternate application of the Goosegg, an extremely sensi-

tive encephalograph developed to scan brain patterns of

the astronauts who suffered from sporadic ' 'bright spots,''

temporarily diagnosed as cerebral or retinal malfunction,

was inadvertenfly discovered when the device was used

to monitor a head injury in an intensive-care unit of Jer-

hattan. The patient, Henry Darrow, was a self-styled

clairvoyant with an astonishing percentage of accurate

"guesses." hi his case, as the device monitored his brain

patterns, it also registered the discharge of unusual elec-

trical energy as he experienced a clairvoyant episode. For

the first time there was scientific proof of extrasensory

perception.

 

Henry Darrow recovered from his concussion to

found the first Center for Parapsychics in Jerhattan and

to formulate the ethical and moral premises that would

grant those with valid, and demonstrable, psionic tal-

ents certain privileges and responsibilities in a society

basically skeptical, hostile, or overtly paranoid about

such abilities.

 

Extrasensory perception—or Talent, as it came to be

called—came in varying strengths and forms. Simple,

short-range telepathy was fairly common, once inhibi-

tions were discarded. But there were also one-way tele-

1

 

 

 

 

2           PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

paths, people who could send their thoughts but not receive those of others, and people who could receive

thoughts but not send. Others were empaths, able to

adjust immediately to the moods of those around them,

sometimes quite unconsciously. Telempaths could sense

and react to extreme or more distant emotions; some of

these were able to redirect emotion, by broadcasting

other emotions or by neutralizing the negative—such

Talents proved to be invaluable in crowd control, for

they could keep a throng from turning into a senseless

mob. But the most valuable of the telepaths were those

who could both receive and broadcast thought, speaking

to other minds anywhere in the world.

 

Telekinetics— Talents who could move physical ob-

jects by sheer mental power—were also invaluable, their

abilities ranging from lifting heavy machinery to ma-

nipulating on micro levels.

 

Clairvoyants or precogs could see future events, either

close at hand, or at some remove from their present. Very

often their visions allowed the future to be altered and

disasters to be averted. Some clairvoyants had special af-

finities: some sensed events revolving around fire, water,

or wind; others were more apt to perceive children, or

violence, or criminal intentions.

 

Finders also had affinities—some could locate people

or animals, while others were able to sense inanimate

objects—and their abilities could vary greatly in range.

 

Talent came in many forms and guises, and not all

of the viable types had, as yet, been recognized. The

various centers, worldwide, constantly searched for the

less dramatic gifts because the need had now far out-

stripped the supply. For those potential few, the train-

ing was arduous, and the rewards did not always

compensate for the unswerving dedication required by

their taxing positions.

 

And yet to be found Talented became the aspiration

of many, and the triumph of few.

 

They have been at a great feast of

languages, and stolen the scraps.

 

—William Shakespeare.

 

CHAPTER 1

 

V *•* Tiria took a quick look from the alley into the

Main Concourse of Residential Linear G, then pulled

back instantly, flattening her thin twelve-year-old body

against the plas-slab wall. Public Health officials were

swarming all over, rounding up the early-morning crowd

of able-bodied workers who had been scanning the em-

ployment board for a day's work, the mothers with their

handicapped kids making their way to the Rehab cen-

ters, and the legal children on their way to the Linear's

physical-training facility.

 

Cautiously she took another look, to see what the

PHOs were setting up on their tables: vials and the big

compressed-air bottles that operated the hyposprays. She

withdrew, having seen enough to recognize another

wholesale vaccination effort. Strange, she hadn't heard

of any new 'mune plagues. To give them their due,

PHO was swifter than rumor to avert disaster.

 

Rapidly Tiria ran through her head her current list of

those mothers of illegal children whom she should in-

form: first, because they would pay her for warning

them to hide the kids; second, because those who could

afford to would pay her for stealing whatever vaccine

was being administered. She counted on her fingers:

 

Elpidia, certainly; the old bouzma. Pilau; Bilala, and

Zaveta, Ari-san, and Cyoto—and she had better ask

Mama Bobchik if there were newboms, for they would

need the Five-shotter. She would want one for herself,

as well, and could possibly finagle a box, depending on

3

 

 

 

 

4

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

how the current stuff was packaged. It all depended.

Mirda Khan, yes—she had best tell that old wagon right

 

after she warned Mama.

 

She would have to change into clean clothing issue—

she had washed, but this week's issue was five days old

and looked eight. Public Health were quick to notice

details like that. Mama Bobchik was always good for

fresh wear, especially if Tiria went to her first with her

news. This could be a very good day, Tiria thought

with a rise of spirits as she slipped back down the alley

for the center-shaft emergency stairs on her way down

 

to Mama Bobchik's pad.

 

Most of Tiria's twelve years had been spent in

scrounging a totally unofficial living in the multi-ethnic

thirty-storied community of the Linears. She could not

afford to miss a single trick, like today's unexpected

Public Health roundup, to escape the stringent controls,

clever obstacles, and little traps ingeniously set up by

the Jerhattan Complex Administration Council and the

Law Enforcement and Order Organization to identify

and control each member of the restless population.

 

Officially there had never been a record of Tiria's

birth. She was, however, the fifth child bom to Dikka—

only/the first, Tirla's brother, Kail, was legal. The gov-

ernment tied a woman off when she gave birth to a

second child. Consequently Pirza, Lenny, Ahmed, and

Tiria had all been bom in Dikka's single-parent squat

with the aid of Mama Bobchik, who had had an illegal

child every year until her womb had dried up. Kail had

been official until Dikka had sold him at ten. Firza had

had the use of Kail's wrist ID for two years until she

was profitably disposed of. In the next year, Dikka,

Lenny, and Ahmed died of one of the immune plagues

that sporadically flared up to decimate the Linears. In

the haste and confusion of body disposal, Dikka's death

had not been officially noted. So Tiria had been left

with two ID bracelets—a fine legacy. Self-sufficient and

resourceful, she had managed to retain the squat, draw-

 

Anne McCaffrey              5

 

ing two subsistence rations, until Dikka's ID was can-

celed after her failure to appear for a routine medical

examination.

 

Wise in the ways of her society, Tiria had not been

caught short by the lockout. She knew Tenancy Arti-

cles, Paragraphs, and Subsections by heart, so figuring

out the cancellation date had been no problem. Two

days prior to the eviction, she moved her few posses-

sions—hotter unit, the best of the sleep sacks, the 'cor-

der, and the pretties Dikka's men had given her from

time to time—into new quarters five levels below the

Main Concourse, in the maintenance segment of Linear

G, right beside the charged security grille that protected

the engineering section from unauthorized entry. Only

a slight and agile person like Tiria could reach the ey-

rie, where massive ducts formed a broad platform be-

fore bending up the inner wall. She patched her hotter

and 'corder wires into the overhead cables, certain that

her small use of electricity was unlikely to be discov-

ered, and settled in. She did miss the all-night infor-

mational programs on the squat's tri-d. The big public

tri-ds on the Concourse stopped 'casting at the midnight

curfew. Tiria, with her clever, shrewd, and organized

mind, was thirsty for knowledge. She even used Kail's

ID to log into school. One of Dikka's men had said that

one had to know the rules before one could break them.

Tiria had never forgotten.

 

For another two years. Kail's bracelet supplied his

small sister with daily subsistence, weekly clothing is-

sue, and other amenities until "Kail" failed to appear

at Evaluation Center within three weeks of his sixteenth

birthday. The cancellation caused Tiria no problem, for

by then she was well-established, almost indispensable

to most of the Residential clients and gang bosses in

the neighborhood industrial complexes. Her ability to

translate any of the nearly ninety dialects and languages

used in the subsistence-level Residential Linears saved

clients hours at official transspeech centers, or worse,

 

6           PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

misunderstanding. She knew when to be ingratiating or

stand firm. She knew what courtesies were due whom

and never failed in performing them. Everyone who

knew her knew very well that she was illegal. Because

she was so useful to the residents of Linear G, as she

would be today with her warning about the Public

Healthers, and because officially she did not exist any-

way, there was no profit—yet—in reporting her illicit

existence.

 

The various errands she did—and she was scrupu-

lously silent about them—often brought in "floating"

credit chips. Floaters were legal tender—Pay to Bearer,

untraceable chips that changed hands frequently. Jer-

hattan Treasury and all the merchant and banking houses

wisely ignored the circulation of minor amounts of

floaters, just as they ignored the petty small traders as

long as they made no trouble and their merchandise was

harmless. Tiria, and others like her, relied on floaters

to support their illegal existences in the Linears.

 

Linear G thrust thirty massive levels above the squat,

featureless F and H commercial blocks where residents

of Linears E, G, and I worked. Once, on a Free Day,

while Tiria still had her brother's ID, she had gone with

Mama Bobchik to the Great Palisades Promenade,

where thousands upon thousands of people had swarmed

to enjoy a brilliant spring day, to overlook the exclusive

hives, platforms, and great cone complexes of Manhat-

tan Island, and to ooh and aah at the monorail cars,

large and small, that zipped along the tracks which gar-

landed the buildings like colored tinsel strands. That

was the first time Tiria had seen ships floating on water

or the great pleasure skycars. There had even been a

special issue of holiday food, yards above the standard

fare, at dispensing banks. Buril, Mama's son, had a

tripper key that he used on the dispers, so they had

managed to stuff themselves before the mechanism's

malfunction alarm was triggered. It had been a super

 

Anne McCaffrey              7

 

day for Tiria. She had never dreamed that the world

was that big.

 

That was the same day that Buril explained to her all

about the space platform that was being built, which

needed so many workers. When it was completed, he

said, all the people living on Manhattan who had enough

credit and were the "right kind" would be able to go

off into space and find other worlds to live on. Then all

those beautiful buildings would be empty and there

would be enough space for everyone crammed into Lin-

ear squats to live in proper big apartments with a bed-

room for each family member and no more Public

Health or LEO men and women tying men and women

off, shaming a virile man.

 

This morning, as Tiria scratched on Mama Bobchik's

door to tell her of the PH presence in the Linear, she

heard the old woman gasping and groaning as she strug-

gled off the bedshelf.

 

"Kto stuchitsya? Perestan'te udaryat'sya. Okh, kak

bolit golova!"

 

Tiria grinned. So Mama had a big head this morning,

caused by the vodka she had made from the potatoes

Tiria had nicked for her. In that state, she would be

easy to wheedle out of a credit.

 

"It's Tiria, and the Public Health are already on the

Concourse."

 

"Boje moil Eto tak? Have I not enough pain in my

life?" But the door was pushed open wide enough for

Tiria to slip inside. "What have you said? The Public

Health again? So soon? Why?"

 

"Another vaccination by the looks of it. They're

grabbing everyone, able-bodies, students, bandies and

their mothers."

 

"Ah, we must hurry. Elpidia, Zaveta ..." Mama

Bobchik began reciting the names of her usual mater-

nity patients.

 

Tiria tugged her arm.

 

"Nu, what do you want from me?"

 

 

 

 

8           PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

"I cannot help unless I have clean issue," Tiria said,

managing to look piteous and sound efficient at the same

time.

 

Buril had fixed the clothing-issue slot in his mother's

squat so that it could be coaxed to extrude more than it

ought. His taking ways had been very useful until Yas-

sim—Tiria made the warding sign at just the thought of

that man—had paid Mama a huge sum for him. Buril's

unusual talent for "fixing" official equipment made him

quite valuable—he had not gone the usual route of Yas-

sim's purchases, and Mama had been paid enough float-

ers to keep her comfortable in her old age.

 

Mama Bobchik blinked her reddened and bleary eyes

and looked at the tiny girl. "Da, that is so!" She patted

Tiria's head before she went to the clothing slot and did

something that her heavy frame obscured from the girl's

sight. When she turned back, she had a packet in her

hand.

 

"I washed this morning," Tiria said, immediately

unfastening and stepping out of the old suit. She had to

roll up the sleeves and legs of the fresh issue, but when

she had neatly folded each roll over wrist and ankle and

pressed the edges to seal them, sleeve and leg bloused

out nicely to give her apparel more style. She retied the

pretty braided rope belt that she had inherited from her

mother and tucked the excess material neatly back.

"Now, I'll tell Mirda Khan, do this level, and then up

and down. That'll be all I think I have time for. What'll

I do for an ID? They'll grab me if my wrist's bare."

 

What Tiria wanted most in her life was a genuine,

valid ID bracelet that would allow her a squat right, the

use of a tri-d, three meals a day, and a fresh weekly

issue of clothing. An ID that was all her own and had

never been anyone else's! One that would allow her into

the school programs that so few of the kids she knew

seemed to care about at all.

 

Now she cocked her head at Mama Bobchik, know-

ing perfectly well that an ID was essential when the

 

Anne McCaffrey              9

 

PHOs were swarming the Linear. Mama Bobchik pre-

tended to consider, giving Tiria just a few moments of

anxiety.

 

"Eto tak! For PHOs, we use one." With a flounce

of her skirts, for Mama would not wear the single-piece

coverall without proper skirts to conceal her limbs, she

turned her back on Tiria again. No matter how hard

Tiria listened, she could not tell where Mama secreted

those precious counterfeit IDs that Buril had also con-

trived. They were good for one day's use only—one

day, because while the band would be accepted by a

portable reader such as the PHO would have to record

vaccinations, it would show up as a fraud later, when

the day's entries were checked.

 

Mama-Bobchik turned around, dangling the precious

ID band. "You split the take for the warning with me.

As usual."

 

Tiria nodded solemn agreement to the terms, her eyes

watching the swing of the band.

 

"And if you can steal enough vaccine, I will give

you thirty percent of that take," Mama added.

 

Tiria gave an incredulous snort. "Sixty. I could get

caught stealing."

 

"Forty, then. No one has caught you yet. After all,

I gave you the ID at no cost to you and have the ex-

pense of the spray gun."

 

"Forty-five!"

 

The two hagglers eyed each other, and then Mama's

broad face beamed down at Tirla's unyielding expres-

sion. She spit in her palm and engulfed Tirla's delicate

hand in her own to seal the arrangement.

 

"You are a clever one. You must huny now."

 

The girl was already slipping through the half-opened

door and down the hall to spread the warning.

 

Despite her speed, Tiria barely finished her route be-

fore the PH officers began to penetrate the levels,

checking the IDs of each squat's occupants and herding

 

10 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

them out and down to line up for their hypospray. She

soon learned that the health threat was not a 'mune

plague but a virulent intestinal disease that had started

in Linear B with devastating results. All Linears were

being vaccinated in an attempt to stem the spread of the

ailment. The PH public-address system droned on con-

stantly giving a short explanation in all the languages

registered in Linear G; Tiria did some rapid translations

of her own when requested by nervous mothers.

 

"It's only another food contamination," she assured

the skeptical. "They've isolated the source, who have

been heavily fined and lost their license."

 

"Huh!" Mirda Khan said, her dark eyes glistening

with skepticism. "That will be gone as long as it takes

to send in enough credit to reissue it. How long will

the protection last us?"

 

"Oh, this one'll do us for a year!"

 

"A year? They are improving."

 

Trudging forward step by step in the long line, Tiria

and Mama Bobchik finally reached the PH, dropped

their wrists across the reader, and received their shots.

Immediately Mama pretended to become faint and stag-

gered against the table. While the PH woman was cop-

ing with that, Tiria swept an entire tray of the vaccine

ampoules into the shopping sack Mirda Khan had ready

as she, too, came to Mama's assistance.

 

"Okh, kak bolit golova!" Mama said in an appropri-

ately wispy tone, the back of her fat hand against her

head. The pain in her voice was not entirely faked,

considering the hangover headache.

 

"What's she saying?" the PH officer asked, hovering

between concern and annoyance.

 

"Her head hurts," Tiria replied.

 

"Not from this injection," was the callous response

of the PHer. "Now move along!"

 

Solicitously Mirda Khan and Tiria propped up Mama

Bobchik as she made her way slowly toward the nearest

 

Anne McCaffrey             11

 

side aisle. Once safely out of sight, Mama immediately

reached for Mirda's sack and peered inside it.

 

"One whole tray? Miraculous, Tiria, truly miracu-

lous. There are more than enough. Run ahead and tell

them to come in small groups. The PHOs have already

checked our three levels. It will be safe."

 

In the course of her errands, Tiria tried her ID brace-

let on as many public dispensers as she passed, no mat-

ter what commodity emerged from the slot. She tucked

each purloined item into the extra material at the back

of her coverall, or into a sleeve or a trouser leg. It

became harder to move quickly, but she managed. By

evening, she had enough small floaters and illegally ac-

quired items to keep her well fed and content for the

next month. If she stretched a bit, it might even be six

weeks before she need bother about working again.

 

Anne McCaffrey             13

 

CHAPTER 2

 

•t* •$• There was no aura of menace or threat," Rhyssa

Owen told Sascha Roznine as he stood glaring down at

her. To reduce his threatening glower to a more pro-

ductive, thoughtful mood, she touched his arm, rein-

forcing her statement with a mental See? Curiosity. An

impingement, not a threat.

 

Sascha subsided, but he continued to glare at the

graph recording of Rhyssa's eariy-moming sleep pat-

tern, where the wide black mark of the spoke showed

that she had been roused from an REM dream sequence

to full alertness by a mental intruder.

 

As the director of the Center for Parapsychic Talents

on the North American East Coast, Rhyssa Owen lived

on what had been the Henner estate, a reserve of trees,

lawn, and mature gardens above the Hudson River on

the Palisades. This archaic remainder of the twentieth-

century residential suburbs interrupted the flow of Lin-

ear structures that housed the millions who lived and

worked in the massive Jerhattan complex. Rhyssa's

quarters were undistinguished from any of the other

three-story apartment blocks set among the gardens and

trees. As with all dwellings for the Talented, these were

secured and shielded from unannounced entry. In fact,

even those who tenanted the Linear constructions run-

ning on the long sides of the Center's extensive grounds

did not know of its existence, so artful were its screens.

No one should have been able to intrude on Rhyssa,

much less in her sleep.

 

12

 

"Awkward, rousing you so thoroughly. You need all

the rest you can get." Sascha projected a vision of him-

self and Rhyssa curled together in her bed, the double-

thick duvet tucked around their spooned bodies.

 

Yes, yes, Rhyssa replied. She responded with a vision

of a firm foot pushing the Sascha body out of the bed. But

even if you had been there physically, you couldn't've

helped, Sascha-bear. It was all in my mind, in my dreams.

And that's your duvet, not mine. I never use plaids.

 

Rhyssa smiled up at him, fluttering her eyelashes to

mock his projection. He raised his brows in resignation.

They both enjoyed this game. They had been playing it

for years.

 

Picky, picky. Don't avoid the issue, Sascha said.

"Who, I'd like to know, could knock in on your mind?

And why?"

 

"Indeed!" Rhyssa crossed her arms and stared off

into a view of the lowering clouds and dismal rain that

obscured a usually breathtaking view of Jerhattan.

That's what perplexes me.

 

Don't range, Streaky. Sending your mind out search-

ing for him takes too much out of you. You're going to

need all your energy to deal with the Zealots. He pro-

jected the vision of three persons with limbs so entan-

gled they resembled an Oriental fetish, each caricatured

face wearing an expression of mixed intransigence and

skepticism.

 

Oh, don't! She laughed as her return image untangled

arms and legs and set each person upright, a whisk-

broom smoothing tunic and trousers while emblems of

rank were straightened. I can't remember that when I

have to deal soberly with their urgent requests for Tal-

ents I don't have. They 're laughable enough as it is.

 

"Good. That's all they deserve. Shall I have Sirikit

check back and see when this phenomenon first regis-

tered?" Sheer impudence! Sascha snorted his annoy-

 

 

ance.

 

"That's an idea." Rhyssa smiled ruefully as she

 

 

 

 

14          PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

15

 

pulled clothes from drawer and closet. She continued to

talk as she dressed in the bathroom. "I only thought of

checking my graph this morning. I really do need my

sleep."

 

"Probably some emergent Talent who doesn't under-

stand protocol. I do wish they didn't always feel required

to overreact to their newfound mind-powers.''

 

"Damned strong one!" Maliciously, Rhyssa pro-

jected an image of a very young Madlyn Luvaro, mourn

wide open, and the circle of people cringing away from

the waves of sound emanating from her.

 

Sascha grimaced. Madlyn Luvaro had a mental shout

that could penetrate to the space station and any of its

peripheral dockyards. It had been Sascha's task, as he

was nominally in charge of Training and Development,

to teach her how to focus and moderate her mental

voice. Madlyn adored him passionately and was em-

barrassingly possessive of him, an adulation he was

finding increasingly difficult to discount—it was the rea-

son that he assiduously cultivated the notion that he and

Rhyssa were on the brink of a total partnership. Kindly,

Rhyssa did not disclaim the rumor.

 

"I'll have Sirikit run a check on possible emer-

gents," he told her, then sent the request to Sirikit in

the Control Room, also asking her to check Rhyssa's

encephalograph charts for the previous months.

 

Emerging washed and dressed, Rhyssa beckoned Sa-

scha to follow her through to her office, which adjoined

her living suite. She yawned as she sat down at her

desk, kinetically pulling some pencil files into her reach,

fanning them out, and turning each until the index-code

side was visible. She selected the one she wanted and

neatly piled the others in front of her, code side out-

ward, as her first selection inserted itself in the reply

slot. Simultaneously the reader net came off its hook

and settled lightly on her head. With one finger, she

poked the left contact pad against her temple in a final

adjustment.

 

"We won't find him there," she said, and was as

startled as Sascha was that she used a gender. "Well,

I know a trifle more than I thought I did from that fleet-

ing nudge."

 

"A secret lover?"

 

"Could be," Rhyssa murmured, projecting an image

of a sly grin and a come-hither expression directed at

an amorphous shadow. Although her tone was light,

Sascha perceived that her surprise at making any kind

of an identification went deep.

 

"I'll follow through," Sascha said, and left her of-

fice. As he took the antigrav shaft down from her tower

to the vast basement complex where most of the Cen-

ter's training and research was conducted, he carried

with him a vivid mental picture of Rhyssa Owen at her

desk, the reader net covering her black hair, a spider-

webbing across the wide silver lock that she had had

since her early teens. That streak grew broader every

year, and by her late thirties her hair would be all Celtic

silver.

 

Rhyssa would always have a young face, Sascha

thought, as both her father and her illustrious grandfa-

ther, Daffyd op Owen, had had: young, vibrant, with

dark blue eyes that sparkled and gleamed with intelli-

gence, humor, and unassailable energy. Rhyssa was

nearly as tall as the males in her family and a shade too

thin; she clothed her long bones in elegant, if often

bizarre styles: generally long flowing garments that set

her off in a society which had stripped apparel to the

minimum.

 

She was not pretty—her features, though small, were

too uneven and mismatched, her right eye socket canted

above the cheekbone, giving her a gamine expression

that no one who knew her would misjudge. Her nose

had a slight bump, making her profile look haughty,

and her mouth was too generous above a strong jawline.

Still, one forgot such details within moments of meeting

her. She had inherited the full measure of charismatic

 

 

 

 

16

 

Anne McCaffrey             17

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

personality, as well as the strong psionic talents, of her

parents—and of the grandfather who had battled to se-

cure the position of Talents in the present socioeco-

nomic-political atmosphere.

 

Sascha Roznine, himself a third-generation Talent and

younger than Rhyssa by three months, preferred his cur-

rent role as chief trainer and recruiter in the Center. Not

for him the petty power ploys that Rhyssa coped with

admirably, for he had struggled all his life to manage a

quixotic temper. The nerve-racking sessions with Jer-

hattan's managers and all the picayune details she had

to deal with would have set him raging in five minutes.

Sascha, on the other hand, had immense patience with

emergent Talents, coaxing, cosseting, and curbing,

gently allaying their doubts and building their confi-

dence. When Rhyssa had once pointed out that, in their

own way, emergent Talents were as obnoxious as man-

agers, Sascha had replied mat at least Talents learned

from their mistakes.

 

There were so many strengths and varieties of Talent.

Of the precogs, there were those who could foresee

events, generally those which would have a major effect

on a large number of other people; those whose pre-

science was limited to people they knew or were assigned

to watch; and those whose precognirions had affinities with

fire, water, males or females, children—there was as wide

an assortment of focus points as mere were strengths of

perception.

 

Telepathy was the most common Talent, though some

people could only receive thought, and others only send

it. Telempaths felt emotions and responded to the per-

vading ones. A trained telempath could either dampen

negative auras or reinforce positive ones, a Talent use-

ful for altering the tension in a crowd, preventing ram-

paging emotions from turning groups of people into

disorderly mobs.

 

Finders were those Talents who could locate things,

using only a facsimile of the desired item, or, in the

 

case of a missing human or animal, a garment or some

other personal object.

 

Teleldnetics could work on the largest objects, or the

most minute particles that could not be seen with the

naked eye or even a microscope, though there had only

been one known genetic manipulator, Ruth Horvath.

Teleldnetics were invaluable in so many walks of life

that those with this Talent were encouraged to have as

many children as possible.

 

The rarest of the Talents were the pure and double

telepaths—like Rhyssa, who could send and receive

communications across the world as long as she had

met the person she wished to contact. She could pene-

trate any mind not shielded by the thin metal caps the

nervous wore or by the natural mental shield that some

normal people were born with.

 

Sascha, also a strong double telepath, lacked the

phenomenal range that Rhyssa possessed, but he never

resented her for it. Once her strength had been estab-

lished by her grandfather, Rhyssa had been committed

to a Center directorship and all its responsibilities-

responsibilities that Sascha would never want to take

on. As far as he was concerned, Rhyssa was welcome

to her Talent.

 

He heard Madlyn Luvaro before he landed on the

shaft cushion at the basement level. She was trying to

be quiet, but she was as successful as if she had been

tap-dancing across a sound-resonant surface.

 

Until you leam to damp down your aura, it won't

work, Madlyn, he told her. Improper flow! Low positive

energy is what you need to be 'silent.'

 

Dammit, I thought that's what I had! Her mental re-

sponse was contritely discouraged.

 

Sascha pushed out of the shaft and there she was,

flattened against the wall.

 

"I did 'hear' you coming," she said aloud.

 

Sascha: Giant step forward! Madlyn was a powerful

 

 

 

 

18 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 19

 

sender, but generally she could "hear" only those in

her immediate vicinity.

 

He tugged a strand of her tangled mane of black hair

as he passed, and she fell into step behind him, her

large and expressive eyes rueful. Madlyn was a volup-

tuous eighteen-year-old with a sensual nature to match

her appearance. She, and her Talent, had matured at

fourteen, and since then Sascha had been struggling to

teach her the necessary discipline that any Talent had

to master, and that she would certainly require before

her penetrating mental shout could be utilized.

 

Sirikit's already checking Rhyssa's Goosegg read-

ings. Sascha had not tried to dampen his immediate

concern. With so many telepaths aware of the alarm,

keeping the investigation under wraps had been impos-

sible.

 

Someone actually intruded on Rhyssa? Madlyn pro-

jected an image of herself throttling a large, amorphous

intruder and squashing it into a little ball which she then

flushed down the toilet.

 

Sascha snorted. Madlyn was quite capable of attack-

ing anything that threatened Rhyssa. Who in the Center

wasn't?

 

They found Sirikit already scanning Rhyssa's Goos-

egg encephalographs for the previous month. Several

were paused at the spoking that indicated intrusive wak-

enings. The Goosegg, initially developed to monitor the

odd light flashes experienced by astronauts, was espe-

cially sensitive in registering delta brain waves, which

had been discovered to be the seat of paranormal or

extrasensory perceptions. A Talent, trained to recognize

his or her own slight mental alteration prior to paranor-

mal activity, slipped on a net that could read brain ac-

tivity. Many Talents, particularly the precognitives and

clairvoyants, wore them night and day. They were

lightweight, of a strong fine mesh matching the wear-

er's hair color. The net transmitted to the Center's main

banks, so that Incidents of paranormal activity could be

 

officially recorded, studied, and consulted. It was proof

positive to any skeptics that the extrasensory percep-

tions did occur.

 

"Look at Rhyssa's recordings, Sascha. There's no

question that the Incidents have been increasing," Sir-

ikit said as Sascha strode to the bank of horizontal spin-

dles used in such comparisons. "First one three weeks

ago, second four days later, then three, and this past

week once a night—about four-ish."

 

Sascha: Odd time for a voyeur!

 

Sirikit: With three-quarters of the population asleep

in bed.

 

Madlyn: Insomniac?

 

Sascha smiled, for not only was her mental tone ap-

propriately soft but she had caught the quick exchanges.

 

Sascha: An adolescent generally has to be pried from

his sleep. Rhyssa thinks it's an emergent Talent.

 

Madlyn: You keep telling me that emergent Talents

follow no rule.

 

"Any statistics on insomniacs?" Sirikit asked.

 

"I'll program it," Madlyn said, flipping her hair back

as she seated herself at a monitor, keying in directories

that could access any computer bank in the world under

the special concessions granted the Centers. She was

cleared for normal use, although passwords were needed

for any sensitive files. Madlyn might have been blatant

in her sexuality, but her mind, open to inspection at all

times, was as transparently guileless as a child's.

"Well, this won't be productive. Anyone can have in-

somniac phases. Anxiety is the biggest cause. There are

some people, the elderly in particular, who can get along

on only four hours of sleep a night!'' Her mental picture

was of a horrified grimace superimposed on a tossing

body in a rumpled bed. "I'm wrecked without eight

hours!"

 

Sirikit leaned back from the spools, which had all

paused to display the telltale spoke of intrusion.

 

 

 

 

20 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Sirikit: Three-thirty to four, predawn, too early for

most shift workers, even air and road haulers.

 

Sascha bent over her shoulder, studying the reels as

if he could glower the riddle into the open.

 

Sascha: Rig her net.

 

Madlyn gasped and stared at him. Sirikit blinked,

sighed, and then, rising from her stool, went to the

main board to enable the necessary program.

 

"Some early-moming joy seeker has to be overflying

the Center. Set an alarm through her net, and we can

catch the bugger in the act." Sascha's voice was vin-

dictive.

 

Madlyn shot him a worried glance. She could feel the

wave of high negative energy he exuded.

 

CHAPTER 3

 

^* ^ Barchenka, Duomi, and His Highness Manager

Prince Phanibal Shimaz arrived promptly for their meet-

ing with Parapsychic Center Director Rhyssa Owen at

the Jerhattan City Manager's Tower, a massive struc-

ture in the center of Central Park, the last vestige of

nineteenth- and twentieth-century Manhattan. The

tower, rising above the tallest of the mercantile build-

ings, was crowned by ziggurats of communication

dishes, giving it an appearance from any distance of a

grotesque bunch of stiff daisies rammed into an im-

mense glass brick. Skycars of varying sizes, at the land-

ing level, stuck out like a fringe of angular, multicolored

leaves.

 

Space Station Construction Manager Ludmilla Bar-

chenka entered first, her odd bouncing gait indicating

mat she was wearing her antigrav boots. Her infrequent

visits back to surface gravity were difficult for her—but

they tended to be worse for those she confronted. The

woman's appearance did nothing to mitigate her abra-

sive personality: she was stocky, big-boned though not

fleshy, with a flat, broad face and unexceptional fea-

tures. Pale blue eyes and short-cropped hair only added

to the image of a tough persona—cold, inflexible tenac-

ity. To top that off, Ludmilla invariably wore a thin

metal skullcap, a shielding device that was almost an

insult to Rhyssa in her capacity as director of the East-

ern Center. Rhyssa was not sure if Barchenka used the

shield merely out of concern for security or because she

 

21

 

 

 

 

22          PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

23

 

was pathologically wary of the Talents whose sendees

she desperately needed even as she deplored their abil-

ities. Sascha was convinced that Barchenka had some

sort of Talent, even if it could not be scanned, and that

she refused to acknowledge the possibility.

 

Despite her total lack of social graces, the Exalted

Engineer's dedication could not be faulted. Padrugoi

Station was due to be completed, and on budget, at the

end of the current year.

 

With interstellar voyages now possible and habitable

planets located in two near systems, the pressure to im-

plement the colonization program was incredible. But

first the Padrugoi Station, the essential springboard to

the stars, had to be completed. The project had world-

wide priority and the enthusiastic support of every po-

litical and economic faction on Earth.

 

Considering that the first laboratory station had gone

over budget by trillions and had been five years late in

completion, Barchenka's achievements so far were con-

siderable. But Rhyssa knew the truth: that the Exalted

Engineer was beginning to fall behind schedule despite

all her efforts. It was rumored that the woman slept no

more than four hours a night and daily accomplished a

prodigious amount of work—but that she expected the

same dedication from everyone on the project. Unfor-

tunately she did not have the charisma or leadership

ability to generate either loyalty to herself or to the pro-

ject. Initially many Talents had volunteered to assist,

but one after another they declined to renew their con-

tracts. The many enticements to return with their unique

capabilities to work on Padrugoi Station had met with

failure.

 

Personnel Manager Per Duomi, coming in behind

Ludmilla, moved with the heaviness of someone accus-

tomed to lighter gravity, but he managed without the

antigrav assists. A Finn, as capable and dedicated as

Barchenka, he was slightly easier to deal with. And

though he, too, tended to wear a metal shield, the Tal-

ents had liked working with Duomi: he was fair, com-

petent, and had succeeded in persuading a few Talents

to return for special, short-term assignments. But still

most had declined to extend their employment, and they

could not be conscripted. And though Rhyssa had du-

tifully asked the directors of every Center in the world,

she had no takers to offer Duomi.

 

Program Manager Prince Phanibal Shimaz pounced

in behind Per Duomi, and his presence was neither es-

sential nor welcome to Rhyssa. Peculiarly arrogant and

impervious to her continued, and lately overt, distaste

for his company, he used any excuse available to press

his suit on her. Rhyssa often wondered why he had

bothered to develop an impenetrable mind shield when

his face revealed all that most men would have had the

courtesy to hide. The prince was a computer genius-

some said he had thought in binary codes in his creche

and teethed on chips—and when he was barely out of

his teens, he had mastered the use of the Josephson

junctions in what he termed an "idiot proof" applica-

tion to regulate with complete safety the vast flow of

skycars and drones in and out of major Linear depots

and over densely populated areas. He was currently ap-

plying his efforts to create a similar basic and safe flow

of spatial traffic.

 

Rhyssa composed her face and her mind, smiling with

a warmth she did not feel as the three settled them-

selves.

 

"I do not," Ludmilla began with no preamble, her

deep voice guttural with only a slight trace of her native

language, "have the required personnel." Her pale eyes

accused Rhyssa.

 

"As I have told you repeatedly. Manager, I cannot

and will not order the Talented into space."

 

Ludmilla brought her fist down with a wince that re-

vealed that, in her frustration, she had forgotten the

gravitational differences. She brought the bruised hand

 

 

 

 

24          PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

25

 

up in a gesture that in the space station would have been

flamboyant but was less graceful on Earth.

 

"You must insist—"

 

"I can insist, but they can resist," Rhyssa replied

equably.

 

"How can I maintain schedules without the personnel

to perform the necessary tasks? Day by day we fall

minutes behind: minutes which your diffident workers

could make up in seconds. I will not fall behind the

schedule. We will make our completion deadline. We

must have the suitable personnel. You told me that you

have them, and I have here the proof." Triumphantly

Ludmilla extracted a pencil disk from her tunic and

brandished it at Rhyssa.

 

"In that reply I said that I would certainly approach

all Centers with your specific requirements. I most cer-

tainly did not promise to fill the vacancies."

 

Barchenka narrowed her pale eyes into a basilisk

stare. "You recruit constantly. It is public knowledge

that you find new Talents—"

 

"It does not follow," Rhyssa inserted smoothly,

"that those we recruit are the kinetics that you specifi-

cally request. Certainly I could not ask untrained Tal-

ents to go into the hazards of space."

 

"Why not?" Ludmilla dismissed that consideration

with a broad wave of her hand, inserting the pencil file

back into its pocket at the end of the gesture. "We will

train them on the job—to be useful, to be careful, to be

specialists. They will love space. They will make many

credits and be wealthy."

 

"The Talented do not accumulate wealth, Manager,"

Per Duomi stated in his flat, nearly toneless voice, his

patient eyes never moving from Rhyssa's face.

 

"Nonsense! Everyone acquires wealth." Ludmilla

had more than the usual contempt for altruists. "In the

beginning we had many Talents working for us."

 

"We wished to assist the world project," Rhyssa

 

said. "But you would not accept their stipulations when

their contracts came up for renewal."

 

"Stupid clauses, untenable for us. Shifts of no more

than six hours when we work twenty-four on the plat-

form. Special shielding for noise. There is no noise in

space.'' Her scornful gaze rested hotly on Rhyssa.

 

"No noise which is audible to you, Madame Engi-

neer, but which is extremely unpleasant to sensitives."

 

"Bah! Sensitive!" Once again Barchenka summarily

dismissed that consideration. "Spoiled, pampered, ca-

tered to."

 

"No, Madame Barchenka, not pampered or spoiled,

but yes, catered to," Rhyssa flashed back. "The Tal-

ented are skilled personnel and require some minor con-

siderations to enable them to perform at their best in

the hostile environment of space."

 

Barchenka plowed on as if she had not heard. "It is

incredible that such a minority can exert so much influ-

ence on the economic life of our world. In the airport,

in the spaceport, in industry where, while I order ma-

teriel, I see the very Talents I must have to complete

the most important project of the world, a project which

has universal approval, which means mankind may

reach beyond the limits of this solar system and explore

the very stars themselves. Yet you and the other Center

managers do not permit me to hire the specialists I

need."

 

"It is not the permission of the Center directors that

is required, but the consent of the employed," Rhyssa

reminded the engineer. "Center directors negotiate the

individual contracts with the necessary safeguards."

 

"I can buy the contracts." Barchenka's challenge was

also a threat.

 

"Such contracts cannot be sold. Engineer Barchenka,

and if you would accept the necessary safeguards, you

might be more successful in attracting Talent!" Rhyssa

replied sternly, beginning to lose patience with the wom-

an's dogmatic pursuit. She could ignore Per Duoml's

 

 

 

 

26 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 27

 

mournful expression and even keep her gaze averted

from Prince Phanibal's hot eyes, slightly wet lips, and

nostrils that flared slightly from his rapid breathing; but

all three glaring at her were an unnerving combination.

She kept a smile on her lips, deliberately increasing the

flow of her limbic system.

 

"You can insist," Ludmilla repeated. "It is in all

your contracts that 'it can be voided at the discretion of

the Center in emergencies.' "

 

Rhyssa suppressed a rush of anger that Barchenka

had been given access to a Parapsychic Contract and

had to remind herself that such contracts were public

knowledge. "My fellow directors do not consider that

you have a true emergency. Engineer Barchenka."

 

For the first time Barchenka flared angrily. "I say

this is an emergency! I say I must have a larger work

force to complete mis world priority project."

 

"You have unlimited access to the conscriptable pool

of workers."

 

"Bah! They are useless—sterile, uneducated, un-

trainable grunts! I cannot build a space platform only

with grunts. I will have the kinetics I need. I promise

that, Director!" With that she wheeled and, in a dan-

gerous imbalance, made a lurching exit. Prince Phani-

bal following her.

 

Per Duomi took one step forward, bowing slightly at

the waist. "Even half a dozen kinetics would improve

the situation tremendously."

 

"As I have explained repeatedly. Per Duomi, insure

the Talents shielded quarters and a six-hour maximum

shift and they will be amenable. Surely if there's credit

enough in your budget to support the number of trips

back to Earth that have been made for the purpose of

recruiting Talents, the funds can be found to supply

their basic needs on Padrugoi!"

 

"Engineer Barchenka must adhere to the budget. No

alterations can be made to existing staff accommoda-

tions."

 

"Then Engineer Barchenka is stuck with the result."

Rhyssa fervently wished that Per Duomi would relax

his mental shield long enough for her to place directly

in his mind the information her words patently did not

convey. "You require kinetics to shift objects of mass

proportions in the assembly of Padrugoi. You also need

kinetics who can assemble chips of the most complex

delicacy in the total vacuum of space. The kinetic en-

ergy required by both tasks is the same and exhausting.

They need quiet to restore their strength—they are sen-

sitive to the metallic vibrations of Padrugoi itself, the

inhumanly close quartering, the lack of privacy, and the

appallingly bad rations which are insufficient to replen-

ish their bodies and minds."

 

Per Duomi nodded impassively and then shrugged,

unwilling to comment before he, too, turned to leave.

 

His departure left Rhyssa with an uneasy sense of

foreboding. She directed a query to Sirikit on duty in

the Control Room of the Center. Any precogs in just

now?

 

Sirikit: None. You're expecting one?

 

Rhyssa projected an image of Ludmilla Barchenka's

grim visage: Possibly!

 

 

 

 

Anne McCaffrey             29

 

CHAPTER 4

 

^ ^ TTie &oy blinked three times, and the channel on

the ceiling screen changed again. He sighed. Yet an-

other oldie he had already seen often enough to have

memorized the good parts. He blinked the switch signal

again, and realized that he had been through enough

of the channels to be sure that there was nothing on to

catch his attention—not even an educational program

unfamiliar to him. The first few weeks he had been in

the ward it had been lots of fun, watching the tri-ds all

through the long nights. Kept his mind off—things-

after his headaches had eased. Sometimes he almost

missed those headaches, because at least then he had

been feeling something in his body.

 

He sighed. He could do that, too, he reminded him-

self, thinking positively as Sue, the therapist, said he

must. He didn't understand a lot of what she told him,

like imagining himself walking and running, thinking

hard of how he used to do it—before he had run along-

side the ruins and that brick wall had collapsed on him.

 

Why? The agonizing question made him gasp. He had

thought he had stopped thinking about that. Asking

"why" was definitely negative and always depressed

him terribly. Why had that wall come down just as he,

Peter Reidinger, had been running past it? Had he

kicked a stone that had been enough to trigger the col-

lapse? Had one of the boys chasing him lobbed a stone

at the wall? Why, since it had been standing for fifty

or a hundred years'all by itself, why had it picked that

28

 

moment to come down? Three seconds later, he would

have been safe—safe from both the wall and the bays

chasing him. Why had he turned into the forbidden

area, anyhow? He'd had a choice at the end of the

alley: over the wall, only it seemed very high to him

and he had nothing to give him a leg up; to the right,

only that took him back into the Alley Cats' territory

and possible ambush; or to the left, weaving his way

through the ruins, making it more difficult for them to

know which way he would go. Why?

 

Negative! Negative! Peter screwed up all his face

muscles and then made them relax, group by group.

Then he smiled, slowly and consciously spreading his

lips and bringing the comers of his mouth up, stretch-

ing them until his cheeks lifted, his chin dropped, and

his lips parted over his teeth; willing the nerve impulses

in his face to change the limbic system. As Sue had

taught him, he pulled his most happy moment out of his

mind: his eleventh birthday, when his father had come

home on leave from the space station in time for the

party.

 

Planting that memory firmly in front of "why," Peter

rehearsed the details of that happy experience until he

could relive the entire scene from the moment the door

chime had announced that his father had made it home

until Dad had tucked him into his bunk. He had gotten

so he could even feel the touch of his father's hand on

his forehead.

 

Good thing Dad had touched him there—one of the

only places he still had feeling. Peter sighed again and

refelt the touch. Then he closed his eyes and "heard"

his father leave the room, "heard" the muffled sounds

of his parents talking and laughing. He expelled an-

other deep sigh.

 

He was lucky. He could breathe on his own now. Sue

had been so proud of him when that autonomic reflex

had returned. He filled his lungs, knowing that his chest

was rising, his diaphragm tightening. He could feel the

 

 

 

 

30          PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

31

 

air in his windpipe. He held his breath until spots came

in front of his eyes; then he expelled it.

 

Immediately he heard the steps of the duty nurse. Miz

Alien did not like to be disturbed, especially when he

knew that they had a critical case on Pie 12. He counted

ten steps and then she was peering down at him, making

eye contact. She then peered at the wall panel that dis-

played the readings from his monitors.

 

"Why was there a respiratory fluctuation, Peter?"

 

"Aw, I was just doing my breathing exercises. "

 

"You were not. " Miz, Alien glared at him a moment,

and then her long thin face relaxed. She laid a light

hand on his forehead and then drew one finger down

his cheek to press it against his lips. ' 'You were fooling.

Don't fool with your breathing, Peter. Your brain needs

oxygen. And it needs sleep, too. It's quarter of four.

You should sleep. You know how to achieve relaxation,

Peter. Do your progressives, there's a good boy. "

 

They both heard the sudden whimpering of the bum

girl on the other side of the circular ward.

 

Miz Alien, reproving smile and all, disappeared, and

Peter counted her steps, twenty-one, to get to the crit-

ical case. Then he counted to thirty, and the whimper-

ing ceased. He knew bums hurt. He wished he felt

something, even bums!

 

He immediately put his mind to the few progressives

available to him: the relaxation of every muscle in his

face, head, and neck. He could not move his head, but

he had sensation in his neck. He reached total slack

and thought carefully o/his place, feeling the spring of

grass under his feet, hearing the shimmer of leaves as

a wind soughed through them, smelling the fragrances

of the garden, gazing up at the sky above, the sun warm

on his back. He began to float again. He had the sen-

sation of drifting up, out of the supine body resting on

its cushion of air, amazed and annoyed at the various

tubings and wires shunted into him that he never felt.

 

The garden of his dreams was miles away from Jer-

 

hattan. It had been part of the vacation farm to which

his parents had taken him when he was eight. For some-

one raised in Linear Jerhattan, surrounded constantly

by the noise and smell of people and maintenance ma-

chineries, he had been totally entranced by the farm.

Peter knew that there were small green belts throughout

the Jerhattan complex; he had even been to several,

trying to relive that vacation, but none had evoked the

same response in him, being too small and cramped to

close out the eternal noise of the city.

 

He had found a place, though, where he could float

when he got to the proper state of relaxation. It had

grass and trees, barely visible in the eerie predawn

light. And he was strangely attracted by other inexpli-

cable strands, comforting wisps of thought, enticing him

to linger. One in particular intrigued him, and he hov-

ered as close to it as he could, tantalized by a sense of

tranquil familiarity.

 

All of a sudden he was nearly blinded by powerful

lights that flooded the scene. He felt a moment of terror.

He could not suppress his scream, steadying only when

he heard Miz Alien's steps. He did not open his eyes

until he felt her hand on his forehead and knew he was

safe back in Bed 7 of Pie Ward 12.

 

"What's the matter, Peter? " Miz Alien always knew

if a patient was shamming and she did not tolerate false

alarms. Her eyes flicked to the wall panel. "Bad

dream?"

 

"Yes, bad dream. " Despite himself, his voice qua-

vered, and her expression softened.

 

"Yes, your endorphin level shot up. I think you'll

have to have some sleep. "

 

Peter nodded, relieved at her decision. "I've got

VMR tomorrow . . ." He began, but then darkness

overwhelmed him.

 

You scared him off! Rhyssa accused Ragnar, fuming

that someone had triggered her net to alert the Center's

 

 

 

 

32

 

Anne McCaffrey             33

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

security forces if her pattern spiked during the night.

The field lights had blazed up. Moments later she had

heard the thrumble of the skycars, shooting off in all

directions. Sascha! she roared. He was the only one

empowered to set surveillance on her!

 

Sascha: We'll catch the bugger!

 

Not that way! Rhyssa forced controls on herself to

disperse the white-hot fury. Sascha had exceeded his

authority—even the boundaries of friendship.

 

Sascha: / have not!

 

She inhaled deeply, aware that she was still trembling

with anger. She expelled the breath right down to her

toes, continuing to press downward until her belly mus-

cles were taut. There was NO threat!

 

There was intrusion! His mental pattern broke briefly

as he responded to some exterior stimulus. That's

bloody strange, he said a moment later. There was no

intrusion. Not a physical one. Not a blip on any screen

that can't be accounted for. And nothing—read that—

nothing in our airspace.

 

An emergent! Rhyssa colored the thought with satis-

faction. That is, if you haven't scared him out of his

Talent! She sent an image of herself turning back onto

her stomach, hauling the duvet in its pastel print tightly

around herself, and dragging a matching pillow firmly

over her head—which was what she did.

 

"An emergent from where?" was the qi 'stion that

circulated the Control Room.

 

"Who's awake at four o'clock in the morning?" Sa-

scha asked.

 

"I can do a probability curve," Madlyn suggested,

"eliminating all the obvious shift workers."

 

"Why eliminate them?" Budworth asked.

 

"If they're working, they're not doing o.o.b.," she

replied.

 

"And who says this is an out-of-body job?" Sascha

asked, turning on Madlyn with surprise.

 

"What else could it be?"

 

Sascha grinned. "You may very well be right, Mad-

lyn, and it's so obvious I wonder none of us thought of

it before. Okay, who would go o.o.b.?" It was a lead-

ing question to which he already had an answer.

 

"Someone who doesn't like the bod they're stuck

with," she replied.

 

"But o.o.b.'ing is Talent," Budworth said, "and all

of 'em are registered, so they have better things to do

than o.o.b."

 

"If they're registered," Sascha pointed out.

 

"I see, so we run a check on new ones."

 

"That's right. With the hospitals."

 

Madlyn groaned. "D'you know how many hospitals

there are in Jerhattan?''

 

"Not intimately," Sascha said with a grin, and

pointed an index finger at her. "Think of it as a survey

question in your training. Ask for paralytic cases, teen,

preteen, insomniacs ..."

 

"Why blame the teens?" Madlyn asked, bridling.

 

"They won't have been scanned for Talent yet.

Okay," Sascha added graciously, "try anyone faced

with a sudden lack of mobility. I'll add the prison sys-

tems, too." He grinned at Madlyn's groan. "One of

the most famous was a guy escaping a sadistic jailor."

 

Madlyn's eyes widened. "Can the Center get pris-

oners released?"

 

Budworth chortled. ' 'Don't you remember your Center

history? This place was started by rejects from prisons

and mental institutions—" He shot a sly look at Sascha.

"—and all kinds of otherwise asocial and/or eccentric

personalities."

 

"If my brother were here ..." Sascha waggled an

admonitory finger at Budworth.

 

"Huh!" Budworth snorted. "I'm not afraid of your

brother even if he is the high-and-mighty Law Enforce-

ment and Order commissioner."

 

"I would be," Sascha replied. "Which reminds me,

 

 

 

 

34          PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

I'm late for that appointment. Get the program started

on checking hospitals and prisons. And buddy boy, you

can do the mental institutions. I appreciate the re-

minder."

 

"Ha!" Madlyn said to Budworth as Sascha left the

Control Room.

 

"How can there be that many illegal children in the

Residentials?" Jerhattan City Manager Teresa Aiello

demanded of Medical Chief Harv Dunster. "Your peo-

ple are supposed to tie off after a second pregnancy."

 

Harv's angular face was grim. "Only if we get to

deliver 'em. You know that some ethnic groups still

refuse to practice contraception. Until we have the right

to use infertility drugs in subsistence-level food, there'll

be unreported births—and continued traffic in preado-

lescents for sexual perversions, or cheap labor in illegal

factories. And the ones with the right blood factors and

healthy organs will still be stashed away by the very

rich for transplants as needed." He gestured at the fax

sheets on Teresa Aiello's desk.

 

"And ruthless people will still dispose of the used

ones," added Boris Roznine, commissioner 6fLaw En-

forcement and Order. "Even illegal kids have rights."

He glanced obliquely at the faxes scattered on the work-

top.

 

Teresa inadvertently glanced down. She was a tough-

minded woman, but she had a ten-year-old daughter,

and the fax of the bloated bodies discovered as flotsam

off the North Shore of Long Island spared no one's

sensibilities. She averted her eyes. The coroner reported

that the oldest had been twelve, the youngest five.

 

Boris Roznine had contacted her the moment the ap-

palling discovery had been made. The temper of Jer-

hattan was always uncertain when faced with such news,

and Teresa had called an emergency meeting of her

commissioners to prepare for a possible eruption if the

news was leaked to the media. Boris's twin brother,

 

Anne McCaffrey             35

 

Sascha, was due to arrive with the Parapsychic Center's

suggestions. To insure the tight security around the

tragedy, the four were meeting in the shielded privacy

of the city manager's tower office.

 

"Ah," Boris interrupted what Teresa had been about

to say, his right hand lightly touching his temple in

indication that he was receiving a telepathic message.

"Positive ID of one, the Waddell girl who was kid-

napped six weeks ago ..."

 

Teresa winced and let out a groan. The Waddells

were acquaintances of hers, high-tech executives; the

child, bright and extremely pretty, had been a school

friend of her daughter. Teresa had put a top priority on

the abduction, and had officially requested that Rhyssa

Owen assign her best finder to the case.

 

"Two others are listed as runaways, reported missing

two months ago. Of the others ..." Roznine shrugged,

glancing at the medical officer. "The best the lab can

do is genotypes, and it's all-sorts."

 

Every citizen of the United World was permitted—

provided they did not cany the proscribed genetic re-

cessives—to produce a replacement. One parent, one

child. Two parents, two children. ZPG was stringently

enforced until the pressure of Earth's population could

be released on the new habitable worlds, identified but

not yet attainable. The Propagation Laws were easier to

enforce in rural communities than in the huge residen-

tial warrens of cities like Jerhattan, with its population

of over thirty million.

 

Teresa turned to the LEO commissioner. "You haven't

stopped the spot checks, have you, Boris?"

 

"Hell, no, but we're still not locating the early preg-

nancies no matter how we try. If I had the personnel to

mount simultaneous level searches, we'd catch more."

Boris brought his clasped hands together as if closing a

net. He gave a ghost of a grin. "We did pretty well at

the Residentials, six weeks after the last big power out-

age, but that was a once-off.'' Then he spread his hands

 

 

 

 

36 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

wide, matching Dunster's resignation. "You know our

situation. We manage to keep a lid on most of the trou-

ble—if we're all sitting down as hard as we can. It isn't

as if we need more bodies."

 

"The ones that ignore the legal control," Harv said

dejectedly, "are exactly the ones educational and hy-

giene programs don't reach—in any language."

 

Teresa grimaced. "So there's no indication where the

rest of those poor kids were snatched?"

 

Roznine shook his head. "Could have come from any

subsistence level."

 

"m the last gruesome chucking, three months back

or so, only four were recognizable ethnic types," Harv

Dunster said grimly. "Near Easterners—Lebanese and

Arabic. Two were Tay-Sachs, ten were dark-skinned,

and one was an HIV carrier—which may well be why

they were all ... disposed of." The medic sighed

heavily. "I suspect Lab may also find anti-body posi-

tives among this latest—"

 

"Spare me, Harv," Teresa said firmly, and called up

the main Jerhattan map on her screen. "We've just had

a go-round of the Residentials with Public Health. We

haven't got the funds available for another. Exactly

where were the bodies found, Boris?" Her fingers hov-

ered over the terminal as she waited for an answer.

 

"Washed up out by Glen Cove, not far from some

of the more exclusive residential hives bordering the

Sound."

 

"Great!" Teresa's frustration came out as sarcasm.

"No Incident logged?" she asked Boris, though that

would have been included in the initial report.

 

"The storm, yes. The flotsam, no."

 

"Shouldn't your brother be here by now?" Teresa

frowned, glancing at the clock ticking off the seconds

in the comer of the main screen. "We need all the help

we can get on this."

 

The focus of Boris Roznine's blue eyes locked briefly

as he linked minds with his younger brother. "Traffic

 

Anne McCaffrey             37

 

snarl's breaking up. But he says"—his voice suddenly

deepened as the Talent peculiar to the twin brothers

allowed one to speak through the other—"Look, I want

to save time—yours and mine. These murders go deeper

than the loss of thirty juveniles. Forget the HTV factor-

it's irrelevant here. They were disposed of because we'd

got too close to them, but not close enough, soon

enough. Teresa, Carmen's been on search-and-find duty

ever since you handed us the Waddell kidnap file. She

got a whiff or two of terror, but never enough light to

pinpoint. Except that she got a hint of water." Boris's

wide mouth quirked briefly, reflecting his brother's cha-

grin. "Most of those children had to be illegals. We all

know that that group of pederasts is active—and sup-

plied—despite international efforts to eradicate that sort

of traffic. We know that kids are bought as cheap labor

and shipped who knows where. And that some are also

secreted as possible transplant donors.

 

"We haven't been idle," Sascha's voice continued.

"This could, in fact, be the break we've been waiting

for. We got too close. It'd be nice to know—" and at

that word the door to Teresa Aiello's office swung open

and Sascha Roznine strode in, smiling at everyone. As

he gave his brother's shoulder a grateful squeeze, he

continued, "where exactly we got so close. We're

working on it, and with your assistance, Harv and Te-

resa, I think we have a line to throw out to those

sharks." His smile took in each of his listeners, but he

cocked his head at his brother and winked.

 

Slowly a smile began to lighten Boris's face as he

read the detailed thoughts in Sascha's mind. "Tag kids

with strands through the school system? That might just

work! We might even catch the bastard child-stealers

this time." Boris leaned forward across the table. "You

are all familiar with the restraint filaments that were

recently developed? Sometimes those we tangle with

the strands escape before they can be secured. A second

application has been made with a slightly altered for-

 

38 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 39

 

mula, and now the altered strand can be traced for up

to six months. There're certain anomalies to be re-

solved, but it's worth the effort to tag every child in the

vulnerable group."

 

"You mean, this side of the river?" Teresa waved at

the panorama visible from her tower office, the uptown

cluster of beehive, cone, and single-tower Residential

buildings clearly visible on this bright morning. "But

statistically, it's the illegals in the Linear Residentials

who are more at risk."

 

"If we could catch Linear kids to strand 'em," Boris

said, raising his hands palms-up in resignation, "we'd

be way ahead. Meanwhile we'll strand as many kids as

we can on both sides of the river and hope."

 

"Hope?" Sascha asked softly.

 

Rhyssa! She recognized the mental touch of John

Greene, the Talented bodyguard of Secretary of Space

Vemon Altenbach.

 

We got problems? she asked.

 

Girl, you really deserve all the headaches of admin-

istration if you can guess that much from just hearing

me speak your name.

 

No precog needed, JG, because you never bother me

unless there's political pussyfooting. What is it this

time?

 

A bill to draft the Talented into whatever position the

government needs them!

 

Not again? Rhyssa's response was half-amused, half-

irritated.

 

Concerted attempts had been made in the past by

government agencies to circumscribe the freedom of

choice originally granted to the Talented. That was prior

to the point at which the government began to appre-

ciate the applications of Talent—after the days when

Daffyd op Owen, her illustrious grandfather, abetted by

Senator Joel Andres, had fought to gain legal immunity

for Talents exercising their abilities.

 

Immunity had been particularly vital for precogs be-

cause, when they warned of disasters which were, by

those warnings, averted, they had been subjected to ex-

pensive and time-consuming lawsuits. There had been

attempts since then, from the ridiculous to the deadly

serious, to regulate or restrict, all manner of Talents to

military, civil service, or mercantile uses.

 

But the Talented had always managed, quite legally

and with no untoward exercise of their particular abili-

ties, to circumvent such attempts. Many Talents had

willingly sacrificed personal freedoms to serve in the

public sectors, some on a lifelong basis, to preserve the

right for their peers to choose. Rhyssa's parents had

done that, to give her the opportunity to achieve the

position she now held.

 

Again, and this isn't funny, Rhyssa, Johnny Greene

went on, space is in a bind. The platform has to be

finished on schedule before the sheer weight of numbers

on Earth becomes more unmanageable than it already

is.

 

So Ludmilla's been lobbying?

 

She's got some hefty help, and Vemon's got tremen-

dous pressure on him. I'm the loudest of the Washing-

ton/Luxembourg voices, so I'm making the contact with

you for the rest of the minders. We 've been excluded

from far more sessions than we ought to be—sessions

that have been attended by some of the most antagonis-

tic Right Mutes that have ever been lined up against

Talents. And when you think that I helped him develop

his shields against unauthorized peeking, I could spit!

The nerve of him closing me out!

 

One of the more sensitive professions open to em-

pathic Talents was that of "minding" vulnerable top-

ranking officials. Terrorism was still a fact of political

life, and although the problem of the displaced and the

minorities had been somewhat eased by the mass reset-

tlements and the institution of the Linear developments

near every major urban area, and the incidence of as-

 

 

 

 

40 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 41

 

sassinations had been drastically reduced, empaths were

still employed to "mind" those officials who might be

targets for the fanatics who still occasionally emerged.

 

Rhyssa could hear the hurt in Johnny's voice that

Vemon Altenbach had been shielding his thoughts from

his minder, especially since Johnny was also Vemon's

best friend, as well as his brother-in-law. In his official

capacity, Johnny served as under secretary in the Space

Secretariat. Prior to that he had been a trained etop—

earth-to-platform—pilot with twenty successful launches

. . . until the twenty-first had grounded him forever.

His Talent had saved his crew from death but not him-

self from losing both left leg and arm. Despite state-of-

the-art prostheses, a new career had seemed advisable.

So far Johnny had already prevented four attempts to

kill or kidnap Secretary of Space Altenbach.

 

Johnny: / shoulda been included in these latest talks,

but I wasn 't.

 

Rhyssa: Which means that Talent was being dis-

cussed. Barchenka and Duomi want more kinetics on

the platform in the worst way. I'm doing my best to

help . . .

 

Johnny, in an uncompromising tone: Anyone thought

of telling Barchenka that she's the reason why Talents

won't work up there?

 

Rhyssa: Lance Baden did. He thinks she has selective

amnesia. Can't even get her replaced, not with the per-

formance record she's got!

 

Vemon's tried! She's so bloody good at what she

does— it's only how she does it. I'll keep in touch, but

we felt you ought to be forewarned. There was a hint

of criticism in his voice.

 

Nothing has come up with any precog, Johnny.

 

I know, I know. That worries me as much. This thing

could be very very big, and not even Mallie's got a

whiffl

 

Rhyssa: Then obviously the matter is solved before it

reaches critical. She tried to sound firmly optimistic

 

even as a little shudder rippled down her backbone.

Someone should have been sensing something! Mallie

Vaden was one of the most sensitive precogs the Center

had ever produced, and her lack of foresight—if John-

ny's reading of the situation was correct—was surpris-

ing.

 

I'll be in touch, Johnny assured her. I'll even see

what the ghosts think. You know how they 'd like to see

our Talented noses out of joint.

 

I think I'll try a frontal attack, Rhyssa said. Might

jog a few brain cells loose.

 

When'11 I see you then? Johnny asked, his tone

brightening.

 

If possible, today. Run me through Vemon's sched-

ule. When Johnny did, Rhyssa stopped him at the

lunchtime engagement. / like the food there. I'll just

drop in!

 

Rhyssa always experienced a mild shock when she

encountered Johnny in the flesh, for the light tenor of

his mental voice was at variance with his strong phys-

ical appearance. Medium tall, he kept himself physi-

cally trim, and one would never guess his serious

injuries from seeing him walk or manage eating uten-

sils. Some latent kinetic ability had proved to be an

asset with his prosthetic limbs. He rose as he spotted

Rhyssa approaching the table where he. Secretary of

Space Vemon Altenbach, Exalted Engineer Ludmilla

Barchenka, and Padrugoi Personnel Manager Per Duomi

were seated. Johnny's broad smile welcomed her, and

they exchanged touch and a kiss.

 

Would you have dared look so stunning if the amo-

rous Phanibal had come, too? Johnny's green-flecked

amber eyes twinkled with devilment.

 

Rhyssa: Why doesn't that odious man go back to the

Pacific island that spawned him and attend to the fam-

ily 's plantations ?

 

Johnny: All you need is a strong handsome man

 

 

 

 

42 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 43

 

wAo 'II scare him off. Right now you 've got this lot em-

barrassed by your appearance, and yet they haven't

said a thing out of line, he added, all in the split sec-

onds of the greeting.

 

Rhyssa gave Altenbach a genuinely glad smile, then

nodded politely to the fiercely scowling Barchenka and

the bland-faced Per Duoml. "Just the people I hoped

to see. When I saw you were to be in Washington,

Madame Barchenka, I realized that I should put in an

appearance before matters get out of hand."

 

"Now, Rhyssa," Altenbach said, signaling a waiter

to bring a chair and set up another place for his unex-

pected guest, "you can't disrupt the established proce-

dure of lobbying. That's not the way to play the game."

 

"Nor is going behind my back," Rhyssa said, smil-

ing to take the sting out of her criticism. She turned to

Barchenka. "You have a schedule to keep. What you

will not appreciate is that one cannot schedule Talent

or lobby it. The kinetics you so desperately need cannot

materialize to help you meet your schedule. That many

kinetics don't exist. Talent is a random and highly in-

dividual trait, not an imposed one. No one can dictate

to a Talent and expect the person to perform to the best

of her or his ability. That dictation inhibits the Talent

as surely as seasickness inhibits appetite. There is no

legislation in the world that may chain the mind."

 

"There is legislation that will recruit those needed to

do the job that the entire world has decided must be

done." Barchenka's stolid words complimented her un-

compromising expression. "The platform will be fin-

ished as scheduled. The kinetics will participate."

 

Rhyssa caught another strong emanation, this time

from Per Duoml, who nodded solemnly to support Bar-

chenka's statement.

 

"There are ways," Barchenka added, her cold eyes

scanning Rhyssa's whole appearance from the elegantly

coined hair and subtle makeup to the couture outfit.

 

"Legal?" Rhyssa asked with a slight smile.

 

The secretary cleared his throat and handed Rhyssa a

menu. "I'm still of the opinion that this—impasse—can

be negotiated to the satisfaction of all concerned."

 

Barchenka made a monosyllabic noise of disbelief and

resumed her perusal of the menu. After only seconds,

she tossed it negligently to the table. "I would prefer

nutritious food to this ..."

 

Johnny Greene beckoned to the maitre d', who was

famous for his poise under the most trying situations

that Washington could produce. "D'Amato, Manager

Barchenka requires the other menu."

 

At a snap of D'Amato's fingers, an underling ap-

peared and handed him a slim folder, which he pre-

sented to Barchenka with a flourish. She gave him, then

Johnny, a sardonic look that turned to agreeable sur-

prise as she scanned a menu composed of the foodstuffs

available on the platform.

 

"Five, twelve, and twenty, taken with tea," she said

in a voice that still vibrated with controlled anger.

 

Watch it, Rhyssa! Johnny cautioned. Did you catch

that flash? She's poison-sure she's got us where she

wants us.

 

Simultaneously three other minders, dining with their

charges in the same room, sent Rhyssa similar warn-

ings. She was particularly glad to feel the mental touch

of Gordon Havers, the youngest Supreme Court justice

ever appointed, whose expertise might be extremely

useful.

 

Fine! Now discover what? Rhyssa said mentally as

vocally she chose her luncheon of cold fruit, soup, and

salad. Gordie, are you available for some quick scans

of obsolete statutes that could cover such a contin-

gency?

 

Been driving myself and my clerks all hours trying to

find one, Rhyssa, replied Gordon Havers. There's noth-

ing in our constitution, but since the Russians won the

contract for Padrugoi, there may be something in the

 

 

 

 

44

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 45

 

Russian section that does! Their legal system is as con-

voluted as their grammar!

 

"You can, of course, invoke some forgotten but still

active statute," Rhyssa remarked all too blandly, wait-

ing for reactions, "to conscript Talents ..." Both Bar-

chenka and Duomi looked startled.

 

Bingo! Gordie cried. I'll concentrate on the Russian

end of space law.

 

"But," Rhyssa continued soothingly, "it has always

proved unwise to force Talent to perform in an area that

is either personally or professionally distasteful to them,

and under punitive conditions."

 

"We have been too lenient with your temperamental

tricks and traits," Barchenka said, leaning across the

table in anger. "You will do this, you won't do that!"

She affected a child's petulant tone. "Many conces-

sions were made to eater to the whims and fads of your

Talents, and still no significant numbers will volunteer

for the most important world project of all history. Your

 

attitude is unacceptable."

 

"I am protecting my colleagues, not being obstruc-

tive. I must repeat," Rhyssa continued smoothly, "it

has always proved unwise to force Talent to perform

duties unacceptable to them and under punitive living

 

conditions."

 

"That will change! Will be changed! The platform

will be finished on schedule!" Barchenka's voice had

risen with each sentence until it stopped conversation

throughout the opulent dining room. She pushed herself

from her chair, wobbling slightly as her movements,

more suited to half grav, brought her stocky body pon-

derously to an upright position. She kicked the chair

away from her. "I do not tolerate insubordination!"

And she clumped away from the table.

 

"I was doing my best for you," Vemon Altenbach

said to Rhyssa, his face and manner resigned as he rose,

his chair pulled back by a hovering waiter.

 

"You do not understand our position. Director

 

Owen," Per Duomi added, but he, made no move to

leave the table. "We are forced to use unpleasant al-

ternatives to avert far more serious disasters overtaking

the world!"

 

"I'll see if I can calm her down, make her see rea-

son," Vemon said with a gesture for Johnny to remain.

"D'Amato, send my meal and hers to the private room.

I'll be there."

 

"Do you believe, in your own heart. Per Duomi,"

Rhyssa asked, leaning across the table to the man, "that

we are evading our duty to the world?"

 

He shrugged, his mind, with its metal shield, as im-

pervious, Rhyssa thought, as his unwillingness to un-

derstand the nature of Talent. "It is the opinion that

this—reluctance—puts the whole platform project in

jeopardy."

 

"It is Ludmilla Barchenka who puts it in jeopardy,"

Rhyssa said with more heat than she had intended. She

smiled quickly, hoping to repair the damage of her can-

dor. Per Duomi might not be Talented, but he was

scarcely stupid.

 

"Ah! My esteemed colleague was correct," he said.

 

"I am not standing in her way. I am protecting my

professionals even as she is protecting her project."

 

Well, she is why Talents won't work for her, Johnny

said in swift reassurance. And we all know it!

 

Gordie: Yeah, but she stays! This will be an interest-

ing power struggle, speaking from a purely legalistic

viewpoint.

 

"I admire Barchenka's unquestionable abilities as a

spatial engineer. I would prefer that she return the pro-

fessional compliment," Rhyssa said amiably. "This

soup is excellent. Per Duomi. Let us enjoy it."

 

 

 

 

46

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

You've got it! I've been over the statute—and it is

Russian, from the pre-glasnost days, and should have

been repealed long ago it's so archaic. In the good old

Bolshevik days, it was illegal—get that, illegal—to be

unemployed. The State was the only employer—not the

employer of last resort—but the only employer. Ergo,

everyone worked. Consequently, the only employer in a

system that makes it illegal to be unemployed can cer-

tainly do whatever is deemed necessary with its work

force. Legally, it gives Barchenka the right, under Pad-

rugoi's International Charter, to draft any technicians,

professionals, or workers required by the space effort—

the space effort in terms of the original law being the

Russian one. But the statute is still in effect, and, by

legal crook, she can apply it to Talents. We can fight

it, of course!

 

And? she prompted.

 

With a glib-tongued attorney like Lester Favelly, we

might just win. But the trial would take years, and could

be construed by Barchenka to prove her contention—

that the Talents are obstructing the Good Work. He

paused significantly. We could just give her enough rope

to hang herself?

 

The Talents will be miserable, and they won't per-

form well. That was what rankled Rhyssa's fine sense

of integrity. Talents did the best they could no matter

what the circumstances. To give the slightest suggestion

that they skimped was against the most stringent of te-

nets for the parapsychic. But, in space, worn down by

punishing hours and psychic static they could not avoid,

inevitably their performances would suffer.

 

Exactly, Gordie said. Ask the other directors. You

must appear to be accepting the inevitable.

 

The sort of press this could give Talents would undo

the work of the last century, Rhyssa said despairingly.

 

/ know. Although to sweeten this very bitter pill,

Rhyssa, Mallie Vaden sees nothing going wrong.

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

Whose side is she on? Rhyssa coul<

bitterness out of her tone.

 

Ours, as you well know, was Gordon

reply. Ergo, it has to work out by our c<

I've initiated some investigations that mi,

a lever against Barchenka. Meanwhile, c,

Quick action might shift public support i

 

 

 

 

Anne McCaffrey             49

 

CHAPTER 5

 

"^ ^ Some of the fourteen other Center directors were

not best pleased to be roused by her urgent request for

conference in the middle of their nighttimes, and there

was some grumbling. Though all Centers were theoret-

ically equal, no director decided issues mat would affect

all Talents without consulting the others first, and

Rhyssa—in charge of negotiations for the Talents be-

cause Padrugoi's administrative headquarters was in

Jerhattan—deemed a meeting necessary. As soon as all

were attending, she explained the situation.

 

And from what equally .critical positions does this

Russian think we can draft these essential kinetics?

Lance Baden, the Australian director, demanded.

Rhyssa always found it odd that his mental voice was

devoid of the Aussie accent. We sent everyone we could

bribe or blackmail up there. Sheer bloody-mindedness

keeps some of 'em in place, but my staff's down to

nubbins or feather-movers.

 

I have told Ludmilla Ivanovo, said Vsevolod Ge-

browski of me Leningrad bureau at his most apologetic,

time and again, that there are few kinetics not already

doing double, triple work in order to supply essential

services in Russia. Believe me, I have tried to educate

her to the practicalities . . .

 

We do believe you, Geb, we do, was the mass thought

that reassured him.

 

What's the levy, Rhyssa? Miklos Horvath, the West

Coast director, asked.

 

48

 

She's demanding one hundred forty-four kinetics!

Rhyssa said grimly, and threw up a buffer against the

cries of outrage. The number of registered Talents in

every Center was open knowledge to every director, as

transfers constantly shifted key Talents at need from

one Center to another.

 

We don't happen to have a handy gross of kinetics,

the Brazil director said angrily. And I spent six months

up there, in the most godforsaken barrio I've ever seen.

Constant noise! Dreadful food—nutritious food could at

least have a distinctive flavor. How she can expect us

to junction ...

 

If we use the discretionary clause, we can remove the

required number from commerce and industry. Max

Perigeaux of the large European bureau began in his

slow, thoughtful way.

 

Ignoring the howls . . .

 

Under the circumstances, at least we 're not liable to

penalties ...

 

That's a real comfort to those forced up to Padru-

goi...

 

Well, Commerce and Industry want this station—they 'II

have to suck lemons along with the rest of us . . .

 

Max went on, his message weaving inexorably

among the asides: . . . put the trainees where at least

they can be overseen, we could just about manage it.

But how can we expect our people to endure the con-

ditions up at the platform and still perform creditably?

To do less than our best reduces our reputations, but

how can anyone operate at his best in that milieu! And

the noise! The tall aesthetic man imaged a shudder of

revulsion.

 

But something must be done to give those who are

conscripted some relief!

 

Barchenka believes we set up the conditions of

shielded quarters and short hours to be obstructive!

Rhyssa said. / was informed that there is no noise in

the vacuum of space, and, because there is also no

 

 

 

 

50

 

Anne McCaffrey             51

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

gravity, there is less physical stress and longer hours

can be worked, not fewer.

 

The woman is utterly without a shred of understand-

ing or empathy, the director of Africa North said.

 

Has anyone tried to adjust her thinking? Hongkong

 

Jimmy asked.

 

You've never met Barchenka, have you? Shields

tighter'n a chastity belt! Baden said in an acid tone.

 

What's a chastity belt? Hongkong Jimmy flicked back

 

in genuine innocence.

 

Images from nine helpful telepaths enlighted his ig-

norance. Rhyssa was grateful to him for easing the

growing tension in the linkage with that byplay.

 

We are compelled to comply, are we not! Perigeaux

said, at his most mournful. And without delay, so that

we can bargain on the best possible conditions for those

who must sacrifice themselves. A rotation scheme, per-

haps . . .

 

If she's after the gross, that makes rotation impossi-

ble!

 

I can try to insist on some sort of short-term stretches,

 

Rhyssa said.

 

Let us also issue some publicity, Miklos Horvath sug-

gested, about conditions up there.

 

Of dubious value when she needs to recruit so many

grunts. You know she has to go to the shelters for any-

one below Civil Service-8.

 

But the public must see that Talent's objections to

 

working in space are valid!

 

The most valid being Barchenka herself. . .

 

Can no one lean on her?

 

It's been tried . . .

 

Who's the best we've got?

 

What about her associate, PerDuomI? Any chinks in

 

him?

It isn 't that we don't want to help with the project,

 

but she is her own worst enemy.

Did she specify kinetics only?

 

No one's told her that some kinetics are also tele-

paths!

 

Don't anyone mention that! Lance Baden said with

unusual vehemence.

 

Wouldn't dream of it!

 

You mean, she doesn 't know?

 

Ludmilla Ivanovo knows what she wants to know,

Vsevolod said wearily. She only hears the explanations

she wishes to hear.

 

In twelve minutes of rapid-fire exchanges, the Talents

arrived at a grim but workable course of action. Max,

Baden, and Jimmy would do the actual selection of suit-

able kinetics. Some Talents could be excused on

grounds of infirmity, pregnancy, or unsuitable skills—-

though two of Baden's "feather-dusters" were well able

to handle the fine tunings. Rhyssa, Miklos, and Dolores

of the Brazilian Center would attempt to achieve

shielded quarters and work shifts of six hours maxi-

mum, four for the less experienced kinetics. Barchenka

might be running her operation twenty-four hours a day,

but eight hours of telekinesis were impossibly draining,

even in space and hi 0.5-grav conditions.

 

What we must also organize, for ourselves, Kayan-

kira of the Delhi Center said as the main issues had

been resolved, is an emergency system in a disaster

situation. In her mind churned images of the previous

year's catastrophic floods in the northeastern sections of

the Indian subcontinent, mitigated only by the rapid

mobilization of hundreds of kinetics when the precog

had come in.

 

Kayan, you 've had far more experience with that sort

of thing than anyone needs, Baden said with unexpected

humility. Advise us and we will comply.

 

You always do! We'll have to strip all nonessential

industrial firms and reduce Port Authority staff to a

dangerous minimum. But we shall be very short of those

we most need.

 

 

 

 

52

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

53

 

Weather permitting! was Hongkong Jimmy's droll re-

mark. When are we going to find a weatherman ?

 

If we weather this one, Miklos said, we can all apply!

 

The mindlink was dissolved, and despite the massive

task ahead, the Center directors were much heartened

by the contact. When Rhyssa informed Gordie Havers

of the results, he gave a loud mental cheer for solidar-

ity.

 

There're going to be some mighty unhappy kinetics!

she told him. Every Center is going to be stripped, and

I'm steeling myself to endure the slings and arrows of

 

outraged businesses.

 

Machinery predated kinetics, and men used their

muscles before that. Let 'em go back to traditional

ways. It'll make 'em appreciate us more than ever,

Gordie imaged an archaic block and tackle to move ma-

teriel usually hoisted by a kinetic. Who's handling the

publicity ?

 

We 're going to have to be careful about that—don't

want Barchenka to say we're interfering with her on-

going employment drive.

 

The man I have in mind is not a valid Talent, but

he's a brilliant publicist, Rhyssa. Let me get Dave Le-

hardt to wave the flag for us,

 

Dave Lehardt?

 

He put our honored president in the White House.

 

And he's not Talented? That's unfair! That campaign

was sheer genius!

 

We have to allow the Mutes a few prerogatives, you

know. Shall I approach him on this delicate matter?

 

Please do. I'll give him all the help I can.

 

By the by, did you realize that most of what you do

is totally illegal in Scotland, which still has antiwitch-

craft laws on the books ?

 

Spare me!

 

I had, and look what it got us. I'd been working up

to the Russkis by 'way of the British Isles and Scandi-

 

navia. Sorry about that! You never know where to start

in nullifying age-old bigotry, do you!

 

When Gordie had broken their mental link, Rhyssa

spoke to Sascha.

 

You got touched again? he demanded.

 

In the head, but not by my peeper. She put in his

mind all that had happened in the past half hour.

 

He whistled in a descending scale. We're going to

get a lot of flak from Commerce and Industry!

 

They can't have it both ways. They 're the group that

gave Barchenka such punitive fines if she doesn't de-

liver on time. That clause is just coming home to roost

where they didn 't expect it. They 'II have to dust off their

machinery and toughen up their muscles. We've made

it far too easy for them.

 

What if they like the old-fashioned ways and don't

want to rehire our people?

 

Rhyssa snorted derisively. Just consider how much

money kinetics save industry every year in equipment

and maintenance costs—the arguments we used to get

them to take kinetics in the first place!

 

Yeah, but how do we explain it to our kinetics?

 

Rhyssa projected an image of her on her knees, tear-

ing her hair out, pleading to amorphous faces, offering

jewels and ingots of gold. Enlistment has always been

preferable to conscription. And then we can insist on

shielding and short shifts. We can't if she implements

that blue law. We 're over a barrel, and every Talent

will realize that!

 

Vsevolod can't help us there? Sascha asked.

 

He was appalled, apologetic, and all, but apopleptic

that one of his nationals was doing this to us.

 

Nothing mentioned about getting the law wiped off

the books?

 

Gordie's working on it! Rhyssa did not bother to

lighten the grimness she felt.

 

 

 

 

54

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 55

 

Dave Lehardt swung into Rhyssa's tower office at the

Henner estate within an hour of the Talents' reluctant

 

acceptance of the inevitable.

 

"My God, do you have wings?" Rhyssa commented

as the energetic Lehardt shook her hand. He was a full

two meters tall, athletic in build, and he emanated a

competence and geniality that could only come from a

secure, well-adjusted personality. He was handsome

enough, with mid-brown hair, blue eyes, and regular

but not remarkable features, and he dressed with con-

servative elegance.

 

"Not wings! Vanes! More reliable," he said with a

charming grin. He began sorting through the papers in

his attache case. "Gordie said it was urgent, and I watch

the news." He stopped when he noticed her baffled ex-

pression. "What's the matter? Did I break out in

 

spots?"

 

"No, but you haven't an ounce of Talent, and you

 

ought to."

 

"Why?" Dave Lehardt shrugged. "I've never needed

it. Astute student of human psychology and keen ob-

server of body language.''

 

He also had an impenetrable natural shield. With all

her skill, she could not read his mind.

 

"Now," he said, hauling a spare chair up beside hers

and spreading out hard copy of advertisements and

graphics, "we get in there before Barchenka even thinks

of crowing in triumph, so the public will see that Tal-

ents are graciously mobilizing all available personnel to

be sure Padrugoi Platform is finished on schedule—with

phrases that imply she can't make it on her own without

 

Talented help."

 

"That's true enough," Rhyssa said grimly.

"Ah, but there are ways and ways of saying the same

thing," Dave Lehardt said with a truly malicious smile.

"I tangled briefly with the Barchenka Stonewall for an-

other client, and believe me, I'm on your side!"

Rhyssa smiled to herself. Dave Lehardt did have

 

something like a Talent—a self-confidence that radiated

from him like an aura. She had never met someone like

him before: someone whose mentality she could not

delve into, however discreetly. It was a new experi-

ence, and she found herself watching his expressive

face, noting the way his hands emphasized points and

how he occasionally added a shoulder movement that

reinforced what he said. He also kept glancing at her,

meeting her eyes as few non-Talents would. Clearly he

was not the least bit in awe of being in the presence of

one of the top telepathic Talents.

 

Oblivious to her reactions, he went on. "I've been

yearning to score on our gracious 'Milla." A flicker of

some quickly suppressed emotion shot across his face,

but Rhyssa could not decipher it. "All-out Talent as-

sistance, even at the expense of long-established links

with the public sector, at considerable personal sacri-

fice—'Milla doesn't pay the going rates, since hers is a

priority contract and has worldwide backing."

 

"She will not believe that money is not a'considera-

tion . . ."

 

"Are you aware of the size of her bonus if she gets

the station fully operational on time?"

 

Rhyssa grinned. "One of the best-kept secrets of the

Talents. We also know the percentage she has to cough

up if she doesn't."

 

"You are well informed!" He paused with a hopeful

expression and then sighed as she merely smiled. "No,

I didn't think you'd tell me." He snagged the comer of

a graphic sheet from me pile and spread it out. "To

address your two points: six-hour shifts and shielding—-

very alliterative. I'm going to be able to use that as a

slogan, you know . . . Have you demonstrated the

problem?"

 

"How do you mean 'demonstrated'?"

 

"Time and motion studies, energy expenditures—that

sort of recordable data. Remember, I've seen your ki-

netics in action, but I doubt that Ludmilla or even Per

 

 

 

 

56

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 57

 

Duomi have taken the trouble to watch them work.

They've been too busy hitching about weightlessness

and the silence of space to appreciate the effort kinesis

actually takes. I thought you might not have thought of

that gimmick. So I had a chat with a Talent I know who

was up on the platform, and he gave me some remark-

able insights into the actual shift mechanics. If the day's

materiel was properly organized, the kinetic could put

everything in place for the grunts to lock on and weld.

 

"Then, the noise element. Samjan ran some of the

'noises' past me—" He grimaced and crossed his eyes

in sympathy, "—and I think if we did a tape simulation

, of what a sensitive hears in unshielded quarters and

 

played it back ..."

"Not to Ludmilla. She insists there is no noise in

 

space."

 

"She's more of a Mute than I am."

"But I take your point. I hadn't thought of a trick

 

like that."

 

"No trick, my dear, just presentation—and that's

where I'm the expert." His grin was a mixture of im-

pudence and malice.

 

For the first time in her Talented life, Rhyssa found

herself fascinated by a Mute, and half of that fascina-

tion was due to the fact that she could not predict what

he would do or say next. It was fun matching wits with

him during subsequent interviews, giving the onerous

task an unexpected exhilaration.

 

Dave Lehardt was at her side for the initial meeting

with a Barchenka who oozed smug satisfaction that she

made no attempt to disguise. Rhyssa was hard put to

remain civil. Dave Lehardt talked so fast that the en-

gineer had to listen attentively to catch his points. Per

Duomi was, as usual, with her, but Rhyssa had been

spared another confrontation with Prince Phanibal.

 

"All we have had is talk, empty talk," Ludmilla Bar-

chenka said when Dave had explained the dual prob-

lems of short shifts and shielding. "Even the physically

 

impaired are able to work proper shifts in space: no

gravity, no sound!" She shot an accusatory look at

Rhyssa.

 

"Ah, but it is not gravity which is a problem, nor the

vacuum. Ludmilla Ivanova, I have arranged a demon-

stration ..."

 

"I have no time for demonstrations," the Exalted

Engineer stated dismissively. "I must return to the plat-

form. Already there are delays which must be recti-

fied."

 

"Understood, Engineer Barchenka," Dave said

soothingly, with just the right amount of respect and

understanding. "Perhaps Per Duomi will attend. This

demonstration is likely to put the basic problems into

proper perspective, and thus help us all resolve the main

problems with the maximum benefit to your project."

 

Duomi would be much easier to deal with—his mind

was not totally closed, although he was as dedicated to

me project as Barchenka. If they could prove their points

to him, they would be halfway to victory.

 

"I think she's disappointed she didn't have to invoke

that wretched statute," Rhyssa told Sascha later.

 

"D'you think we gave in too easily?" he asked.

"The news quotes Barchenka calling it the 'cowardly

capitulation of the effete.' "

 

"Let her. If we can just swing Duomi to our side."

Rhyssa frowned. "I don't see what else we could have

done. Dave Lehardt is running public-opinion polls.

One point is clear: Everyone wants Padrugoi to be fin-

ished, everyone wants someone else to work up there,

and everyone thinks people who volunteer for anything

are crazy."

 

The next day, Dave Lehardt and Rhyssa Owen took

Personnel Manager Per Duomi to the most prestigious

exercise complex in Jerhattan, a facility that occupied

me first nine floors of a Residential ziggurat near Cen-

tral Park. The largest gymnasium was set up with three

sets of stress-monitoring paraphernalia and technicians,

 

 

 

 

58

 

Anne McCaffrey             59

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

three pyramids of standard-size packages, a forldift, a

bevy of impartial observers, and the Complex director,

Menasherat ibn Malik, who had been a multiple Olym-

pic gold medalist for four times running.

 

Per Duomi was suitably impressed by ibn Malik. So

was Rhyssa, for the man exuded physical vitality and

competence. He also had no more Talent than Dave

Lehardt, who appeared well acquainted with him. Dave

stood by, a slight smile on his face, while ibn Malik

accepted Per Duomi's homage and conversed amiably

 

with him.

 

"Now, Manager Duomi," the Complex director said,

gesturing to the three men who entered from the side.

Stripped down to their shorts, they were all festooned

with wires, which were in turn hooked up to the ma-

chines. "Let me introduce you to Pavel Korl, bronze

medalist in heavyweight boxing; Chas Huntley, a fork-

lift operator with International Canning; and Rick Hob-

son, me kinetic."

 

Rhyssa was almost as bemused as Per Duomi as ibn

Malik made the introductions. Korl and Huntley were

big men, towering over Duomi and certainly making

Rick Hobson, who was average in height and build,

look insignificant.

 

"Now, if you would care to check the movables in

each pile. Manager Duomi, to assure yourself that they

are equal in weight ..."

 

Duomi complied, and it was clear that he had to

struggle to lift any of them.

 

"Then once our guinea pigs' wires are double-

checked, we can start the test—which is rather simple.

By muscle, by machine, and by mind, our subjects will

transfer their piles across the floor. The energy levels

required, the stress factors, and calories consumed will

be displayed on the monitors. Now," ibn Malik said,

moving to the big screen set in the wall for use at sport-

ing events, "on Padrugoi, three men will be doing ex-

actly the same in Q hangar." He spoke into his collar

 

mike. "If you're ready up at Padrugoi?" The big screen

lit up with a scene not dissimilar to the one around

them, except that all the men wore space suits. "In

space, our hand shifter is Jesus Manrique, the lifter is

operated by Ginny Stanley, and the kinetic is Kevin

dark. Are you all ready? On your marks—" The gold

medalist raised his arm. "Get set—go!" His arm came

down, and the activity on the gym floor and in Q hangar

commenced. ' 'This test will last an hour,'' he informed

Per Duomi, gesturing for the observers to take seats to

one side.

 

After the first few minutes, Per Duomi stopped

watching the burly figure of Korl manhandling the

packages down the floor, or Huntley zipping back and

forth on the loader. He kept his eyes either on Rick,

who had seated himself at a table and, with no visible

effort, kept a steady stream of packages flowing, or on

the platform kinetic, who was doing his work while

leaning against a stanchion. Occasionally Duomi flicked

a look at the monitors chattering out their hard copy.

 

Both Talents worked their way through their piles in

half the time it took the others. The instrumentation

proved that they had expended half again as much en-

ergy and used up twice as many calories.

 

When the test had been completed, Dave Lehardt

stripped the hard-copy sheets from all six printers.

Neatly folding them, he handed the sheaf to Per Duomi,

who took it without a word. The test subjects were all

thanked and left the gym, Rick Hobson throwing Rhyssa

an impudent wink as he walked by.

 

"You will, of course, wish to analyze the results of

this test with your own motion experts. Manager

Duomi," Dave Lehardt said, "but I'm sure you rec-

ognized the fact that weightlessness grants no bonuses

to the kinetic. As to the noise factor ..." The publicist

took a compact recorder from his hip pocket and

thumbed it on.

 

At the babel and squeaks and metallic groans. Per

 

 

 

 

60 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Duomi covered his ears in defense and stared in shock

at Rhyssa.

 

"That is what a sensitive 'hears' on the station,"

Dave said, raising his voice and inserting his words in

between the worst of the noise. It was a fair selection,

representing the streams of consciousness of eighty

mentalities: resentments, complaints, shouts, pains, an-

gers, and myriad metallic noises that some of the ki-

netics endured. "With ten thousand people living up

there already, the mental noise is never-ending. So all

that garbage is a constant secondary drain on their

nerves, reducing their efficiency if they have no respite

from it in shielded quarters."

 

Having set the decibel rate herself, Rhyssa knew that

covering his ears gave Duomi frail protection, but she

did not reduce the volume until Dave had finished his

little speech.

 

"I see that you hadn't realized just what we meant

by noise," she said finally. "But the cost of shielding

personnel quarters for the kinetics is going to be less

than the cost of materiel lost or damaged due to tired

minds."

 

"You have made your points," Per Duomi said with

a grim expression. "I shall present them to Ludmilla

Barchenka."

 

"Present them and insure their implementation, Per

Duomi, and you will have the kinetic assistance you

require. Oh, and one other minor point," she added,

smiling to take the sting out. "Barchenka is to relay all

orders to the kinetics through the regular channels. We

will have no more of her rousting Talents out of their

quarters at inappropriate hours and insisting on 'extra

duty' because her schedule is two minutes out of line!

Have I made myself clear on that point?''

 

He nodded, his expression solemn.

 

Rhyssa hoped he could convince Barchenka.

 

CHAPTER 6

 

^ No, please V Peter Reidinger cried as the elec-

trician was about to disconnect the tri-d in the ward.

His cry was echoed by the other children.

 

•»!• <

 

"Look, kids, there's some kind of freaky drain on

the hospital's power supply, and we've finally traced it

to this ward. I gotta fix it, or some of your support

systems will go down when they shouldn't," the elec-

trician said with a hint of exasperation in his tone.

 

"No, wait, please," Peter said. "The program's all

about the space platform and the Talents."

 

"Huh?" The electrician took a better look at the

monitor.

 

"It'll only be a few minutes! Just the newscast!"

Peter pleaded.

 

"Wal, I guess-"

 

"Shhhh," Peter interrupted, straining to hear the

commentator. Not that he really needed the voice-over

to identify the scene as the estate of the late George

Henner, one of the earliest supporters of the parapsy-

chics. As the camera panned across the trees and lawns,

the boy was startled by the place's eerie familiarity.

This was the place he had sought—a place of tranquil

greenery and huge old trees and vine-covered buildings.

The place that had scared him away. And now he knew

why. They would not want to have their precinct in-

vaded. They needed their privacy to do all the wonder-

ful things they did. Like help to finish the last three

61

 

62 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT 63

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

spokes of the Padrugoi Platform so that mankind could,

at last, reach for the stars.

 

"It's not only the Talented who are making a sacri-

fice," the commentator went on, still standing in that

marvelous oasis, "for Industry and Commerce have

granted leave of absence to their Talented employees to

assist with this final push out to space. Platform Man-

ager Ludmilla Barchenka announces that the most am-

bitious world project yet undertaken will be completed

on schedule. And now to other news in the Jerhattan

district ..."

 

"Okay, mister," Peter said, relaxing against his

frame. "That's what we wanted to see."

 

"You're not looking for a career in space, are you?"

the electrician asked, half-teasing. He was always a lit-

tle nervous around kids who were so badly injured.

 

Peter cocked his head at him. "Why not? With no

gravity, I wouldn't be stuck in this frame, and a push

of my toe or my little finger—" He waggled the two

extremeties, which were, after months of therapy, all

he could move. "—I could float about."

 

"Yeah, I guess you could. Now, nurse, can I start

with this frame?" the electrician asked, gesturing to the

multiple-tasking device that gave Peter what indepen-

dence he had in his condition.

 

"Yes, it's time for Peter's body-brace session any-

way," Sue Romero said. "C'mon, Peter."

 

"Aw, do I have to? Couldn't I watch what he

does?"

 

"No, the moment for positive thinking has come.

Let me see that limbic-system smile on your face."

 

Peter hated the body brace and the morning's 'tor-

ture session,' as he mentally categorized the therapy.

He felt heavy in the frame, his body more lifeless

than ever. "But see, I can move my big toe and my

little finger. Please ..."

 

"Hey, what the—?" the electrician exclaimed.

 

The diagnostic reader he had just hooked up had un-

expectedly registered a blip.

 

While Peter gamely concentrated on his body-brace

drills, the electrician checked out the bed's wiring,

but except for that one brief blip, he could find no

short, no dysfunction in any of the circuitry. By the

time an exhausted Peter was back in his bed, the

electrician had done a thorough test of all the spe-

cialized treatment electronics in the ward. Baffled by

the continual surges on the ward's circuits, the man

left a small monitor attached to the one piece of

equipment that had registered an abnormality, slight

though it had been, and left.

 

Peter knew by her face that Sue Romero was dis-

appointed in him. He did try to make his body re-

member how to move. The frame sent electrical

impulses into his atrophied muscles, the theory being

that the little jolts would restimulate neural and mus-

cular activity. He hated that intrusion into his body

even more than he hated being paralyzed.

 

"Peter, if you would only stop resisting the mech-

anism," Sue said reproachfully. "If you would only

go with it, instead of denying the help it could give

you. You could, you know, even get to the platform.

Your schoolwork was excellent—there'd be no prob-

lem with the educational end . . ," She trailed off,

fighting her own dispiritedness. Sometimes with the

very badly damaged children, she felt she was

pounding at the well-known immovable object—gen-

erally, as in Peter's case, the child itself.

 

The boy was exhausted, eyes closed, arms and legs

sprawled just as he had been rolled out of the body

brace. Sue Romero could not afford to pity him—it

was unprofessional and helped neither of them in his

rehabilitation—but she did. As she turned away, she

thought he was sleeping. She would have been

amazed to leam that he was reviewing that vision of

 

 

 

 

64          PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

the Center, with its trees and lawns and . . . Rhyssa

Owen.

 

That night, Rhyssa was wakeful, going over and over

that telecast. She had felt good about it during filming.

Dave Lehardt had done his job well. They would, of

course, have to wait until opinions had been sampled, but

Rhyssa felt that Barchenka was coming out a poor second

at the moment, despite her apparent triumph at the cow-

ardly capitulation of the effete Talents. Rhyssa fretted that

she had somehow weakened the consolidated strength of

Talents and wondered how she could rectify what was

still, in the minds of most Talented, an untenable position

with Barchenka getting her way.

 

She felt then the gossamer touch—envious, yearning,

wistful, and so terribly sad that a sob clogged her throat.

 

Wait, little friend,. she murmured in the softest of

tones.

 

Say what? With the voice came mixed impressions

of stardement, sense of apology-denial-rejection, and

an astringent smell. And then the touch—timorous and

reluctant—was gone.

 

Rhyssa tried to follow, her touch feather soft, but the

retreat had been too swift, like a flicker of shadow

across the moonlight outside her window. She made a

quick note of the time: 3:43. Then she lay there savor-

ing that touch, examining it, letting her perception an-

alyze it.

 

Such swiftness suggested a young mind—no old

thoughts or experiences to slow the instantaneity of ac-

tion. A boy on a prank ... A boy? Doing an out-of-

body maneuver? A boy in a hospital—yes, a hospital

would account for the astringent odor—his movement

constrained so that only his mind could travel?

 

That fit the pieces together so perfectly that Rhyssa

got out of bed and paced over to the console.

 

"Bud, I want a call out to all hospital Talents," she

said, unable to keep the elation out of her voice.

 

Anne McCaffrey             65

 

"The peeper caught you again?"

 

"That's right. An adolescent boy, quite likely crip-

pled or paralyzed. I want to see who was awake on the

wards at three-forty-three this morning."

 

"The last thing you need tonight is some pimple-

faced nerd rousing you."

 

"On the contrary. Bud, I think that's exactly what I

did need. A youngster able to go out of body? He's got

to have fantastic potential."

 

"For what?" Budworth wanted to know.

 

"That," Rhyssa said with a surge of hope, "is what

we'll have to find out."

 

As she climbed back into bed, she had a lot to think

about before she could compose herself for sleep. How

long had it been since a new Talent that strong had been

identified? And what sort of a Talent was it? Even strong

telepathy did not leave an image, however transparent.

A new type of kinesis? Very few kinetics could move

themselves! Inanimate objects, yes, but animate ones,

no. Most out-of-body experiences were the results of

traumas and useless in a commercial sense—and theo-

rists still argued over whether the out-of-body phenom-

enon was a kinetic manifestation or a strong telepathic

projection.

 

Just remember, she told herself that it was the com-

mercial applications of Talents that provided us with

legal immunities, good jobs, and special status for the

past four score years . . . and let us get marvelously

complacent. Maybe it wasn't really "noise" that even

kinetics heard in space but some other form of inter-

stellar communication, a multilingual garble that they

were picking up. Open your mind up, gal. Look around

you. Look at Dave Lehaidt. He has to be Talented,

even if it won't register on a Goosegg graph.

 

Why, Rhyssa Owen, she asked herself, does Dave

Lehardt have to be Talented?

 

And that was the quandary she fussed over as she

finally slipped into an uneasy sleep.

 

66 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 67

 

* * *

 

"I discovered some interesting new facets of employ-

ment on the platform," Dave Lehardt told Rhyssa in

her office two days later. "Came out in further talks

with my platform contact, Samjan, and a few judicious

inquiries." He gave her a humorless grin. "The casu-

alties."

 

"Yes, the total is horrific." Rhyssa shuddered. "But

working in space there were bound to be some."

 

"Some?" Dave raised his eyebrows. "Some, yes,

but when I checked with Johnny Greene in Altenbach's

office, we found several different sets of figures on the

casualty rate."

 

Rhyssa straightened. When Dave had arrived unex-

pectedly, she had been busy reshuffling the rotas of the

Center's kinetics, steeling herself to endure their un-

derstandable reproaches and arguments. Any interrup-

tion was welcome.

 

"Then I got JG and Samjan together, and they both

did a bit of research," he went on, "and, using their

security clearances, they came up with what we think

are the real statistics." His expression was bleak, and

there was a stillness about his body that forewarned her.

"You know how the unemployed are terrified to be

conscripted to Padrugoi? They may not be Talented, but

they've got an instinct about baaaaaad situations. They

have good reason not to want to get conscripted. She

loses grunts at a frightening rate, far beyond the allow-

able. The major reason is because Barchenka's so

bloody-minded about keeping her Sacred Schedules, she

won't interrupt a shift to retrieve drifters!"

 

To be sure she understood his meaning, Rhyssa un-

consciously tried to read his mind. It was like stubbing

her toe on a stair raiser, and she blinked. "Run that

past me again, please, Dave," she asked, struggling

with confusion at her inability to read him the way she

was used to reading most of her friends.

 

"Surely you've seen the promotional footage," he

 

said, "with the grunts suited up and pushing gi-nonnous

sections of a spoke with the tips of their fingers or a

spare foot?"

 

"Yes ..."

 

"In the real working situation, not that mockup they

did for recruitment, a worker'll push too hard, and with

every action causing a reaction in space, the poor sod

goes spinning off into the dark deeps."

 

"Yes ..."

 

"Well, Barchenka doesn't stop work to rescue them.

Oh, no, anyone that stupid has to wait until the shift is

over before his buddies are allowed to go after him.

That is, if a skiff is available, and if the bod's been

tracked."

 

Appalled at the vivid scene his words evoked, Rhyssa

stared at him. "Is this public knowledge?"

 

He gave her a cynical look. "Why do you think the

grunts never take surface leave? It's not the fact that

they're paid so little that they can't afford surface leave,

or that there's no available space on shuttles for mere

grunts, or that they're unlikely to have any family to

visit on Earth. It's that they're plain not allowed back

down to tell anyone what's happening. The grunts are

also segregated so that even the observant among the

more elite employees don't know exactly what's going

on. It took both JG and Samjan and some long program

analyses to piece fact out of the publicly available fic-

tions."

 

"But all the recruitment films show safety lines

and ..." Part of Rhyssa crowed with delight at discov-

ering Barchenka resorting to very questionable tactics,

while another part balked at the enormity of the crime.

 

' 'That's promo footage, my dear director. The theory

is great. In practice, Barchenka dispensed with safety

lines—they kept getting tangled in equipment, slowing

down her precious work schedule. So safety lines are a

space myth.

 

"And Barchenka has such saving ways." Dave Le-

 

 

 

 

68          PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

69

 

hardt perched his lean frame on the edge of her desk.

"For instance, we discovered by an analysis of records

that a suited grunt is given only enough air in his tanks

for that shift and maybe a sniff or two left over. Oh,

there's plenty of safety regs for the engineers and su-

pervisors and skilled technicians—but not the grunts.

She doesn't care what happens to them. There're plenty

more where they came from."

 

Rhyssa was outraged. "You just validated my in-

stincts about that woman. Law be damned, I won't ask

my kinetics to face such risks!"

 

Dave gave a snort. "They're far too valuable to be

risked. There'd be too much of a stink kicked up if a

drifting Talent wasn't retrieved right then. Overworked,

yes. Samjan confirmed the notion that eight-hour shifts

are another platform fallacy.

 

"On top of that conspicuous savings of consumables,

I uncovered several other little anomalies: grunt suits

have limited-range corn units. They can't be heard

shrieking for help! Might disturb their fellow workers."

 

Rhyssa stared at him aghast.

 

"There's also a high incidence of agoraphobia among

the grunts and genuine space cafard. But ailing grunts

are never transferred down. They just disappear! Acci-

dental death! Never suicide! Always accidental. After

all," he said, taking on a mock Russian accent, "ev-

eryone knows how dangerous it is to ignore safety

warnings and procedures. And then there appears to be

a neat little system which causes unexpected casualties

during the routine drills they so conspicuously hold from

time to time on Padrugoi." Dave paused again.

"Checking through medical records, it becomes appar-

ent that the unfortunate victims of those drill 'accidents'

are always either the injured or the headcases."

 

"Oh, my God, Dave!" Rhyssa propelled herself from

her chair to pace agitatedly up and down the tower

room. "Why haven't any of the precogs caught this?"

 

"According to ,your brief summary on Talents' ca-

 

pabilities, precogs usually latch onto large numbers,

Rhyssa. There are never enough—"

 

"Numerics is no excuse!" Rhyssa was surprised by

a vehemence that answered the despair in his voice. She

wondered if his mind, too, was filled with faceless

forms, twisting and turning in space, drifting farther

and farther from the network of lights that was the oasis

of air and warmth in the blackness, and a violent shud-

der seized her.

 

A warm hand cupped her shoulder. "Easy! Talent

spreads itself thin enough as it is. You're not God, or

gods, to mark each sparrow's fall."

 

She blinked and looked up at him. Though his mind

was as closed to her as ever, the sympathy and under-

standing in his warm blue eyes was obvious. She would

not tell him that Talents generally disliked tactile con-

tact—surprisingly enough, she had discovered that she

liked him touching her.

 

"Armed with this information, however, you can

spread Barchenka over a barrel." His voice was soft

and teasing. "If you see what I mean. Or, maybe you

Talents are too simon-pure to lower yourselves to out-

right blackmail."

 

"Not when the lives and safety of my Talents are at

risk, I'm not," Rhyssa declared stoutly. "Not to men-

tion those poor sods who've not even been given half a

chance to survive. I'll insist on short shifts and shields,

and we'll increase that ante to safety lines for everyone

working on the platform and the deployment of rescue

skin's. Or do skiffs have limited power and air on them,

too, so as to save costs?"

 

He crossed his arms on his chest, grinning at her.

"Your Talents wouldn't be at risk anyway, unless I've

misunderstood their capabilities. There's no way Bar-

chenka can pull the same tricks on them that she does

with the poor grunts. And unless your response is unique

among your ilk, I can't see your folk standing by for

 

 

 

 

70          PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

71

 

some of her tricks, once they know what to look for.

Some of the kinetics are telepaths, aren't they?"

 

"Quite a few." Rhyssa gave a sardonic chuckle. "A

fact we haven't actually mentioned to Barchenka, whose

understanding of Talent is severely limited."

 

Dave let out a bark of laugh. "Not the whole truth

nor even half the truth, huh? Good girl, Rhyssa!" He

playfully knuckled her chin. "Is distance a problem?

Or the vacuum of space?" When Rhyssa shook her

head, he went on. "Well, you guys could sure be pop-

ular with the grunts because yo«"—he waggled his fin-

ger at her—"could be their insurance. A Talent could

haul back a drifter, couldn't he? Without asking for

permission during his shift, or waiting for a skiff?" He

gave her a broad smile. "That'll help a lot of ways.

Damned good PR, too. The best, because it proves that

the Talents will help the ordinary grunt where Bar-

chenka just simply hasn't!"

 

Rhyssa suddenly turned away, not wanting Dave to

see her expression. Sascha? she called. I've just found

the perfect job for Madlyn! Tell you later!

 

I can read your evil mind, Sascha said, and she's not

even on the list for the platform.

 

She is, as of right now, Rhyssa replied. How often

have you said that Madlyn could be heard at the space

platform? We'II just put it to the test! She smoothed her

expression and looked up at Dave Lehardt, who was

eyeing her keenly.

 

"Who were you talking to just then? And don't hold

out on me. I'm getting used to your ways, woman!"

His voice rippled with an odd emotion, and the gleam

in his eyes intensified.

 

Rhyssa's grin was half embarrassment at his scrutiny

and half delight with her inspiration. "We've got a tele-

path with an extraordinarily loud voice. We'll send her

up in an administrative capacity. Put her on a radar

scope, and she'll locate and reassure any drifters for the

nearest kinetic t&haul back to safety."

 

"Lady, you don't realize what a difference that could

make to morale up at the platform." Dave's grin was

so infectious that Rhyssa had to grin back. "Not only

is Barchenka unaware that she's her own worst enemy,

but her ignorance about Talent in general will prevent

her from realizing that she's just hired a battalion of

undercover agents."

 

"That's the beauty part!" Rhyssa said, grinning more

broadly. "Does Duomi? Or Prince Phanibal?"

 

Dave Lehardt considered briefly. "Prince Phanibal

might, but he's not on the platform as much lately-

some crisis in Malaysia that occupies a lot of his time.

Besides, I read him as being just ornery enough not to

tell her something as crucial at this time for the sheer

pleasure of watching her squirm. Now what's this

emergency clause Lance Baden wants added to the con-

tracts?"

 

"In case of a major emergency, we must be able to

bring Talents back down. You remember the floods last

monsoon on the Indian continent and that major shake

in Azerbaijan? We knew about each of them ten days

before, so we were able to muster help and reduce the

effect of the catastrophe. Sending her a hundred and

forty-four kinetics has wiped out our disaster-squad or-

ganization. We want a twenty-four-hour clause—to

bring key personnel back to Earth in time to cope here.''

 

"Can't you teleport 'em down?"

 

Rhyssa laughed. "No, more's the pity. Our Talents

are finite, definite, and nowhere near such a fantasy

application as instantaneous transmissions. That takes

more power than a human brain can generate."

 

"I thought the Moral Code on legitimate bio-

engineering permitted—"

 

"Hold it right there, Dave." Rhyssa held up a

warding hand. "Read the Code: congenital defects,

yes—manipulations, no. And I doubt any genetic en-

gineer would monkey with the brain yet—even a

monkey's brain."

 

 

 

 

72 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

"If you can find one. Though don't you think it's

likely that someone has been doing illicit experimenta-

tion, the world being what it is these days?"

 

"That's cynical of you, Dave."

 

"Sometimes- saying no is registering a challenge,"

he replied with a shrug. "I wouldn't nile out the pos-

sibility."

 

"Meanwhile," Rhyssa said, bringing the discussion

firmly back to relevant matters, "I'd very much like to

see a full report on what JG and Samjan have been

discovering about platform personnel problems."

 

Dave grinned, taking three diskettes from a breast

pocket. "I thought you might. Gives you a stronger

bargaining position for shields, short shift—"

 

"Safety lines and skiffs," Rhyssa finished, taking the

diskettes but letting her fingers linger on his a little lon-

ger than the transactions required. "I thank you, sir."

What on earth was happening to her in Dave Lehamt's

presence? She felt as giddy as—as Madlyn could be in

Sascha's company.

 

When Per Duomi, Prince Phanibal Shimaz, and two

other minor officials, one of them the accommodations

officer, arrived to settle the minor details, Dave Lehardt

had another presentation that altered the proceedings.

Rhyssa, sitting with Max Perigeaux, Gordie Havers,

and Lance Baden, found the meeting eminently satis-

fying.

 

Showing the accurate fatality statistics—figures that

bleached all color from the faces of Duomi and the

prince—Dave Lehardt talked knowledgeably of some of

the "minor" problems that the Talents would be will-

ing to undertake, such as the retrieval of any suited

workers experiencing "malfunction of suit jets," and

telepathic contact "with those using short-range corn

units," plus monitoring systems; they would also in-

clude among the Talents two with broad diagnostic ca-

pabilities. Dave pointed out that the savings on skiff

 

Anne McCaffrey             73

 

fuel and man-hours required for retrieval would more

than compensate for the cost of shielding required in

Talent accommodations.

 

Nor was there any discussion about the emergency

clause. Lance Baden announced that he was to be Tal-

ent liaison with the engineering staff and that was that.

 

And what were they saying about cowardly capitu-

lations? Lance commented.

 

Rhyssa was so weary from accumulated stresses that

she experienced no elation at having forced every single

concession out of the Padrugoi officials. She wanted

nothing more than a quiet supper and some mental

peace. Per Duomi had a natural shield, but the other

project representatives at the meeting had not, and when

their initial euphoria at coercing Talents onto the work

force was burst by hard facts and figures and compro-

mises, their emotional responses of anger, horror, and

embarrassment had been hard to deflect.

 

Sascha: I've cleared everyone out of the first floor.

Relax!

 

Rhyssa: Oh, you are a pet!

 

Sascha: Lot of good it does me! But she knew he was

only teasing.

 

Rhyssa entered the Henner house, appreciative of the

deep silence in the elegantly appointed rooms. Very lit-

tle had been altered from the days of George Henner,

the parapsychics' first benefactor: all had been lovingly

preserved in his memory. The subterranean offices, the

annexes, and her tower were modem, with state-of-the-

art technology, but the main reception rooms were re-

minders of more leisurely times. The kitchen, where

modem appointments were hidden behind old-fashioned

cupboards, exuded an aura of comfort—it was spacious,

with an archaic but working fireplace, a huge table, and

comfortable chairs. The dining portion faced onto the

gardens at the rear of the main house, bright with

blooms and bushes.

 

74 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Some thoughtful kinetic had activated the kettle. She

made herself a cup of tea, found sandwiches in the

crisper, and kicking off her shoes, curled up in one of

the wing chairs.

 

There was something amazingly restorative about

looking out onto the garden, watching the flowers move

in the light breeze. She set her mind adrift, savoring

the quiet, despite the deep-seated nagging presentiment.

 

"I'm not a precog," she told herself and sipped her

tea. "What I am feeling is just reaction to the last few

hectic days. A quite natural depression."

 

Then she felt me touch, once again colored with wist-

fulness and a deep sadness that pierced her to the heart,

making her own malaise seem insignificant.

 

She dared not reach out for fear of startling the boy.

Boy he was, and despairing. Had her transitory unease

triggered a response from him midday? Or was it his

need seeking consolation? What could so desolate a

young person? One could endure detached misery-

tragedy happening at a distance to people one had never

met—but to feel the palpitating misery of another person

was an intense experience.

 

Delicately she impinged on the boy's mind, hoping

to gain some clue to his whereabouts. He was dreading

something, and the yearning for trees and lawn and

flowers and someplace that was not hospital had precip-

itated the nebulous contact. And her mind, less con-

trolled than usual in its weariness, had attracted his.

Dreading what? She inserted the question.

 

The body brace!

 

Rhyssa had not expected an answer. She tried to keep

the lightest of contacts, though, oddly enough, he felt

very close at that moment. Isn't it meant to help? she

asked cautiously.

 

It doesn't. It hurts. It's artificial, it's awful. It's a

cage. The bed is bad enough. I don't want to. I—don't—

want—to!

 

Anne McCaffrey             75

 

A wail from the depth of a forlorn and comfortless

mind reached her—then it was abruptly cut off.

 

"We got another one of those surges this afternoon—

usually we get 'em at night," the hospital's maintenance

man said as he held up the printout to the consultant en-

gineer whom the concerned hospital administration had

finally called in.

 

The engineer peered at the peak, a sudden sharp devi-

ation lasting seventy-two seconds. He asked for the other

anomalies and was presented with further examples.

"Shouldn't be any drain on the systems at three-forty-

three, three-oh-three, three-fifty-two, or three-thirteen.

You've checked all the equipment?"

 

"I put meters on several floors. Got a blip on PedOrth

Ward Twelve when I was installing it. So I took every-

thing apart on that ward and there wasn't nothing mal-

functioning. Craziest thing I've ever seen. And you

know how Admin is when you got outages and anom-

alies with all them life-support systems hooked up.

Funny though, nothing in the ICUs."

 

"Okay, screen me your schematics for all the equip-

ment on PedOrth and see what's being used there." The

engineer sighed heavily—he could see it was going to

be one of those days.

 

A stir around the beds in the circular ward alerted

Peter Reidinger, and he blinked away the screen that

blocked his view. A very old lady stood in the doorway,

Miz Alien hovering with her "you'd-better-behave"

look on her face as she glanced around the ward to be

sure everything was in order for the visitor.

 

Instantly Peter's attention was riveted on the lady.

She was different. That became more apparent to him

as Miz Alien began to introduce her to the kids in the

ward. Cecily even smiled and answered the lady. Cec-

ily was a spina bifida case who "ought" to have been

corrected in utero but had not been. Osteomyelitis had

 

76 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

caused her to have one leg amputated, and her recovery

from that operation was very slow. She rarely opened

up to other people—and particularly not to strangers—

so her response to the old lady was a minor miracle.

Peter was in a sweat of anticipation by the time the lady

reached him.

 

"This is Peter Reidinger, Ms. Horvath." The way

Miz Alien cocked her right eyebrow told Peter that he

had better behave himself.

 

Ms. Horvath just smiled down at him, her eyes twin-

kling, and they were not at all old, or rheumy, or hard.

He wondered she let herself look so old.

 

I promised my husband that I would grow old grace-

fully, she startled him by saying. That way I wouldn't

surprise people so much when I don't act my age.

 

Peter goggled at her. She had not moved her lips—

and yet he had heard her voice clearly in his mind.

 

"Peter ..." Miz Alien prompted him.

 

"Pleased ta meetcha!" Peter managed to get out. Miz

Alien cleared her throat wamingly.

 

"Thank you, Mrs. Alien, I'll just chat a bit with

Peter," Dorotea Horvath said, pulling a chair to Peter's

bedside and dismissing Miz Alien in a manner that

astounded the boy. Miz Alien doesn't really believe in

telepathy and Talents. And we just haven't had the

chance to go around the pediatric wards lately. So we

missed you.

 

"Missed me?"

 

Dorotea smiled again, a smile that was magical be-

cause it seemed to envelop Peter with warmth and car-

ing. The hard knot of self-pity and resentment that had

been building up at the thought of another body-brace

session dispersed.

 

"That is, until you started visiting Rhyssa."

 

"Rhyssa?"

 

Into his mind came a new touch. I'm Rhyssa. I sent

Dorotea to you because you run away from me. Doro-

tea says you can't run away from her right now, Peter

 

Anne McCaffrey             77

 

Reidinger. Please come live with us where I know you

long to be.

 

"Now that you've had an official invitation, will you

accept?" Dorotea asked, brimming over with amuse-

ment at his stunned reaction.

 

"But I can't. I'm crippled. I can't go anywhere ..."

 

Ahahahaha! Dorotea chided him, still smiling. A boy

who can go out of body on tours of Jernattan at three

in the morning is no cripple!

 

"But I can't use the body brace!" Peter was horrified

to hear himself blubbering and to feel tears streaming

down his face. He had not cried in months.

 

Crying's a natural release for emotional pressures,

Dorotea said as she blotted his cheeks matter-of-factly.

All that manly repression has also been blocking Tal-

ent. I do believe that the brace also posed an inhibition.

I think it short-circuited natural ability. We'll sort it

out. Cytbat I'm positive.

 

And suddenly Peter had no doubt at all.

 

"First, of course, we have to get your parents' per-

mission." Dorotea was always practical. "Do you think

they'll mind?"

 

"Mind?" Peter nearly shouted. He knew that the

hospital fees, even with the huge compensation the city

was forced to pay since he had been injured on city-

owned property, had been a terrible financial drain on

his parents. His mother came to see him regularly, but

his father's visits grew fewer and shorter. His mother

always had some plausible explanation for Dad's ab-

sence, but Peter had not been fooled.

 

Suddenly Dorotea's eyes widened in pleased surprise.

"I don't think you'll need much training after all," she

said, pointing at him.

 

"What?" And at that moment Peter realized that he

was hovering above his bed—and that an alarm just be-

neath it had gone off.

 

78 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Rhyssa! Dorotea's mental shout was a very welcome

diversion for Rhyssa.

 

The Eastern director had not been able to make that

first contact for several reasons, the foremost one being

the Padrugoi priority. The other reason was that Dor-

otea was still the most accurate Talent diviner in the

entire world, with the deftest touch to allay fear and

suspicion.

 

Rhyssa, Peter Reidinger reeks of Talent. I can't

imagine why the resident didn't tumble to it a long time

ago, despite the fact that Peter's been suppressing his

natural feelings to be considered a brave boy. Being in

a hospital situation, he 'd have to blank out all periph-

eral static or get wound up in everyone else's pain.

Though he's not your garden-variety kinetic or tele-

path. In fact, I've never touched anyone quite like him.

One thing's sure, he no more needed a body brace than

you need a videophone.

 

Can you expedite his release to us? Rhyssa asked.

 

In my best granny mode! I don't anticipate any trou-

ble with the family—they've been struggling under the

medical costs. I gather the father has trouble visiting

his "crippled" son. They should regain some perspec-

tive now that Peter'II be able to pay his own way.

 

How medical is he?

 

Dorotea gave a mental snort. With a little help from

his friends, he won't be medical past the gate of the

Center. Whoops! We've just been charged by an irate

electrician and a stupefied consultant, and—my God!

 

Dorotea broke off contact, startling Rhyssa—Dorotea

usually had no trouble double-talking. Rhyssa waited

for the old woman to come back and explain her abrupt

disappearance. After three minutes with no further word

from her, Rhyssa reluctantly resumed her immediate

task.

 

Worried about Dorotea and the boy, it was difficult

for her to keep her mind on the reassignment of kinetic

Talents, but the-matter had to be cleared up as soon as

 

Anne McCaffrey             79

 

possible. The Eastern Center would be left with just ten

to do the work of thirty, along with five trainees who

could be slotted into some of the less exacting hoist

work. Airshuttle clients, passengers or commercial,

were just going to have to wait longer to collect their

luggage; all construction firms would lose kinetics, save

those on two nearly completed projects where kinesis

was the only way to safely install heavy equipment on

the uppermost stories.

 

She and Miklos Horvath, Dorotea's grandson on the

West Coast, also had to arrange "fetch and cany"

teams, telepaths and kinetics who could work in tandem

and at long distance. But such skills were exhausting

and would have to be reserved for emergencies.

 

Dave Lehardt had come up with yet another valid

suggestion that might not improve relations with Bar-

chenka and Duomi but would certainly make more ef-

fective use of the four-hour shift of each kinetic.

 

"I looked at some of the motion studies," he had

told her, "and some videos of an actual working day.

Samjan mentioned that he spent a good portion of every

shift on Padrugoi doing nothing—waiting until materiel

was organized from the storage yard or bins, or while

the engineers sorted out minor discrepancies. So I got

Samjan and Bela Rondomanski, who was Space Lab

designer, together with Lance Baden, who's a trained

engineer. Bela said a lot of the delays on Space Lab

were caused by a chronic disorganization in Supply.

Lance said that the problems hadn'-t been completely

solved when he did two tours at Padrugoi, but one of

Barchenka's strengths is her organizational skills. Take

them one more step forward, and, in a four-hour shift,

a kinetic can get everything in a spoke section lined up

so that all the grunts need to do during the next twenty

hours of shift time is give a tiny shove and the elements

will fall into place.

 

"Of course, it'll mean a good deal of reorganization

in the stores and materiel already up at Padrugoi, and

 

80 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

maybe some shipment rearranging, lighting a fire under

the taidy suppliers, but the time spent doing that will

cut down on the man-hours upstairs."

 

"Duoml's returned to the station," Rhyssa said.

 

"We'll just borrow Hangar Q again for another handy

little demonstration. I'll work out the details. Hey,

you're looking mighty good today. New hairstyle? Sure

shows off your skunk streak." Her screen diffused on

another of his famous confidence-inspiring grins.

 

Skunk streak indeed, she thought, her fingers

smoothing it back. At least he had noticed. With a sigh,

she went back to her analyses, until she realized that

she had not heard another squeak from Dorotea.

 

Then, as abruptly as the contact had been broken,

Dorotea returned.

 

Well, I said I'd come back as soon as I could. It's

too soon to be sure what he does do, Rhyssa, but he

apparently taps into electrical sources. He's been

glitching the hospital circuits fit to drive the electrician

and a high-priced consultant barmy. And it also ex-

plains why he couldn't cope with the body brace: the

impulses which were fed directly into his synapses were

short-circuiting inherent abilities, so the poor lad was

trying to cope with an overload. Sue Romero is in bits

thinking of all she's been doing to Peter, and he's in a

state because he had no way of explaining why the body

brace was all wrong/or him. . . and the head nurse, Miz,

Alien, is one of those by-the-bookers and compounded the

problem. Oh, his family are delighted, especially to know

that Peter will not be "handicapped"—but their heads

read "crippled, useless, financial drain. " It'll be stan-

dard contract until he's eighteen and fully trained. Here's

one kinetic Barchenka won't get her space gloves on!

 

When can you bring him home?

 

We're on our way! Dorotea replied triumphantly. Get

Roddy's room in my house ready. She shot Rhyssa a

mental glimpse of Space-Force posters on every wall,

models of space' shuttles, mass passenger hotels,

 

Anne McCaffrey             81

 

stealths, space labs, and generation ships descending

from the ceiling, and a bunk bed with desk space be-

low. Nothing could be more distant from the antiseptic

environment he's been living in for months.

 

The physical meeting between Rhyssa Owen and Pe-

ter Reidinger was not quite an anticlimax. Dorotea had

warned her that Peter's mother and older sister were

accompanying him in the heli-amb, excited but slightly

apprehensive at his new circumstances.

 

lisa Reidinger was a pleasant enough woman, terribly

concerned for and certainly extremely proud of her Pe-

tey. She struggled with a less than congenial job in

order to help meet the medical bills. The sixteen-year-

old sister, Katya, was what Dorotea called "pushy,"

trying to figure out how her brother's good fortune might

spill over on her and disgruntled that Peter had Talent

and she had none. Dorotea said that Katya resented Pe-

ter because the cost of his hospitalization had kept her

from having many of the things that she, the elder child,

ought to have been able to enjoy. Perfectly understand-

able reaction, Dorotea told Rhyssa as the women deftly

maneuvered Peter's gumey into Dorotea's house and on

through into Roddy's room.

 

Both telepaths could feel Peter's spirit lifting as he

saw the unmedical furnishings and artifacts.

 

"But how'll you do all that has to be done/or him

all the time?" lisa Reidinger began in surprise.

 

"Oh, Peter'11 only need a little help in the beginning,

Mrs. Reidinger," Dorotea said. Her mental Alley oop

was the signal for Rick Hobson to "lift" Peter up into

the bunk bed. "Now, let's all clear out and let him

settle himself in. And," Dorotea added as she shooed

everyone before her, "the heli-amb is waiting to take

you and your daughter home. Here's the vid number.

As you saw, Peter has a set in the room. Call him any

time. Unlike the hospital, here you can see what mis-

chief he's getting into. All right?"

 

82 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Dorotea's positive manner made refusal impossible,

and soon the heli-amb was thunking its way up out of

the Center's grounds.

 

Rick, hopk me up a line from the 4.5-kpm generator

in the garden shed and bring it right into the room with

Peter, Dorotea requested.

 

What is this all about? Rhyssa demanded.

 

/ told you, Dorotea said, then added aloud since they

were now alone, "he seems to tap into the electrical

system and use that for power. Some sort of a gestalt.

I want some of our engineer Talents to link with me

when he's rested enough for us to do some testing. But

it'll have to be you and me for a while, Rhyssa. He's

had such a terrible time."

 

Dorotea's eyes welled with tears, and automatically

Rhyssa gathered the older woman into her arms, smoth-

ering her with love, affection, and admiration.

 

"I'm sorry, dear," Dorotea said with a little sniff,

pulling herself away. "You've had a lot to cope with

now, and you don't need me turning into a watering

pot, but—" She poured into Rhyssa's mind the jumble

of pain/despondency/anguish/guilt, the self-accusation,

and the soul-destroying terror that Peter had been en-

during.

 

Easing Dorotea to the couch, Rhyssa sat beside her,

shaken by that accounting despite years of dealing with

the bizarre mental states of emergent Talents.

 

"I think a spot of tea would go down well right

now," Dorotea said, and Rhyssa gave a weak little

laugh at Dorotea's ever practical mind. Peter? A cup of

tea? Lemon, milk, sugar?

 

Yes, please, was Peter's answer, surprising Rhyssa.

 

You see? He needed only a little help to project his

thoughts instead of squashing them down. Dorotea's

face wore an exaggeratedly smug smile.

 

They were all enjoying a cup of tea when Rick Hob-

son bounced in, festooned with an electrician's belt and

heavy-duty cable.'

 

Anne McCaffrey             83

 

"I don't know what kind of an outlet or receptacle

you need, Dorotea," he said, winking at her, nodding

to Rhyssa, and then waving a hand at Peter, who was

watching it all from his bunk.

 

"Well, Peter, what do you think you need?" Dorotea

asked. "He'd just been sort of hooking in to the elec-

tronic gadgets of the bed," she told Rick.

 

Both women caught Peter's hesitation and concern.

 

"Oh, well, it's as easy to sort the specifics out later,"

Rick said easily, catching Rhyssa's warning look. "At

any rate, the generator's right outside and powered up.

Any time you need it, it's there." With a cheery wave

to all, he left.

 

"It's all a bit much, isn't it, Peter?" Rhyssa said

gently.

 

"I don't know what I did that makes you think I'm

any good at all," Peter said in a voice as pale as his

complexion just then.

 

"Dorotea thinks you used available electrical power

to assist those dawn visits you made to me," Rhyssa

told him. She gave him a mischievous smile to reassure

him. ' 'I'm honored that it was my mind you linked with

to bring you where you wanted to be."

 

"You are?" Peter turned his head away from the

drinking straw in his teacup so that he could look down

at Rhyssa.

 

"I don't get many men invading my bedroom, I as-

sure you."

 

Subtly Dorotea was supporting her, increasing for

Peter the sense that his intrusion had been clever and

original. Both women generated subliminal thoughts

to bolster his perception of himself, reversing the low

self-esteem that was currently inhibiting any forward

progress.

 

"I didn't mean to intrude."

 

"You will soon understand that among telepaths a

midnight knock on the door isn't considered an intru-

sion."

 

84          PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

85

 

"But all those lights ..."

 

Rhyssa let her thoughts echo the annoyance she had

felt at that proprietary supervision. "You didn't hear

me chewing them out for scaring you off, either."

 

"Ooooh, Rhyssa was angry," Dorotea added.

 

"You were doing what many have tried and failed at

miserably," Rhyssa went on.

 

"I was?"

 

"It's what we call an out-of-body experience,"

Rhyssa went on. "Very few people ever achieve that

degree of mental control."

 

"They don't?" Peter was wide-eyed in awe. "But

it's not hard."

 

Dorotea and Rhyssa exchanged amused glances.

 

"Nothing's hard when you know exactly how to do

it, Peter," Rhyssa said, "and you've apparently mas-

tered the art. Dorotea and I are both hoping you can

teach us. I don't have much kinetic ability ..."

 

Sascha: And aren't you glad of that right now? He

sent an image of a space-suited Rhyssa whirling about

Padrugoi chased by a whip-wielding Barchenka.

 

Rhyssa: Don't you dare interfere, Bearman! This is

tricky enough as it is without you in my mind! Oh, my

God! And suddenly Rhyssa began to fathom the poten-

tial of the boy. Give young Peter Reidinger access to

sufficiently powerful electronic sources, and his kinetic

Talent might boggle the mind of the most optimistic

theorist. Why, his Talent was as far from spoon bend-

ing as modem precognition was from priestly auguries

divined from ox intestines!

 

There was an instant response from Sascha, Dorotea,

Sirikit, Rick, and Madlyn. Damp it down, Rhyssa. Have

a heart!

 

Dorotea: WeU, you've all got the picture now, so

leave us alone with the boy. We can't mess this one up.

 

Rhyssa had to take a deep breath, hoping that the

sudden revelation she had been unable to keep from

other strong telepaths in the Center had not also been

 

picked up by Peter Reidinger's still-emerging skill. He

was certainly not reacting.

 

Dorotea: / blocked him, Rhyssa. Get ahold of your-

self.

 

"So, Peter," Rhyssa managed to go on, "if I could

get the hang of what you're doing with the generators,

it could be an extremely valuable added whammy."

 

Dorotea: / couldn 't have put it more discreetly my-

self.

 

Rhyssa: Thanks.

 

"I don't know what I'm doing," Peter said sadly.

 

"It's the sort of thing you don't think about doing,

Peter. You just do it—because you want to, because

you need to. And Dorotea and I will help." Rhyssa

grinned at him. "Communication is where telepathy ex-

cels. The spoken word sometimes isn't as clear as it

should be: words can be misused, inappropriately as-

signed muddy meanings. You're accustomed to a word

meaning one thing; someone else will think it means

something else entirely and misunderstand what you just

said. Speaking mind-to-mind clears up a lot of such

confusions. Or have I just confused you more?"

 

Peter began to smile suddenly. "Like how I couldn't

explain to Miz Romero just why I hated the body

brace."

 

"That's a very apt example, Peter. You just didn't

have the words for the concept of that sort of interfer-

ence."

 

"But how'll I move without a brace?"

 

"By the power of your mind alone, which is exactly

what you did when you were going out of body. Only

we'll teach you how to take your body along with you!

And manage most of your daily care. You won't be

dependent on nurses or orderiies or anyone. In one sense

it was what Sue was trying to get you to do—make your

mind motivate your body to remember what it once

could do. Only you took it one step beyond that, and

neither of you knew you had latent kinetic ability. So,

 

 

 

 

86

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

of course you couldn't do what she wanted. You were

 

a good jump ahead of her."

He was still skeptical. "I'm kinetic?"

"Do you know what the word means?"

"Sure. But I didn't think I was."

Rhyssa rose. "Well, you are. So think about it."

Dorotea retrieved his cup. "You take a rest now,

 

dear. Then I'll show you about the house so you'll know

 

where everything is when you want it."

 

CHAPTER 7

 

^ *t* Although Sascha usually handled training, the

affinity established between Peter and Rhyssa made it

sensible for her to guide his initiation.

 

"I'll help as much as I can," Dorotea told Rhyssa,

a look of resigned disappointment on her face, ' 'but I

am eighty-four, and I've slowed down a lot.'' Then she

smiled with bright mischief. "Of course, I've always

liked cooking for a male appetite. And he'll be able to

do most things for himself in short order. I'm sure of

it. I know a strong Talent when I bump minds with

it."

 

So Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Sascha made a little cere-

mony of adding Peter Reidinger's name to the Registry

of Talents at the Eastern Center. Peter was still not

quite certain of his great good fortune. Rick Hobson,

who was empathic as well as kinetic, monitored the

kinetic aspects; Don Usenik, the Center's versatile

medic, kept a close check on the boy's physical con-

dition; and the boy resided in Dorotea's house.

 

"I can still handle the mothering bits," the old

woman said staunchly, "especially since Rhyssa has

enough to administer.''

 

By the end of the first week, Peter was able to handle

all his intimate problems, a success of immeasurable

proportion for a sensitive boy. The morning he man-

aged to take a shower all by himself was celebrated by

his mentors as the achievement it was. The first time

he had attempted a shower, he had nearly scalded him-

87

 

 

 

 

88 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

self and then overcontrolled and had to be rescued from

icy water by Dorotea.

 

It also took time, and finesse, to descend from his

bed without hitting the floor in a heap. Or to keep

from colliding with furniture as he reeled around the

house. Gradually he achieved a delicate control of the

gestalt and managed to imitate walking; only the re-

ally observant would notice that his feet never quite

touched the ground and that the bend of his knees

only approximated a normal walk. He could not grasp

things, but he arranged his hands in appropriate po-

sitions so that he appeared to be carrying objects.

With such accomplishments, he was a different boy

altogether, and the change astonished his mother on

her next visit.

 

"There's never been any Talent in our family, on

either side," she confided in Dorotea at one point. "I

just can't imagine where he got it from."

 

"Necessity, Mrs. Reidinger," Dorotea said at her

most grandmotherly. "The accident has forced him to

transfer motor functions to another part of his brain.

Even the best of us only utilize about two-fifths of our

brain potential."

 

lisa Reidinger did not really understand Dorotea's ex-

planation, but she accepted it because Dorotea spoke

with such authority.

 

"The human body learns to compensate, Mrs. Rei-

dinger," Dorotea went on soothingly. "All Peter

needed was a chance to train in new ways. Which, I

must say, he has done extraordinarily well. We're very

pleased with his progress." She beamed placidly at her

guest.

 

"Yes, but what will he doT' lisa Reidinger asked

plaintively.

 

"Why, Peter will do very well here at the Center,

helping other youngsters—and adults, too—who have to

learn to compensate for drastic handicaps." Sensing the

woman's reservations on that score, Dorotea added,

 

Anne McCaffrey             89

 

"Oh, the work pays very well. He's on a training schol-

arship right now, of course, but his profession pays very

well indeed. He's all set for a fine career at the Center.

You're going to be very proud of him."

 

Dorotea chose to ignore Dsa Reidinger's other dom-

inant thought: that if Peter was Talented, Katya must

be, too. The girl was being ever so difficult, wanting to

know why Peter got all the luck and she was stuck in a

boring school, doing boring studies while Peter was

getting everything his way just because he had gotten

lucky.

 

"Can he read minds?" is what lisa Reidinger asked

out loud. The idea made her uncomfortable.

 

"Peter has a very limited range," Dorotea replied

mendaciously, intimating regret. "He can hear very

strong thoughts, but his projections are short-range. His

Talent lies in kinetics. Do you understand that word?"

 

"Yes, it means people can push things about with-

out having to touch them. Like the ones going up to

Padrugoi Station to help get it assembled so we can

colonize the stars." The glib phrasing came from Dave

Lehardt's clever publicity campaign on the tri-d.

 

Then lisa asked more timorously, "Would Petey go

into space?" In her very audible public mind, lisa de-

cided that whatever the answer, she would not mention

that to Katya.

 

"Quite unlikely. The platform will be finished before

Peter's received all his necessary training." The very

thought of Barchenka conscripting Peter Reidinger made

Dorotea queasy. lisa Reidinger was disappointed, how-

ever, suffering from the usual maternal syndrome of

wanting her son to be unique, which he was; famous,

which the Center would not wish on him; and perhaps

rich, which Peter would also be, in that, as a Talent,

he could purchase through the Center anything he really

desired. "He shows a truly unique Talent." Let that be

a sop to her pride.

 

"Yes, but what exactly does Petey do?"

 

90 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

"Well, you saw him walk and serve us tea quite by

himself. That is all accomplished by his kinetic Talent.

So you see, he is no longer dependent on mechanical

or prosthetic devices to conduct normal activities. When

he's surer of his abilities, we'll add more complicated

tasks "

 

"He'll be able to hold down a job?"

 

lisa Reidinger really had not even grasped the ba-

sics, Dorotea thought, or comprehended the obvious

achievements. She had barely grasped the fact that Pe-

ter would no longer be a financial or an emotional

burden to his family. She was just a nice woman who

had certainly been devoted to Peter during his conva-

lescence, but the strain had taken a toll on her, too.

Dorotea ventured to wax more enthusiastic about Pe-

ter's potential.

 

It suddenly occurred to Dorotea to wonder if the test-

ing routines, established by Daffyd op Owen, needed to

be updated or made more sensitive. Hospitals were usu-

ally well staffed with Talents of all descriptions. Why

hadn't someone spotted Peter? She really ought to dis-

cuss that notion with Rhyssa—when the mess with Bar-

chenka was smoothed out.

 

"I shouldn't think there'd be much young Peter can't

do if he sets his mind to it.''

 

"Being a kinetic, you mean?"

 

"A rather special one, at that, since he's had to over-

come severe physical limitations."

 

Still slightly puzzled by the fuss being made over her

Peter but immensely relieved by his future prospects,

lisa Reidinger departed.

 

It never occurred to Dorotea that her remarks, meant

to allay a mother's natural concern, would have unex-

pected repercussions. Certainly she and Rhyssa were

beginning to realize the boy's immense potential, but

even to colleagues they had been discreet.

 

"It's a case of make speed slowly. Lance," Rhyssa

 

Anne McCaffrey             91

 

told the Australian director, who seemed to spend more

time on a spacehotol and in the Jerhattan area than ar-

ranging matters in Canberra for his leave of absence on

Padrugoi. He had dropped in to see her on his way from

yet another long scheming session with Dave Lehardt

and Samjan.

 

"I've seen some fair dinkums, dealing with the Ab-

origines and the Maoris, Rhyssa," Lance replied in his

distinctive drawl as he slouched on a chair in her tower

office, "but this lad takes the peach. If he's come on

this fast with only a li'l four-point-five kpm generator

for him to play with, think what he could do with real

power."

 

"All the more reason to make speed slowly. Control

is the most vital part of his training." She projected an

image of Peter, head first, zipping around Jerhattan on

a whirlwind tour, with a tail of detritus, people, small

vehicles, and oddments caught up in the wake of his

passage.

 

Lance grinned, his teeth very white against his per-

petual tan, his sea green eyes glittering. "Too right,

mate. I get the drift. But with a Talent like his and a

proper generator, we could bleeding near shift drones

all the way to the nearest planet."

 

Think that in your most private mind. Lance, she told

him sharply. Don't let a whisper of it escape your

shield.

 

Lance propped his angular body upright, his expres-

sion completely serious. I was funning!

 

Rhyssa nodded slowly, and he let out a long whistle.

 

Yeah, but just imagine the look on Barchenka 's face

if we could tell her that precious Padrugoi project had

just turned obsolete.

 

"Not quite," Rhyssa said with a vindictive grin. She

had entertained a few very satisfying fantasies on that

very theme herself! "A facility like Padrugoi is re-

quired for any number of valid reasons apart from a

jumping-off point to the stars."

 

92 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 93

 

&w many know a&owf Petey 6oy?

 

About his potential? Main staff know he's unusual. I

was too excited when I realized the possibilities inher-

ent in his gestalt, but they only know I was excited

about the boy. There are just three of us—myself, Dor-

otea, and Sascha—who realize that the boy might be

unusual. I don't think Sascha 's had the chance to ap-

preciate the potential that Dorotea and I are just be-

ginning to grasp. Rick Hobson thinks the boy is

inordinately quick, but we had to have a kinetic in on

his initial training. Like you. Rick's got to go to Pad-

rugoi, so we 're cramming as much technique in as pos-

sible. He and Peter mesh well. You are my choice for

his more advanced training, so don't do anything stupid

up on Padrugoi, will you?

 

No way! That's a mean carrot to dangle in front of

me for six long months! Lance rose. "Pure shame that

Dave Lehardt's not a real Talent. He's wizard at han-

dling the Finn and that slimy little Neester bloke."

 

Rhyssa gave a little convulsive shudder at the mere

mention of Prince Phanibal.

 

"You don't like him either, do you?" Lance asked.

 

"No!"

 

Lance chuckled. "Always knew you were a woman

of good sense, ducks."

 

Rhyssa did worry about Peter—he looked so frail af-

ter so long in a hospital bed. So did Dorotea, both keep-

ing their concerns from Peter, whose telempathy was

steadily improving along with his kinesis. He was not

limited merely to receiving or sending emotions, but

was developing a true telepathy, the ability to send and

receive both abstract and lingual messages. Nor did

Rhyssa or Dorotea call attention to those moments

when, in sheer ebullience, Peter did not draw on the

generator in kinetic exercises.

 

Dorotea enjoyed cooking for his eager appetite, and

once Peter was able to perform routine tasks, she fine-

 

tuned his kinesis with food-preparation exercises. He

could pare apples and potatoes, scrape carrots, and cut

up vegetables, all kinetically. He ate anything and ev-

erything, and his body began to fill out with good firm

flesh; Rick showed him exercises for muscle tone, and

hours spent in Dorotea's garden tanned his skin to a

healthy glow. Peter no longer looked the wasted para-

lytic with atrophied muscles. Still, extreme care was

needed in all his activities, since he continued to have

no feeling in his extremities or lower torso and would

be unaware of cutting or burning or bruising himself in

some of his perambulations.

 

When Rick finally had to leave for his tour at Pad-

rugoi, Peter took it hard, moping about the next day.

 

"Rick will be back, Peter," Rhyssa said when she

joined them that evening at dinner. "He's taught you

about all he knows. Now, you have to teach yourself,

which'llbehaid."

 

"Teach myself?" Peter was so shocked that his good

manners briefly deserted him. His fork hovered above

his plate. He and Dorotea had an agreement—he could

get the food to his mouth however he chose if he was

alone, but he was to observe proper etiquette with any-

one else.

 

"Yes, teach yourself," Dorotea replied blandly.

 

"Rick has given you the basics," Rhyssa added with

a warm smile. "Certainly you're now able to do every-

thing for yourself and help out in the house and the

garden. Now you begin the next step—testing yourself.

Don't worry. Rick left a long list for you to complete

by the time his tour of duty is over."

 

"But he didn't tell me how ..." Peter was clearly

floundering.

 

"You know how," Rhyssa said, acting surprised at

his reaction. "All paranormal Talents come from an

instinctive level. Sharpen your instinct." She smiled

at him, patting his arm soothingly. "That instinct led

you right to the Center, didn't it? Don't worry about

 

 

 

 

94 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

the 'how'! Rely on your instinct. Use it by sending

different types of inert objects to destinations farther

and farther away. First to places you are familiar with.

Then by memorizing tri-d visuals and maybe even us-

ing mathematical coordinates. For example, that fork-

ful of mashed potato. Where would you like to put

it?"

 

The fork's burden of mashed potato disappeared.

 

Sascha: What is going on down there?

 

Rhyssa: Does it concern a portion of mashed potato?

 

Sascha, somewhat disgusted: It does! He sent her an

image of a white glob in the middle of his desk.

 

"And where did you send it, Peter?" Dorotea asked

noncommittally.

 

"Sascha's desk. But on the wood, not on anything

important," Peter assured her.

 

"I won't require you to eat it, but do bring it back!"

 

The well-traveled forkful reappeared on the edge of

Peter's plate.

 

Sascha, sarcastically: Thank you!

 

You're welcome! Peter giggled like any youngster

succeeding with a practical joke.

 

Sascha to Rhyssa and Dorotea: We just get Madlyn

house-trained and now we have Peter! Sometimes . . .

I suppose, if he's up to tricks, he's adjusting to Rick's

departure.

 

Peter was also up to work the next day, using the

gestalt with the generator to shift various items about

the Center. Dorotea started him off moving small ob-

jects from one room to another, emphasizing accuracy

of placement and picking locations with which Peter

was familiar. By the end of the morning he was shifting

heavy bales of computer paper from storage to the Con-

trol Room, getting his placements from squares cray-

oned onto the floor until Budworth finally signaled that

his aim was perfect.

 

"Weight seems'to be no object," Sascha said, re-

 

Anne McCaffrey             95

 

viewing the achievements at lunch with Rhyssa. "How

much did he have to rely on the gestalt?"

 

"Not much. We've got a graph on its usage," Rhyssa

replied. "His need is verging on the psychological."

 

"Ah, but that doesn't alter the fact that he does use

it," Sascha said thoughtfully. "Can and does. By damn,

Rhyssa, he's extraordinary! Once he can really lean on

generator power, there isn't anything he can't shift, is

there?" His eyes were shining with excitement. "If only

we could figure out just how he achieves the gestalt."

 

Rhyssa shook her head, with a rueful smile.

 

"Could Rick?" he asked.

 

Rhyssa sighed. "Rick did just the basic kinetic

training exercises with him. He didn't have more time.

Damn Barchenka. Wouldn't you just know that we'd

have a promising emergent who'd benefit from train-

ing with the very kinetics that she's yanked out of our

reach. Why didn't we have an earlier precog of this?"

 

Sascha leaned back in his chair, regarding his good

friend and director with an uncharacteristically solemn

expression. "Rhyssa, hon, could you follow his

mind?"

 

She gave a short laugh. "I'm an adept at telepathy,

but Peter's going where no man has gone before. Maybe

another strong kinetic could follow. I'm going to dra-

goon Lance Baden as his advanced trainer as soon as

that wretched Padrugoi is finished.'' She blued the men-

tal air with assorted images of her frustration.

 

Sascha nodded sympathetically. "Then we'll just

have to continue doing kindergarten stuff with him until

Lance is free. And build him up physically. Does Don

Usenik see any chance of exercise restimulating those

damaged nerves? Now that—"

 

"Trouble!" Budworth's voice rang through the spe-

cial alarm speaker in Rhyssa's office.

 

What kind? she asked immediately.

 

"Goddammit, I want to speak to Director Owen

 

96

 

Anne McCaffrey             97

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

now!" said a voice on the room address system as Bud-

worth patched the call through.

 

"You are," Rhyssa replied coolly. "Please identify

 

yourself."

 

"Dammit, didn't they tell you? Bob Gaskin, Jerhat-

tan Port Authority. You took our kinetic away from us,

and now we've a container pinning three men down and

no bloody way to lift it quick enough to save their lives.

Right now only the safety bar on the forklift is—"

 

"Do you have the area on video?"

 

' 'I do—the whole yard.''

 

"Relay it to this screen immediately," she ordered.

Dorotea, bring Peter to my office. We 've got to try to

help. They 're patching through the image.

 

Dorotea: Dare we?

 

Rhyssa: We 'II never know unless we do. Lives are at

stake. He's got the potential, and he's done well enough

already with bulky, heavy things.

 

Dorotea: That's halfway across the city. But. . . all

right. I'll have Peter there in a dash.

 

Sascha and Rhyssa kept their eyes on the screen,

which was showing the container, the hoist cables at

one end of it still whipping hi backlash. It had come

down askew across a small forklift, the sturdy frame of

which was keeping it from crushing the driver and two

men who had been working near him. The Talents could

see the dangling arm of one man pinned at one side,

the feet of a second protruding under one comer—and

nothing at all of me driver.

 

"Why did that hoist cable part, Mr. Gaskin?" Rhyssa

asked calmly. "Surely you checked all your equipment

before you put it in use again." She deliberately made

herself sound censorious.

 

The office door opened and Dorotea and Peter en-

tered; Peter's eyes went immediately to me screen.

 

"If your goddamned Center hadn't pulled our ki-

netic," Gaskin exploded, "this wouldn't have—Holy

hell! How'd you gel someone here this quick?"

 

Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Sascha held their breath as they

watched the long unwieldy mass of the container slowly

rise off the crumbled forklift, revealing the driver

slumped across his controls and another man sprawled

flat on the ground while the third staggered to his feet,

holding his injured arm. They were also aware of a

humming that they could feel through the floorboards

of Rhyssa's office. The hum peaked off as the container

was lowered carefully to the waiting truck loadbed.

 

"Bravo, Peter, beautifully done! Magnificent!"

Rhyssa said—and then she saw him crumpled on the

floor. "Oh, Lord! Did you strain yourself, love?"

 

Sascha reached the boy before she did, lifting him

gently and depositing him on Rhyssa's conformable

chair, which instantly altered to fit the boy's limp body.

 

"Will the men be all right?" Peter wanted to know,

his white face contorted with anguish. They were hurt-

ing bad.

 

"More to the point, young man," Sascha said,

frowning, "are you all right?" Don, get up here on the

double!

 

"By God, ma'am, how'd you do that?" Bob Gaskin

cried. The Port Authority manager was mopping his

face with shaking hands.

 

"You haven't been completely abandoned by Talent,

Mr. Gaskin. We have a skeleton crew"—Sascha's im-

age of Peter's frail form, bony structure emphasized,

made it very hard for Rhyssa to keep her features com-

posed—"which we can throw into gear for emergencies

of this nature. Do please now overhaul your equipment.

We don't have the manpower for unnecessary acci-

dents, you know." She ignored Sascha's exaggerated

grimace as she saw medics rushing to assist the injured

men as a Southside heli-amb landed nearby. "Good

morning, Mr. Gaskin.

 

"We'll check in with Southside General Hospital

later, Peter," Rhyssa assured the boy.

 

"After Don's checked you out, young man," Doro-

 

 

 

 

98 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

tea added, "though your concern for the men does you

credit."

 

/ know we had to, Rhyssa, Sascha said on a tight band

to Rhyssa, but should we have?

 

Rhyssa made a face. Hobson's choice, Sascha. We

maintain an official position of the skeleton crew. By

the way, don't do that to me again real soon, huh?

 

Sascha rolled his eyes, expressing remorse but no

reassurance. I'm not sure how long we'll be able to

hang that lie, so would you get all uptight if I tried to

follow his mind's thrust when he's lifting? I didn't re-

alize how quickly he's emerging to full use of his Tal-

ent.

 

No, after this exhibition of Peter's ability, I was about

to ask you if you could spare some time to work with

him. I need your insight, since you 're more expert at

training. If we could duplicate the gestalt, even our

featherweights could move containers.

 

"Okay, who's done what to whom now?" Don

Usenik demanded as he entered the room. He looked

around, then spotted the wan Peter on Rhyssa's chair.

"What have you been doing? Moving mountains?"

 

"Which do you want first? The good news, or the

bad news?" Dave Lehardt asked Rhyssa a week later.

 

She could tell nothing from his expression—the look

of his eyes was curiously intent on her face. He might

not be a Talent, but he was unusually astute at picking

up minute body-language signs. She was so glad to see

him that she really did not care what news he brought,

but she followed his cue.

 

"The bad!"

 

"Barchenka is certain you've been holding out on

her. She's heard that you have a team of kinetic Talents

that are not on your official register. She's about to

create a stink. And I have to tell you that I've heard

some mighty peculiar rumors circulating."

 

Rhyssa laughed. "We're not holding out on her—

 

Anne McCaffrey             99

 

Talents can't. Telempaths can always detect a lie. She

has Russian telempaths on her payroll. Tell her to ask

them. What's the good news?"

 

Dave Lehardt raised one eyebrow in a skeptical arch.

"The polls are again favorable to the Talented. When

businesses employing them had to cope with old-

fashioned ways, Talent popularity hit a fifty-year low-

worse even than after the Hawaiian volcano disaster-

even though everyone was pro-Padrugoi and everyone,

meaning the Talents, was doing their share. Seems that

this nonexistent team of yours has provided emergency

services. Only no Talent has been observed on the

scene."

 

"It's a remote technique that we've been developing

for emergency situations," Rhyssa said, schooling her

face to reveal nothing. It was not that she did not trust

Dave Lehardt, but she wanted to protect Peter. "And

it's the one reason we felt we could strip all our Centers

of kinetics to help Padrugoi.''

 

"A remote technique?"

 

"That's what I said."

 

' 'No Talent I've spoken to knows anything about it.''

 

"I said it was remote," Rhyssa repeated, struggling

to keep amusement out of her voice. "Not something

we want to go public on just yet. I'm sure you can

appreciate thatV

 

"So Ludmilla can't get her hands on it?"

 

"She's coerced almost every kinetic we have onto

Padrugoi. She's got sufficient numbers and skills right

now to finish her work on schedule. She shouldn't get

greedier!"

 

"She wants to come in under schedule, and the way

your Talents are working, she could."

 

"Is a bonus involved in eariy completion?" Rhyssa

was annoyed. Damn the woman to a disintegrating or-

bit!

 

"Didn't you know?" Dave Lehardt seemed surprised.

 

"I heard a great deal about penalties and a com-

 

100        PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

101

 

pletion bonus, but strangely enough, nothing was

said, or even hinted, that early completion was her

goal."

 

"I'll do what I can to squash the rumors—and, if I

may be so bold, you should keep that new team out of

operation if at all possible. No more cavalry charges to

the rescue without warning me, huh? Please?"

 

That was very sound advice, which Rhyssa intended

to follow. Since the emergency lift, she had been chary

of using Peter's skill. It just took too much out of his

not-so-sturdy body. He was strengthening himself

daily—exercising was becoming almost an obsession

with him. But she was still rigorously restricting the use

of his Talent to life-threatening situations in the Jerhat-

tan area, which, fortunately, were few. Meanwhile, in

the ongoing training sessions, he was using fax place-

ment photos to send items to other Centers.

 

"I can follow his thoughts all the way," Sascha told

Rhyssa after a week of linking minds with Peter during

those exercises. "I can even feel the vibrations of the

generator in his cerebrum, but how he effects the gestalt

is still beyond me. And, as nearly as I can tell, he's

relying less and less on the power. At least for light

stuff."

 

"If he keeps on this way, maybe Lance is right,"

Rhyssa remarked. "Plug him into a powerful enough

source and he could probably obviate the need for Pad-

rugoi."

 

Sascha blinked, then projected a series of images

depicting Barchenka's expression, the consternation on

the egg-splattered faces of the space station's major

supporters, and one small boy sending out starships

the way children his age launched paper planes. The

last and largest image was of Sascha himself, elon-

gated mouth wide open, chin to his chest. "Could

he?"

 

Rhyssa laughed, rolling her eyes. "I won't say he

couldn't. But you know as well as I do that all Talent

 

has limitations. Now is not the time to put any sort of

pressure on Peter. He's such a happy boy now."

 

"We can thank God he is!" His mental picture was

of himself, patiently controlling me lovelorn Madlyn

Luvaro, huge wads of cotton wool in his ears.

 

Rhyssa retorted with an image of stray forkfuls of

potato festooning his office. "A kinetic has far more

options than a telepath!"

 

"He's easier to keep happy than Madlyn ever was,

too," Sascha said, stretching his long legs. "The odd

traffic snarl or two a day, and he feels he's worth his

keep. Which reminds me, I've had some pretty pointed

remarks from industrial VIPs lately about this remote

team of ours. My answer is that we've managed to

combine the trainees with an experienced feather-

weight to achieve the necessary heft, but the applica-

tion is limited due to the extreme youth of the

participants."

 

. Rhyssa sighed. "That old tangled-web routine, huh?"

 

Sascha quirked an eyebrow. "Favoring Shakespeare?

Thought your family ran to Popery."

 

Rhyssa laughed, envisioning her illustrious grandsire,

Daflyd op Owen, as she remembered him, tall, silver-

haired, slender, with the face of a poet and the chin of

an Italian prince. "Sometimes the Bard fits better.

Which industrialists have asked?"

 

"Nail on the head, girl. Every one of them supplies

something to Padrugoi! And, as you know, there've

been delays in getting materiel up to the station, weather

problems mainly, with all those freak storms messing

up launch windows."

 

Rhyssa frowned and, in an uncharacteristic show of

nervousness, flipped a stylus end over end. "Lifesav-

ing, yes; and with the technique he's been showing over

distances, I think he probably could launch a drone up

to Padrugoi through any sort of weather. But there's no

way Peter's going to help Secure her bonus or prevent

her fines."

 

 

 

 

102 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Sascha grinned. "I won't mention the possibility of

such fan and games to him, you spoilsport." He threw

her an image of him hastily raising a solid barrier against

the barbs emerging from her eyes. "She couldn't hire

him anyway. He's only fourteen. Underage, even under

existing Russian law!"

 

Rhyssa let out a low whistle, then grinned. "Yes, he

is a minor, isn't he? And Dorotea reminded me that

he's been working pretty hard with you. Tomorrow he

has a day off. And I've got all these files—" She ges-

tured resignedly at the stacks on the edge of her desk.

"Testing reports to go through."

 

"Why don't you take a night off?" Sascha sug-

gested, grinning drolly. "With Dave."

 

Rhyssa sat bolt upright, closing her mind.

 

"Honey, I don't have to peek," he told her.

 

Rhyssa groaned. "He's not a Talent."

 

"There's no law in the Charter that says you have to

marry Talent, you know."

 

"But that's the way to increase ..."

 

"Yeah, and where did Peter Reidinger come from? I

think sometimes, my dear friend," he said, leaning over

the desk toward her, "we have to look with our eyes

instead of our heads. Just thought I ought to mention

it. Dave's the best friend Talent's got."

 

"It's not up to me, Sascha," Rhyssa added, feeling

uncomfortable for the first time in her old friend's pres-

ence.

 

"Could be. Maybe not. Lehardt's clever enough to

do his own promo work." With that Sascha left her.

 

As Tiria entered the Main Concourse of Linear G,

she sensed an aura of excitement, telling her that some-

thing was about to happen to relieve the tedium of Lin-

ear living. As always, there were some general workers

scurrying to the Plaza to see if the WorkBoard was

scrolling out any jobs for able-bodieds, concerned with

getting enough da>y work to keep out of Conscriptive

 

Anne McCaffrey            103

 

Work Services. No self-respecting Linearite wanted to

be sent on a hard-labor tour or, worse, spaced out to

the shipyards around the Big Wheel. Few CWS ever

earned a return ticket. And now even the Talents were

not exempt. So most of the little knots of excited people

were composed of women.

 

Tiria edged close enough to a group of Hispanics to

pick up the drift.

 

"He lay hands on ..."

 

"Church is always lo mismo . . . The singing is

bad."

 

"My Juan now . . . when he is reminded of the

purity of the Virgin, he doesn't beat me for a day or

two ..."

 

' 'The true man of God provides food for the soul. . ."

 

Tiria snorted to herself. Food for the soul was not

high on her priorities when her belly was empty.

 

"I have heard," Consuela Laguna was saying ear-

nestly, "that if he lays hands on the lame, he cures."

Consuela's son was handicapped beyond remedy or

repair, but she remained positive that somehow,

sometime, her Manuelito would be restored to health

by some new miracle treatment, and she was always

asking Tiria to translate the medical bulletins for her.

 

So, Tiria thought, a Religious Event had been unex-

pectedly scheduled for Linear G. That was odd. The

Public Health meeting had been only four weeks ear-

lier. It was true that there had not been an RE in a long

time, but still she was suspicious. Two specials within

four weeks?

 

She moved on to the next group, all Neesters from

the Levant, and they were babbling about how they

could get their men to attend that night instead of ad-

journing to Mahmoud's squat to see his new belly

dancer. Then she slipped around to an Asian gaggle

who were chattering excitedly about cures and whether

the RE would be bad for business. Asians provided an-

 

104 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 105

 

cient remedies for the many minor ailments that beset

those in the warreny Residentials.

 

"He has come as promised . . ." she heard as she

slid up to Mama Bobchik. The old woman's black eyes

were wide; her cheeks a mottled glowing red of excite-

ment. "You come, too, dushka," she said, catching

Tirla's arm. "You must tell us his words, exactly. The

last time I could not hear what was said, and my soul

is black with sin."

 

"Nakonetz, " Tiria agreed easily. Most Religious In-

terpreter Groups generally said nothing, in the most or-

namented phraseology. She could amuse herself by

anticipating the trite phrases and flowery words. "So

the Assembly extension was granted after all?" she

asked, eager to maintain her reputation of knowing all

that went on in the Linear.

 

"Da, eto tak!" Mama Bobchik happily reassured

her. "My man was sent word to prepare late last

night." Argol Bobchik was one of the Linear's sani-

tary engineers. "The word is that this Religious is all-

seeing," Mama babbled on, "with an excellent backup

group. They were well received at Linear P. Early as

it is, already this morning many traders have booked

space. It will be an occasion. We have not had religion

here in G for some months. We are all in need of

guidance. The souls of many are dark with sin and

must be purged."

 

Tiria nodded solemnly. Mama Bobchik was certainly

old enough to be facing a mystic accounting of the sins

on her soul. Too bad no LEO man would be there to

 

hear it.

 

But how had Tiria missed such a juicy rumor? Maybe

it had been decided very late the previous night. At any

rate, the presence of traders would make it easier for

her to wash the tied credits for the Yassim man. She

shuddered at the thought of him. She did not like to

hold onto his money too long. Not that he had any

reason to distrust'her—she just wanted to make certain

 

he never did. Especially if he suspected she was close

to salable age. She was small and thin enough to pass

for the nine years she admitted to. Someday someone

would count fingers on her. From time to time she

thought about what she would do then—and tried to

keep enough floaters stuck inside her blouse at all times

so that she could flee to another Linear if she had to.

She had even managed to get her hands on a highly

illegal copy of the cargo-train schedules and had found

her way to the nearest access points to the subterranean

concourse to eyeball escape routes.

 

Deftly disengaging herself from Mama Bobchik's fat

fingers, she moved on to the Pakis, who were chattering

about bringing in some relatives from Linear E and ar-

guing over the advisability of such a move. Some in-

sisted that, since the extension was legal, there would

be no risk. Then Mirda Khan—a person Tiria was al-

ways careful to please—came up and quickly dismissed

such stupid generosity.

 

"The blessings of such a Lama would be few,"

Mirda muttered in an intense and angry tone just audi-

ble to those around her, "for he cannot waste his holy

strength on the trivial. Such as he would be gracious

enough to dispense must be for us, here, in Linear G.

For us," she said again, poking her thin breastbone

with a broad flat thumb, "the true believers, his faithful

in Linear G."

 

' "The Very Revered Ponsit Prosit has been at Linear P,''

one of the other women murmured reverently. "Pandit

heard of the miracles he performed."

 

Tiria was skeptical of miracles for, on close inspec-

tion, there were always alternate explanations for heal-

ings and savings and revelations. But they were fun to

delve.

 

"Then we save such for ourselves!" Mirda replied

fiercely, defying contradiction. Suddenly she spun

around, somehow aware of being the object of scru-

tiny—but Tiria was quicker, moving to flatten herself

 

 

 

 

106         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

against the Concourse pillar. She had heard enough

anyhow and left.

 

So this Religious Interpreter, this RIG, had a rep-

utation? As Tiria was quite aware, it took a real clever

talker to keep from violating the variety of complex

doctrines in a Linear. This Ponsit Prosit might well

be worth listening to—and watching closely. In her

precarious situation, Tiria was always open to point-

ers.

 

If the whole thing was legit. She mulled over the

probables as she ducked into side aisles before coming

out again onto the Main Concourse, far enough away

from the Pakis to be screened by other groups. Then

she glanced up at the nearest publi-text screen. She

watched through the usual notices and announcements

until it scrolled down to 2200 hours, where a legal

extension for use of the Assembly was posted, with

trading and drinking permitted.

 

The full details were being vividly proclaimed, com-

plete with fanfares of brass instruments and snippets of

the Respected Venerable Homilifier Ponsit Prosit smil-

ing beatifically at vast audiences. A chorus was prom-

ised, and a short blast of five-part harmony and high

soprano descant was presented as an enticement to at-

tend the full show. This V R & Holy Religious Inter-

pretation Group purportedly had only recently returned

from the Eastern Cities of Faith, where Ponsit Prosit

had endured "fasting meditations of great length and

illumination." Linear G was fortunate in the extreme

that he was able to fit that evening's assembly into his

busy tour. So, he had not had a booking in a while,

Tiria thought cynically. Well, Religious Interpretations

were very popular in Linears, better than fights some-

times and often more showy. Tiria liked shows—and

 

legal extensions.

 

There had been a Public Health roundup recently, so

a second, covert one was unlikely in her experience.

And while a Religious Event could be staged to mask

 

Anne McCaffrey            107

 

more illicit operations than washing tieds in public,

there still might not be any undercover LEOs. Crowd

Controllers would be around, of course—that was stan-

dard procedure—but Tiria knew most of them despite

the way they altered their appearances.

 

The important thing was that she had the Yassim tieds

to change. She should never have agreed to do it, but

Bulbar had been insistent and the "talker"—a hit man

whom she would not willingly offend—had told her that

she was being given the opportunity in reward for ser-

vices already rendered. Having consented to a profes-

sional engagement with Mama Bobchik, who was not

only another person it was unwise to offend but some-

one who, having presided over Tiria's birth, would al-

ways defend the girl, Tiria was committed on two

counts to attend.

 

Prepared with several contingency plans, Tiria began

her usual morning routine—bargaining for the day's

meals and getting a bath and a clean issue of clothing.

But as she proceeded, she was stopped by various fe-

male clients, each wanting her company during this Re-

ligious Event because the featured Lama-shaman was

reputed to speak in tongues and Tiria was absolutely

the only person who would faithfully tell them every-

thing he said. There was a limit, however, to how many

people Tiria could adequately represent. Surrounded by

very insistent, vocal, and physically active prospective

clients, none of whom she cared to antagonize, she at-

tempted to organize them.

 

"Bilala, you and Pilau must come together. Anna,

you team up with Marika. Zaveta, Elpidia comes as

well. Chi-shu, Lao Wang with you. Cyoto, Ari-san is

your partner.'' And so she grouped them. Ten pairs was

as unmanageable as it was unavoidable. Before she got

into any further difficulties, Tiria discreetly removed

herself from public view. She still had to get the tied

credits out of their hidey holes and secreted about her

for easy access.

 

 

 

 

108

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

* * *

 

We have an Incident," Sirildt said, her light, crisp

voice carrying easily to Budworth, who was duty officer

in the Parapsych Control Room.

 

"Who?" Budworth sent his gimballed chair spinning

across the tiled floor to her station. Seeing him maneu-

ver so rapidly around the Control Room made people

forget that his spine had been crushed in an accident

and that he had only minimal movement of his head

 

and two fingers.

 

"Auer." Sirikit's surprise was reflected in her voice.

 

"Really!"

 

"And Bertha!"

 

"That's an unusual combination."

 

"Not if Ponsit Prosit the Great Flimflam is involved.

I caught the p.a. for Linear G."

 

"It is very true she would have his guts for garters,"

Budworth said, grinning wryly. Bertha Zoccola was

generally a relaxed and tolerant individual, but mention

of that particular RIG was enough to enrage her. Bud-

worth set himself for her fury in reporting a precog

involving the man.

 

Whenever precognitive Talents responded to an In-

cident, they would flash the Center, alerting Control

to receive a verbal description of what they had pre-

viewed. Budworth positioned his chair at the finger-

board next to Sirikit and scratched his chin on the rim

of his bead support, feeling the surge of excited an-

ticipation that he always experienced at such mo-

ments.

 

"C'mon, you net-heads, report!" he exclaimed.

 

Sirikit glanced away from her screen to grin at

him. Then a bleep sounded, startling both of them

even though they were expecting an entry.

 

"Auer here," the emotionless voice announced, and

the precog's face appeared in one of the response

screens. "A real messy one. High panic, screams, mob,

kids trampled, the usual thing. Why don't you grab

 

Anne McCaffrey            109

 

Ponsit and space him to the shipyards? I'm tired of pro-

tecting that scuzfart."

 

"You saw Flimflam himself, Auer?" Sirikit asked

encouragingly. At Budworth's nod, she took over the

routine questions. She was one of the most deft at post-

Incidental debriefing, and Auer always responded well

to her. Budworth busied himself with tapping out a

query for scheduled public events. More crowd control

would have to be assigned to Linear G.

 

Auer shrugged with an indifference both observers

knew was false. "He's prominent. All colored lights

and glittering hands. Then running away. As usual.

Never stays to calm the audiences he excites to riot

pitch."

 

"Where?" Sirikit encouraged him.

 

"Your typical Residential assembly hall. Usual Pon-

sit backdrops. Nothing unusual . . . except—" Auer

paused, frowning down at something. "Except—that's

odd!"

 

"What's odd, Auer?"

 

"All over a scrawny girl?" When he looked up, his

eyes were haunted.

 

"Yes?"

 

"I feel . . . and her danger is acute. It doesn't end

tonight. She's Talented!" That was said in a surprised

voice; then Auer passed a hand across his eyes, scrub-

bing downward. "It's gone now. It's gone." The screen

blackened.

 

Another screen brightened.

 

"You shouldn't allow that man a permit at all\"

Bertha Zoccola was bristling with indignation.

"You've caught him dealing time and again! Those

people don't have the credits to spend on mystical

cures and miracle healings. He spouts the most ap-

palling sort of pantheist tripe. And in the worst lan-

guage!"

 

"What did you see. Bertha?" Budworth asked the

plump little woman, who still cherished a worn deck of

 

110

 

Anne McCaffrey            111

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Tarot cards that her great-grandmother had once read

with a high enough degree of accuracy to earn a signif-

icant credit balance.

 

"I keep telling you that man is nothing but trouble."

Her double chin quivered, and her expression was con-

cerned. "I don't care if the Domestic Satisfaction Index

does rise after he's played a Residential. Why should

we Talents protect a quacksalver, a faker, a pharisee, a

hoaxer, a gyp! An arrant camie!"

 

"We're not protecting him! Now, what did you see,

 

Bertha?"

 

"Halfway through that—that gibberous effort of his—

you never can tell what he's saying in that mumbo-

jumble of his—there's a movement, to the left of the

platform ..." She jingled her left hand, her many

wrist bracelets clacking noisily. "Or do I mean his

right?" She raised the other hand, splaying fingers

crammed with rings. "There's a commotion. It has to

do with a large group of women." She waggled her

hand again, frowning. "Then everything goes wild! A

name! They're all calling a name! And I can't hear

what it is! Oh, wouldn't that cause a saint to swear!

The one vital detail! And I thought I heard it so clearly

..." She pursed her lips in concentration and then

slowly shook her head, sighing. "No, it's gone. I'm

 

so sorry."

 

"Thanks, Bertha dear. You've filled in some de-

tails."

 

"Who else?" Bertha asked, as always.

 

"Auer."

 

"Him?" Bertha was incredulous. "Well, what'd'ya

know about that? Do keep me screened, Buddy."

 

"You bet." Budworth was punching Sascha's office

as her picture dissolved. "Sascha, we got an Incident."

 

"There's only one crowd controller assigned to the

RIG, Budworth," Sirikit murmured to him. "Residen-

tial Linear G is listed as blue, calm."

 

"Well, it's about to change color unless we can

 

neutralize. Sascha, something's going to bust wide at

Ponsit's meeting at G tonight."

 

"Linear G?" The large blue eyes in Sascha's Slavic-

cast face widened with surprise. "We'd nothing planned

there," he murmured. "Who saw it?"

 

"Bertha and Auer."

 

"What?" Sascha raised his eyebrows. "That's a

first. I'll be back to you. Buddy. I'll organize our in-

filtration with the Bro.'' Rhyssa, we 've got an incipi-

ent riot.

 

That sort of thing's more your bailiwick than mine,

was Rhyssa's reply. Give my regards to Boris.

 

As the contact with Sascha faded, Budworth grunted,

absently scratching his jaw. He hoped there would be

remote visuals set up so that he could watch what went

on, and if Sascha's LEO brother, Boris, was involved,

there would be. Whether his experience was vicarious

or not, Budworth appreciated being involved in these

unexpected spectaculars. One never knew what would

happen during an Incident. He was honest enough in

the back of his mind—the only safe place to think in

the Center—to realize that he had not been a physically

brave person even before his accident. Still and all, he

found the breathless anticipation and stimulation to be

very pleasant sensations for one husked by a mobility

chair.

 

Sirikit was making rapid entries, documenting the In-

cident. Although the Talented had come to have im-

mense credibility, and the meticulously kept daily files

might generally be scanned only by Research, the

procedures outlined by the Parapsychic Center's first

administrator. Henry Darrow, were scrupulously fol-

lowed. The full spectrum of Talent was far from being

known and certain facets of Talent were not at all fully

developed, as in the case of young Peter Reidinger's

Talent for an electrical gestalt. And who knew what sort

of unusual Talent might yet be discovered among

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

112         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

emergents? Budworth sighed as he turned back to

tasks which once would have seemed far from mun-

dane.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTERS

 

•^ ^ Til-la did not dare be late to the meeting, but she

also did not want to arrive too soon and risk being has-

sled by even more people demanding her particular ser-

vices. No matter what baksheesh was offered, she could

translate for only so many at a time, especially with the

other, more pressing, matter to complete. That had to

be managed. She chose to arrive with enough time to

do a quick survey and identify the best vendors, as well

as any undercover LEOs or PHOs. The fortuitous

scheduling of the Religious Event still bothered her.

 

Unless ... It occurred to Tiria that maybe there

would be some Treasury persons in the crowd, checking

up on vendors, that money laundering itself was the

target of this occasion. But the Ts were easy to spot.

They were always so obvious about blending into the

crowd.

 

Having arranged to meet the women at the main

southeast entrance, Tiria entered the Assembly atrium

from one of the side northwest gates. Someone else had

already disabled the entrance eye that read IDs and

counted attendance, saving her the trouble. The petty

vendors had their booths up and merchandise displayed:

 

mainly trinkets and synth clothes, goods that could be

quickly shifted. But there were air-cushion carts being

angled through the wider doorways, proving that some

serious trading would be done. She felt somewhat easier

in her mind. The big traders would not risk themselves

or their merchandise at a risky-disky.

113

 

114 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 115

 

She took note of prices as she wended her way

through the gathering crowd. She hoped there would be

some fresh produce—well, fresh in that it had been re-

cently nicked from the underground warehouses that

supplied Jerhattan's markets. She would treat herself to

a nice crisp pepper, carrot, or apple from the day's

earnings, something to sink her teeth into instead of the

subsistence mush or compound protein loaf. She wanted

to get a stick of real chewing gum, too, to keep her

mouth moist when she started translating. She spared

only a glance for the activity on the platform, where

hands were rushing about, draping curtains and swags

and hauling lighting and sound equipment about. She

was never impressed by packaging—just the quality of

the contents. She found gum at Feller's stall and made

him launder one of the smaller tied notes.

 

She was just savoring the minty flavor of her gum

when she caught sight of an all too familiar profile in

totally unfamiliar synth-issue clothing. Yassim was ac-

tually here? She ducked behind a large man in a stained

robe that had once been the height of fashion. He was

holding up both arms, wigwagging at someone on the

stage. The smell of him nearly made her swallow her

gum, but his outline completely obscured her.

 

What was Yassim doing here? Tiria wondered. Didn't

he trust her? As her camouflage dropped one arm to cup

his hand to his mouth to shout a direction, Tiria chanced

 

a second look.

 

Yes, it was him. He was unmistakable. He had done

something subtle to his face, altering its shape—probably

pads in his cheeks and lower lip—but he had not, could

not, alter that long thin hooked nose and the sloping

forehead. He walked, as always, as if he owned the

place, strutting about in a loose overrobe that had not

suffered much cleaning in its long life. His headgear

was also appropriately worn, torn, and stained. It was

a creditable attempt to blend in, but Tiria knew the man

was Yassim. There he was, sauntering about, inspect-

 

ing trinkets, pausing to ask questions of vendors, ap-

pearing to go from one group of friends to another,

friends she quickly identified as some of his multitude

of ladrones, hitters, and sassins. Well and discreetly

guarded though he was, why was he there?

 

Her odorous blocker moved and she moved with him,

keeping him as cover. When he stopped, roaring out

instructions, she, too, did—and saw Yassim talking to

three Neester mothers who had young children with

them. Suddenly Tiria knew what he was doing there.

With equal certainty, Tiria did not want to be anywhere

in his vicinity while child buying was on his mind. She

did, however, make a mental note of which ladrones

and sassins she knew among his followers. There had

to be one she could trust to give his boss the tieds she

had exchanged into floaters. There was no way she

could avoid that chore.

 

Subliminal music had started, and the lighting in the

Assembly Hall began to alter subtly, heralding the be-

ginning of the Religious Interpretation. Tiria ducked

behind the nearest vendor's shillboard and slipped to

the southeast entrance.

 

An agitated Mirda Khan seemed to have eyes in the

back of her mirror-adomed headdress, for she swung

around, her face as sharp as a predatory bird's, as Tiria

approached. She hooked her fingers painfully into Tir-

ia's grasp and hauled the girl to her.

 

"Where were you? Where were you?" Mirda shook

her angrily, showering her with spittle and sour breath

so that Tiria pulled back as far as she could. The other

women who had commissioned her to translate the

RIG'S words formed a close circle around her. But since

their bodies also shielded her from Yassim's notice, she

did not resist.

 

"I was pricing the merch," she said, unrepentantly.

 

Bilala and Pilau were trying to edge around Mirda

and pull Tiria to their segment of the circle. Mirda

jammed Tiria tight against her angular body while

 

 

 

 

116 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 117

 

Mama Bobchik somehow got ahold of Tirla's free arm,

effectively pinning her between the two formidably large

 

women.

 

"He's here," Tiria said to Mirda, squirming to give

herself a little space. She repeated the phrase until all

her customers knew.

 

"He?" Mirda stretched to peer over the heads of

their little knot. She gave a snort. "Yassim'U roast in

hell before I sell him another child." Her fingers tight-

ened convulsively on Tirla's shoulder. "You stay away

from him. You hear me good?''

 

Tiria nodded enthusiastically. If Mirda knew Yassim,

was there a chance she could inveigle the woman to

pass on the laundry? Not with any sure knowledge that

all of it would reach him.

 

"He gives a good price," Elpidia whined. She had a

girl child old enough to spin off. She also had a drug

habit to keep, for which she exchanged the yearly fruits

of her womb once they were of an age to be sold off

profitably. She fretted whether or not to go back to her

squat and bring down the child for him.

 

"I would not sell to such as him!" Mirda snapped in

her own language, black eyes flashing scornfully. "Price

or not. Even selling to the station is better."

 

"What did she say?" Elpidia demanded of Tiria.

Tiria shrugged. ' 'I am hired to translate the speaker,

not settle disputes between clients, and she is not one

to annoy."

 

Elpidia scowled at Mirda Khan, who hauled Tiria

around, nearly wrenching her left arm out of Mama

Bobchik's hand.

 

"Come," Mirda said. Her outer robe billowing its

musty folds across Tirla's face, she led the group for-

ward, acting as a spearhead through the still thinly scat-

tered gathering. She halted right under the stage, where

no one could thrust in front of them to block their view.

She was about to push Tiria forward when the girl wrig-

gled free.

 

' 'I must be able to see him. I will stand here, where

I can see, and where all of you can hear." She repeated

this until it was clearly understood by all her clients.

 

Within the circle she felt safe from Yassim. She be-

gan to relax and even to enjoy the music despite the

patchy sound of the shrill replay as it ground through a

multi-ethnic repertoire. Where were the famous live

backup performers? This had been publicly billed as an

occasion! Tiria took note of activity on the stage, the

draperies billowing suddenly here and there from move-

ment behind them. She could just catch a glimpse of

the right-hand wings and people nulling about, waiting

to go on. So, there was a chorus. She much preferred

live singing.

 

Out of the comer of her eye she caught a glimpse of

a big man to her right, wandering with all too apparent

indifference. She sensed a penetrating assessment of her

companions going on under the brim of a battered peak

cap, and she leaned surreptiously into Mama Bobchik.

She felt something else then, a soothing brush across

her mind which caused the high, sharp chatter of the

women to fall off into a less excited pitch. She was not

sure what that was all about.

 

The man was not Treasury. She followed his prog-

ress, aware that he was in contact somehow with two

women who gave every evidence of being oblivious to

him as they chattered and laughed together, jostling

through the early comers to find a good position near

the stage. She peered suspiciously at the two, their faces

painted with careless hands, one of them obviously

pregnant, though she wore the gear of a prostitute. Their

faces were unfamiliar, and Tiria was beginning to won-

der if the meeting really had been staged by an authority

like Treasury or PH when a third woman, well known

to Tiria, greeted them effusively and stayed to gossip.

Reading from their lips the commonplace remarks they

exchanged soothed the girl. It was seeing Yassim here

that made her so nervous. She certainly did not owe

 

 

 

 

118 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 119

 

him so much that he would come after her. She was not

even overdue with the laundered credits. What had hap-

pened to his stock? He was not often caught short

enough to brave a public affair. She touched the little

pouches of tieds in the clever vest she wore for the

purpose under her issue suit and reassured herself that

all were in place,

 

A fanfare blasted for attention, and the excited babble

died down to eager anticipation. Not a bad nourish,

Tiria thought, quite willing to be carried along by a

good show.

 

Then the choir stalked out self-consciously and ar-

ranged themselves with some poking and pulling on one

side of stage center. As close as she was, Tiria could see

that their costumes were neither clean nor new. Not all of

them managed to find the right pitch from the final note

of the recorded blurt of brass. Tiria knew the song they

were singing, a really old good one, so the fact that they

were singing it badly was inexcusable. She only had to

translate it for Cyoto and Ari—everyone else mumbled

along in then- own languages.

 

Then the emcee came out, falsely bright, and started

the pitch, waffling on about the training and merits of

the Revered Venerable Ponsit Prosit. As he was merely

repeating all the claptrap about mystical training in Par

Asia from the public announcement, Tiria did not start

to translate it until Bilala hissed at her to earn her fee.

 

There was another song, one which slipped from one

musical ethic to another with no respect for tonality or

rhythm. Perversely, the singers managed to perform the

travesty competently. Tiria identified six who were

spaced out on something. That they could sing at all

might indeed be a minor miracle of this RIG.

 

There were flourishes of recorded instruments and

rolls of drums, which stirred even Tirla's cynical pulses.

Drums could be so exciting! A great crashing of cym-

bals, a painfully glaring display of assorted lights and

narrow beams, an ear-blasting crescendo of bugle synths

 

accompanied by fragrant smoke bombs, and the Re-

vered Venerable Religious Interpreter arrived, his robes

artfully gleaming.

 

Her clients were suitably impressed by his "magi-

cal" appearance, but Tiria had caught a glimpse of the

square aperture in the floor before he shot up through

the densest veil of smoke to hover on his column above

the stage and the awed spectators. She preferred some-

thing more dramatic; she had seen that sort of entrance

so frequently that it had lost any impact. But clearly she

was a minority. Even Mirda pretended to be afraid,

covering her face with a fold of her head cloth.

 

The Religious Interpreter went into his act immedi-

ately, face upturned so Tirla's best view was of a wag-

gling chin and dark holes of nostrils. The light show

dazzled as taped music supported his mournings—for

that was what they were, syllables meaning absolutely

nothing, with random words from every language she

had ever heard tossed in to confuse.

 

"What does he say, the holy man?" Mirda de-

manded.

 

"Tell me what he say?" Mama Bobchik pulled Tiria

to her. Bilala and Pilau were equally insistent: one

kicked Tirla's shin, while the other transferred a sub-

stantial amount of her weight onto Tirla's undefended

toes.

 

"Nothing," Tiria replied, disgusted. "He says noth-

ing!'^

 

She was poked, pushed, and pulled.

 

"He's saying something." "He speaks mystically."

"Tell us what he says." "Ah, I understand that word

for myself! I will pay you nothing, bitch."

 

Tiria was furious at that threat. Furious at the RIG.

She would translate when he said something translat-

able. She was pinched and tweaked and slapped. In

self-defense she caught the pattern of his babble and,

involuntarily mimicking his stance and delivery, rat-

tled off the nonsensical sounds in an undertone, trans-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

120 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

lating the occasional real word into as many languages

as she could before picking up the gibberish again.

 

Then the man stopped talking and spread his arms,

his beatific smile radiant in the flood of light picking

him out, seemingly afloat in the air above the stage.

Then Tiria realized that he was staring in her direction.

 

In a gesture that startled her as well as her clients, he

lunged forward, eyes flashing, face contorted, his ac-

cusing finger pointing straight at her.

 

"Unbelievers, profaning a sacred moment with chat-

ter. Hear, leam, obey, repent your evil uncaring ways.

Be taken into the light of the world. Be admitted into

the holy sepulcher. Be one with humanity and all lov-

ing, caring creatures. Be purified. Be saved! Be!" His

accusing hand lifted and spread open as a beam of light

caught his fingers and spilled down his raised arm.

 

Tiria, translating as rapidly as possible in the dra-

matic pause, was thankful for some coherent phrases.

Her clients might be listening to her, but their eyes were

on him. He had the crowd's rapt attention now. Tiria

was fairly sure that no one outside the circle could see

her, but dared not stop talking. She kept spewing out

the gibberish, worrying that such nonsense would not

be worth the money promised her. They might not pay

her at all. She was already regretting that she would

miss the taste of the crisp green pepper she had hoped

to purchase with her fee.

 

The Lama-shaman assumed another dramatic pose,

arms out, palms upturned in entreaty.

 

"Bring me your sick, your weary, your wretched

souls. Let me heal them. A touch will ease the tortured

mind, the fevered body, the twisted limb, the blurred

sight. Approach! Be not afeared. All things come to

those who deserve. All creatures deserve Love. For it

is Love, Love, Love that heals!"

 

Tiria rattled it all off easily, trying to peer through

the shielding bodies to see who would be working the

scam. Bamey with his lizard eyelids—one blink, and

 

Anne McCaffrey            121

 

his eyes were milky white blind; another, and he could

"see clear once again, hallelujah!" Maybe Mahmoud

with his double joints all twisted out of shape—one

touch of the Lama-shaman's healing touch and they

would straighten. Or would it be Maria with her weep-

ing sores?

 

The Lama-shaman threw back his head, his hands

turned gold in the narrow spot-beams, glittering from

some sort of paint he must have used. Her clients in-

haled with awe at the sight, their faces rapt as he made

mystic passes with his magical hands. Glistening strands

and bits whirled from his fingertips, disappearing in

brief sparks as they left the light beams. That was a

new trick, Tiria thought. Not bad. Pilau tried to catch

a strand, but it disintegrated, leaving no trace in her

grubby fingers.

 

Just then another strand, stronger, shot from the stage

and fell on the head of a bemused man. He was less

bemused when, with another grand flourish, the Lama-

shaman began to reel him in.

 

"You have been chosen, brother. Come to me! Em-

brace me!" A ramp extruded from the stage, straight

toward the chosen one, who glanced about with appre-

hension as he was pushed onto the ramp by those be-

hind him and propelled forward by those on either side.

"Kneel, brother," the Lama-shaman intoned, and ap-

peared to glide down the air.

 

Tiria could feel the faint vibration of the stage mech-

anism that supplied the effect, but she did not pause in

her translations. It was a pretty good gimmick. She

wondered where the control was. The mark appeared

genuinely stunned at being chosen. He knelt obediently,

a dazed expression on his face.

 

'' Rallamadamothuriasticalligomahn ozimithioapo-

dociamoturialistashadioalisymquepodial—Omathurto-

dispasionat usimperadomusigen alliszweigenpolastonu

chevaliskyrielisonandia. Moss pirialistusquandoruula-

betodomoarigatoimustendiationallamegrachiatus ..."

 

122 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 123

 

the Revered Venerable intoned, holding his hand above

the mark's head.

 

More syllables and almost-words that Tiria could

not anticipate enough to mimic. She could appreciate

and admire the Venerable's truly respectable breath

control. Why, he sounded as if he could go on for-

ever!

 

'What does he say?" Mirda pinched her sharply.

 

"How can I hear when you babble at me?" Tiria

replied and made up suitable phrases, which she then

translated. "Woops!"

 

Strange things were happening above the chosen

one's head. How did the Lama-shaman do that with

sleeves so tight at his wrists? Tiria wondered. Hair,

face, and throat of the mark were shimmering with

gold; the man's expression was first ludicrous and then

ecstatic. Tiria wondered what the Venerable Prayman

could be using. She was beginning to enjoy the spec-

tacle.

 

The Revered slowly turned back to the audience, his

face also golden-hued, the whites of his eyes visible.

"The power is with me. Whom else will it touch?"

 

Raising his arms again and extending his hands for-

ward, he gave the audience sufficient time to see the

effect the "power" had had on the first "chosen." With

a twist of his wrists, his palms turned over and strands

shot out in all directions. Before Tiria could duck, one

of the filaments landed on her head. Whatever it was

stuck tightly in her hair despite quick efforts on her

part to get rid of it. Her hands were caught by the

adhesive, bound to her head now. She began to panic.

There was no way she wished to be hauled up in pub-

lic. Not with Yassim in the hall. Not with tieds on

her, credits she had no right to possess under any cir-

cumstances.

 

The choir began to chant for the chosen to come for-

ward, to receive power. The audience caught up the

refrain, and Tiria could hear the ominous overtone of

 

envy from those who felt themselves more worthy of

such an honor.

 

"She's been chosen!" Bilala and Pilau shrieked,

bursting into an ululation that shot panic through Tiria's

heart as they tried to push her forward toward the ramp

nearest them.

 

"No, she's got to stay. She's got to tell us!" Mama

Bobchik and Mirda Khan were not to be cheated. They

pulled Tiria back.

 

"Break it, Cyoto. Help me, Lao Wang. Elpidia!

Zaveta!" Tiria began struggling in earnest, terror start-

ing to chill her guts.

 

All the other newly chosen were making their way

up to the stage. The strand tightened, pulling at her

hair. She twisted. Then suddenly she was snapped free.

She caught the glint of a knife blade as she fell back

against the solid Mama Bobchik. Zaveta and Mirda

locked with the screaming Bilala and Pilau, who were

attempting to regain control of Tiria.

 

As she had done before in such situations, Tiria

dropped to the floor and plunged to one side, tripping

someone, who fell heavily on her left foot. She ignored

the stab of pain and crawled on, her breath coming in

sobs. She rolled free of her encircling clients and

scrambled to her feet, plowing through the chanters.

Someone saw the dangling golden strand and grabbed

it, nearly jerking her off her feet. To free herself she

wrenched the tangled hair from her head, leaving the

bit of scalp dangling in the man's hand.

 

"Grab her!" The chant was interrupted to set up

the cry. She squeezed past several grasping hands,

frantic to get to the lobby and the nearest emergency

exit.

 

"Here, I gotcha!" She was encircled by massive

forearms. She lifted her arms and slithered down; a kick

was aimed at her belly, but despite being winded, she

rolled, too accustomed to such dirty tactics not to have

self-preserving instincts. She had a glimpse of one of

 

 

 

 

124 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Yassim's sassins, face wreathed in a witless grin of suc-

cess, before she landed against the far wall, and sud-

denly two pairs of trousered legs shielded her.

 

She was helped to her feet by kind hands and made

conscious of soothing thoughts of assistance, under-

standing, and sympathy. She recognized the aura just

as her splayed fingers felt the doorframe. Managing to

elude the hands, she whipped out the door and sped

across the foyer, paying no heed to pleas to stop. An

incredible multi-toned bellow rose behind her, an angry

frustrated noise that gave impetus to her pumping legs.

As she pounded down the access aisle, she heard a fa-

miliar thumping thud in the air above.

 

LEOs! Had they been on hand? Or had they been

called? But it took time for LEO ships to assemble. She

found the small square duct she needed, whipped off

the cover, crawled inside, and, with some difficulty in

the restricted space, snapped it back into place. She

crouched in the dirt and grime, tilting her face away

from the light as her lungs fought to repay her heart for

the strain.

 

She heard people racing by, heard their exclamations

as they reached the dead end, heard them turn and come

back, and heard their steps continue on past her refuge.

Despite the noise, Tiria fell asleep.

 

"Rhyssa!" The alarmed voice of the duty officer was

accompanied by an impulse through her headnet that

roused her instantly.

 

"Yes?"

 

"Major disaster precog," Budworth said.

 

Great! Rhyssa thought sleepily. Two major trouble

precogs in not quite two days and not a tremble about

matters which urgently concerned all Talents.

 

"Recorded all across Asia," Budworth went on.

"Looks like Kayankira's going to get another monsoon

overload. They haven't repaired the restraining dams

 

Anne McCaffrey            125

 

from the last one. How're we going to cope, with all

the strong kinetics on the station?''

 

"Is there time to bring any down?"

 

"That's the panic! There's time enough, but weather

conditions all across the world are freaky. Even if a

Padrugoi shuttle launched, the nearest clear landing site

is Woomera. The kinetics have to be on site to be ef-

fective." What Budworth did not say—"if Barchenka

would allow 'em to leave the station"—flashed like a

neon sign in Rhyssa's mind.

 

"Get Sascha up for me, will you, Buddy?"

 

He did, Sascha assured her. Are you considering

Peter? His mental tone mixed eagerness to try and

awareness of the multiple risks involved.

 

/ must consider Peter's unique capabilities in a sit-

uation as critical as this, she told him.

 

How? Without compromising Peter's security?

 

They both slapped up internal shields as they felt the

arrival of other thoughts.

 

Kayankira: Rhyssa, I've got to have all the kinetics

you have left. I understand there's no chance of getting

any of them down from Padrugoi?

 

Rhyssa: That's my understanding.

 

Vsevolod Gebrowski: / shall insist! I shall take this

to the World Council. They have deplored the situation

in India. Let them put words into action. Reducing the

density of population in that area of Bangladesh also

diminished the available workforce, and the necessary

work has not been completed on time. Now we pay for

that.

 

Miklos Horvath: Not if we draft the kinetics on Pad-

rugoi down to help. And the cleanup effort will be re-

duced by kinesis now!

 

Rhyssa: If we can force the weather to give us a

break!

 

Bessie Dundall at Canberra: The precogs all indicate

the worst flooding ever in Bangladesh. The new levees

haven't been completely restored, so floodwaters will

 

126

 

Anne McCaffrey            127

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

drown this year's harvest. The barriers won't work for

some reason—I suspect their erection will prove that

once again corruption and bribery have been wide-

spread. We have to do something!

Alparacin: Rhyssa, what about that team of yours I

 

hear about?

 

Rhyssa: They're not well-enough trained for a disas-

ter of this magnitude, dear friend. They 'd be burned

 

out.

 

Peter: No, I wouldn 't.

 

Quiet! Sascha, Rhyssa, and Dorotea ordered as one.

 

Peter: I was, that was just to you.

 

Rhyssa held her breath. But no Talent queried the

unknown voice. Naturally Eastern will do whatever we

can, she told the others. May we have copies of the

precogs? But I assure you that highly skilled kinetics

are going to have trouble coping with this sort of thing,

and all I have are a handful of fourteen-year-old trainee

 

kinetics.

 

Madlyn here . . .

 

Sascha: Honey, you're one voice that never has to

identify. What have you heard? He imaged to Rhyssa a

vision of Madlyn Luvaro, hands to her mouth to make

a megaphone, leaning out of an airlock and shouting

down to a wincing Earth.

 

Madlyn: Lance has been arguing with Barchenka

since he got the precog. She absolutely refuses to risk

a shuttle or a pilot. You gotta admit the weather's pretty

freaky all over right now. I can see it clear as day: lots

of turbulence, and not just over the Indian continent.

Lance says there has to be one safe place on Earth they

can land, and they've got to help. He's citing her for

contractual violation. She says it's too dangerous to

risk so many Talents—now she's doing the matriarchal,

 

protecting-you-against-your-own-altruism. Ha!

 

And there isn 't a pilot we 've talked to who 'II risk a

drop into the soup kettle down there, she went on. Wait!

Lance says—Madlyn's mental tone altered to a rote-

recital level—now's the time to try. He says you 'II know

what he means. He accepts that it could be a risk, but

if ever to put it to the test, now's the time. Have you

got all that? She sounded mystified.

 

Sascha: You've come through loud and clear,

Madlyn, and we copy.

 

Lance says that the precog indicates even more hor-

rendous damage than the last monsoon flood caused,

so Talent has got to give kinetic support. He's dra-

gooned a pilot into coming, but the guy's scared of

attempting to land anywhere. Lance has assured him

that all the kinetics on board will do the landing okay.

Is Lance gone space-crazy? All right, I'm telling them.

He says he, and a contingent of the heavy-duty kinet-

ics—enough to effect flood control—will be on the shut-

tle Erasmus in Hangar G at 0800. They're okay in

space, but they 'II need the help landing. That doesn 't

make sense to me, but that's what I'm supposed to tell

you.

 

Sascha came storming into Rhyssa's room. He had

pulled his pants on but was carrying his shirt in his

hand. He really did have a superb body, Rhyssa thought

privately. Why isn't there the necessary chemistry be-

tween us? We'd make beautiful children. He looked so

magnificent angry.

 

"Lance is out of his wig if he thinks Peter's up to a

controlled landing in Dacca weather," he announced.

"Landing pallets in a warehouse is a considerably dif-

ferent can of worms to a shuttle full of live folk we

can't afford to smear across a gale-struck concrete run-

way."

 

Rhyssa fed a direct repeat of Lance's earlier conver-

sation on Peter's potential and a similar situation into

Sascha's mind. "He was only joking at the time," she

said ruefully. "Quite a legitimate extrapolation."

 

"We just can't risk it," Sascha said, pacing up and

down the room while Rhyssa untangled herself from her

 

 

 

 

128 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 129

 

'As neat a

 

pastel-covered duvet and started dressing.

solution to the lack of kinetics as it is."

 

Rhyssa, with ineffable sadness: Sascha-bear, you're

halfway to figuring out just how he can do it!

 

They were both startled by a timorous tap on her

 

door.

 

"Yes?" She and Sascha exchanged glances.

 

"It's Peter. Can I come in?"

 

Sascha threw his arms up dramatically.

 

"Yes, yes," Rhyssa said, shooting a comprehensive

warning at Sascha.

 

In his distress, Peter floated rather than walked into

 

the room.

 

"No one bothered to channel their thoughts," he said,

both apprehensive and defensive. "I couldn't help hear-

ing."

 

"No, of course you couldn't, Peter," Rhyssa said.

 

Is Peter there? Dorotea's anxious tone startled them.

 

I'm here!

 

Young man, if you ever leave me again in that abrupt

fashion, I'll tan your bottom!

 

Rhyssa and Sascha had never heard mat particular

note in the telepath's voice before.

 

/ was trying to explain the problem to him when he

zipped out of here so fast I thought he'd actually tele-

ported himself.

 

I know the problem, Dorotea, Peter said in a very

patient tone. To land the shuttle safely at Dacca. And,

with enough power, it'a. be no more difficult than that

container was, or the steel I sent to San Francisco.

 

"The turbulence of a monsoon is totally unpredict-

able," Sascha began.

 

Peter's expression was one of abused patience. "It'd

be the same principle in spite of turbulence. And better,

because the shuttle won't be powered, so that won't

throw off the snatch and grab of my gestalt."

 

"Simple when explained in that fashion," Sascha said

 

at his driest. Then he flung up his hands in exasperation

and turned to Rhyssa.

 

She took a reasonable stance. "The distance, the mass

involved, even the turbulence are not factors you've

dealt with before. We can't, and won't, risk burning

you out."

 

Peter grinned. "You wouldn't. Though I'd need

much more than four-point-five kpm. To be safe, I'd

need some real power—like the city's turbos. They

might seize up—but I wouldn't.''

 

"We don't know that, Peter," Rhyssa said gently,

permitting him to sense her anxiety.

 

"But / know that about me," Peter said, and levi-

tated to the bed, where he perched beside her, upright

enough, but with his arms and legs draped in unnatural

positions. He made adjustments when he caught Rhys-

sa's look. "Instinctively!"

 

Then she hugged him, feeling tears of pride for the

shining self-confidence that had emerged in the past few

weeks. She held his lax narrow body for a long mo-

ment; then, sensing his embarrassment, she ruffled his

hair and released him.

 

"Peter," Sascha said, hunkering down by the boy,

"this is different from the exercises we've had you do.

And this gestalt ability of yours is unique! We just can't

risk it."

 

"DOrotea said I should trust my instincts," Peter said

so firmly that both Sascha and Rhyssa regarded him for

a long moment. "I also read the precog report. If there

aren't enough kinetics, many people will lose their lives,

as well as everything they've been struggling to build

over the past two years. There'll be massive ecological

damage, more plague, starvation. You keep feeding me

all this stuff about the responsibility we Talents have to

the rest of the world, how we're supposed to reduce

death and damage. If I'm willing to take a little risk,

I'd be a real Talent.

 

"I also heard what Madlyn said to you." Peter

 

 

 

 

Anne McCaffrey            131

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

130

 

grinned ingenuously, wincing as if avoiding a loud

noise. "Mr. Baden means me, doesn't he? That it's

 

time to really try me."

Sascha sat down on the bed on Peter's other side and

 

looked helplessly at Rhyssa.

 

"As I see it," Peter went on, clearly more in charge

of the situation than his adult mentors, "we Talents

don't have any option. We need the ones with Mr. Ba-

den in the Erasmus. Sascha, when I shifted that steel

the other day, you said I had graduated into a really

useful category of kinesis. With enough power in the

gestalt, I know I can land the shuttle."

 

Sascha slowly shook his head. "There's another ma-

jor consideration, son ..."

 

"I've been studying schematics on power genera-

tion," Peter continued blithely. "Turbos in particular,

 

as they're more reliable."

"You have?" Rhyssa was constantly being surprised

 

by the turns of Peter's avid studying.

 

"Well, I thought I ought to get some sort of basic

concepts from which to work . . ." He saw their ex-

pressions and gave them a little smile. "I used to watch

a lot of college-level vid courses. They were a lot more

interesting than most of the late-night recreational gar-

bage. Having to think hard took my mind off myself

for a while. Engineering was a good think."

 

Sascha and Rhyssa were reduced to nodding in be-

lated comprehension.

 

"Especially," Peter added, his eyes twinkling, "as

no one really seemed to know what to make of my ges-

talting. And that's the other consideration, isn't it,

Sascha? Keeping gestalt kinesis under wraps?''

 

"He's got us there, Rhyssa," Sascha said with a cha-

grined expression.

 

"That's what you're really worried about, but look,

if the pilot brings the shuttle down far enough, I know

I can get it safely through the turbulence and land it.

And even the pilot doesn't need to know it wasn't Mr.

 

Baden and the other kinetics who steadied the shuttle."

When he saw that they were seriously considering his

suggestion, he added, "It isn't as if I'd be bringing the

shuttle all the way down from Padrugoi by myself, you

know."

 

"And you think the city's power system will supply

the necessary gestalt for you?" Sascha asked in a wry

tone.

 

"The East Side Jerhattan power station's turbos

should be enough." Peter's eyes glowed at the prospect

of all that power at his disposal.

 

Rhyssa and Sascha began to laugh at the sheer im-

pudence.

 

"You know, I really think that'll work," Dorotea

said, entering the room. She was still in her night-

clothes, a fetching pale lilac mat set off her lovely white

hair and porcelain complexion. "Since eavesdropping

is in general order today, I've been following the con-

versations with great interest. There won't be time to

talk that idiot of a power resources commissioner into

agreeing to anything of such an experimental, and

highly confidential, nature. The fewer people who know

what we're doing the better." Her face took on an ex-

ceedingly sly look, totally uncharacteristic. "Let's in-

voke a G and H!" She chortled, looking exceedingly

pleased with herself. "All we have to do men is call

Boris—get him to clear the power station and use his

official capacity to get us in."

 

"Invoke a G and H?" Rhyssa stared at the elderly

telepath as if she had never seen her before.

 

"What's a G and H?" Peter asked just as Sascha

began to guffaw.

 

"Why didn't I think of that?" Rhyssa exclaimed in

exasperation. To the mystified Peter, she explained,

"That's our mayday code, for George—that's George

Henner, who once owned this house—and Henry-

meaning Henry Darrow, who established Talent as a

verifiable paranormal skill. If a Talent invokes a G and

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

132 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

H, he gets immediate and unquestioned cooperation from

every other Talent."

 

Sascha mbbed his hands together. "You know, I've

always wanted the excuse to invoke that mayday code."

Brother, he called. It's a G and H: we need escort to

the East Side power station, and it's to be cleared!

Shouldn 't be difficult with only a minimal night crew on

call.

 

Boris: A G and H? Fascinating. I'm cleaning up after

a major riot and you elect this moment in time to call

a George and Henry?

 

Sascha: All we need is you and a LEO heli.

 

Just me? Boris responded sarcastically.

 

Sascha agreeably: You to get us the cooperation we

need.

 

And I can expect return cooperation from you ? Boris,

slyly.

 

Sascha: It's a George Henry mayday, Bro. You can't

refuse.

 

Boris; Quid pro quo, Bro. I was about to request

your presence!

 

Sascha: For a riot?

 

Boris: / could certainly use your help on this one,

Bro. Some oddities have cropped up that require your

particularly acute telepathic Talent.

 

Sascha raised his eyebrows inquiringly at Rhyssa,

who reluctantly gave an assenting nod.

 

"Did you follow that, Peter?" Rhyssa asked, notic-

ing that the boy's face was still registering surprise.

 

"Yes," he said tentatively.

 

"You don't really need me, Peter," Sascha said en-

couragingly. "You've got Rhyssa ..."

 

"And Dorotea," the lady added stoutly.

 

"To buffer your mind," Sascha continued. Don, as

well, I think, he added to Rhyssa. Why does Boris have

to need me at this moment in time?

 

Dorotea: Boris always did have an awkward streak

in him. Comes from being a LEO by temperament.

 

Anne McCaffrey            133

 

Rhyssa turned briskly to Peter. "Now, you'd better

get dressed. Fetch your clothes here. And what should

he get for you, Dorotea? You can change in my bath-

room."

 

"I'll get down to Budworth for the vital statistics we

need," Sascha said. "The weight of the shuttle, a radar

link with the shuttle, repros of Dacca—in good

weather—weather reports." If I really think about this

in any detail, I'll go crackers! he added on a very fine

thread to the two women.

 

Rhyssa and Dorotea replied with equal fervor: You 'II

have company!

 

If Peter thinks he can do it, I prefer to think he can,

Rhyssa added. After all, it's the thought that counts.

 

Dorotea: That's what does the trick.

 

The necessary equations, based on Peter's established

use of the gestalt plus distance, weight, and optimum

speed of the shuttle, atmospheric conditions, and tur-

bulence at the landing site, were all completed by the

time the LEO heli arrived to transport them.

 

"I thought you were having a riot of a time and we'd

get a deputy," Sascha said, but he was exceedingly

relieved to have his brother's support.

 

"I am, but I'm me best authority you have for

whatever's going on." Boris smiled with white-toothed

malice. "You'll want to be in on this one, Bro. We've

got a lead on the kidnappings."

 

Sascha swore with great ingenuity.

 

That's as important as this, Sascha, Rhyssa con-

ceded. With Dorotea and Don to help me buffer him,

he'll be fine.

 

I wouldn't interfere with a mayday if I didn't have

to, the LEO commissioner said, even as he reached

down to assist Dorotea into me heli.

 

Sascha, the kidnappers must be stopped, Dorotea said

so sternly that her tone startled all the telepaths. There!

That's settled!

 

134 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 135

 

"And this is Peter Reidinger?" Boris asked, as Peter

reached the steps in his treading-water gait. "Hi!"

 

From the stunned look on Peter's face, Rhyssa sud-

denly realized that no one had thought to mention to

the boy that the LEO commissioner was Sascha's twin

brother.

 

"No, you're not seeing double. I'm older by five

minutes," Boris went on amiably, deftly taking Peter

under the arms and hoisting him aboard. We 'II both see

them safely there before I abduct you, Bro, for my less

nefarious purposes. The boy's the G and H?

 

Sascha waggled his finger at his brother. Naughty,

naughty! He swung aboard and started stowing the

medical equipment Don Usenik handed up, ignoring

Boris's grumbling. When Don climbed in, Sascha slid

the door shut, and the big heli-bus glided upward and

southeast.

 

Boris had strapped Peter into a window seat, and ut-

terly entranced, the boy gazed down the black canyon

of the Hudson to the mass of lights that glowed from

every ziggurat and ribbonway of Jerhattan.

 

"Rather breathtaking no matter how often you see

it," Rhyssa said to Peter, who nodded without taking

his eyes from the view. By the time they landed on the

roof of the facility, all the Talents were subtly aware of

the emptiness of the massive structure.

 

"Well done, Boris," Dorotea said. "This way, Pe-

ter!"

 

"I hope you know what you're doing," Boris re-

marked wryly. "My office is on the line in this!"

 

"Thanks, Boris," Rhyssa said. "Can you retrieve us

when we shout?"

 

"If I can't spare Sascha, I'll send someone you can

trust," the LEO commissioner said as he handed Don

his monitors. Then the big heli lifted away from the

helipad.

 

Rhyssa took one equipment case from Don as he

hauled open the roof door. As soon as Peter glided in-

side, he began to emanate excitement, his eyes spar-

kling with anticipation while he maneuvered down the

stairs. They entered above the huge turbines, which

were humming slightly as they served the needs of the

great metropolis. They turned into the control room

that overlooked the turbine floor, a room lined with

the equipment that registered the flow of electricity to

the various substations. With an ineffable air, Peter

assumed the conformable chair of the duty engineer,

swinging it idly from side to side until the adults or-

ganized the monitors and started hooking him up.

 

Above the windows overlooking the turbines were

sufficient vid screens to display what Peter needed to

see. Rhyssa began entering the appropriate programs,

bringing up on one screen a high-resolution fax print of

the Erasmus; on another, a display of its specifications;

 

then weather simulations; and finally linking the sta-

tion's communications grid to the main NASA board to

follow the shuttle's descent. The Erasmus was already

in flight, having begun its descent promptly at 0800

station time, 0130 Earth time. The power-station clock

read 0550 as the deep radar net began to show the shut-

tie's spiraling descent. The final screen pictured the

Dacca airport, lashed with rain and whipped by fierce

gusts of winds that shifted tree trunks, parts of cars,

crates, and all sorts of debris across the concrete run-

way where Peter was to bring the Erasmus safely down.

 

When Don Usenik had completed his check of the

equipment monitoring Peter, Rhyssa and Dorotea took

seats behind them, the mind of each lightly touching

the boy's. He seemed not to notice, so intent was he on

the Erasmus's course. Just as it hit the atmosphere, the

generators began to whine.

 

Rhyssa shook her head, as unable as the others to

reach that part of Peter's mind that had linked with the

enormous power of the turbines below them. The whine

built, the decibels increasing to an almost unbearable

pitch. Dorotea scrunched her features up, unashamedly

 

 

 

 

136 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

covering her ears with her hands. Rhyssa was staring

in disbelief at the wildly altered readings on the control

console. Don Usenik kept his eyes on his medical mon-

itors. Peter remained outwardly composed. Rhyssa no-

deed the slightly condescending smile on his face and

just hoped he was not about to overreach himself.

 

Simultaneously both she and Don noticed the per-

spiration on the boy's forehead, but the smile re-

mained in place. The generators reached a frenzied

peak and maintained it. And the touch of Peter's mind

altered! It became hard as stone. Peter had not locked

mental contact out, but he had suddenly restricted the

contact area, indicating intense concentration. Rhyssa

caught Dorotea's eyes, but the older woman merely

pointed to Don's patient and unalarmed watch of the

monitors. The descent of the Erasmus visibly steadied

and slowed.

 

He's done it! Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Don exclaimed

m muted congratulatory tones.

 

Rhyssa hoped someone was recording for posterity

what was unquestionably me most dramatic moment for

Talent since a Goosegg registered Henry Darrow's

delta-wave pattern during that first recorded precogni-

tive Incident. Her mind still in contact with that part of

Peter's which was accessible to herself and Dorotea,

she watched the Erasmus landing, coming to a gentle

stop at the passenger terminal, seemingly untouched by

the battering wind. Peter gave a little chuckle, and sud-

denly the turbulence between shuttle and terminal

abated, an eerie storm eye of absolute calm. Passengers

hastily disembarked, pausing in astonishment as they

became aware of the surrounding lull. One, his face

indistinct on the small screen, lifted clasped hands above

his head in a victory sign and then hurried into the du-

bious safety of the wind-battered terminal.

 

"Where should I send the shuttle, Rhyssa? Once I let

go, that turbulence will just flip-flop it all over the

place."

 

Anne McCaffrey            137

 

/ hadn't thought that far ahead, Rhyssa admitted on

the quiet to Dorotea.

 

"The weather charts suggest that Woomera would be

the safest place, Peter, but ..." Dorotea quickly

scanned the worldwide meteorological report.

 

Only a slight increase in the generators indicated the

effort involved as the Erasmus slowly turned and started

back to the main runway.

 

"I think we'd better warn the pilot where he's go-

ing," Rhyssa said, and spoke urgently to Sirikit at the

Control Center.

 

We've had the most unusual brownout here, Sirikit

told her.

 

Get Main Air Control to warn the Erasmus pilot ASAP

that he's being diverted to Woomera.

 

Erasmus? Diverted? For once the Thai woman's tran-

quillity slipped into astonishment. Of course! Immedi-

ately!

 

Preferably before he wets his britches, Don added as

an aside, making both Rhyssa and Dorotea grin.

 

None of the three adults could feel any stress in the

mind of the boy, who was totally wrapped in the curi-

ous process of gestalt. Physically he looked more frail

than ever, and the bones of his skull seemed to expand

under the thin skin of his head. They could all feel the

tremendous power surging through him, but they could

not deduce how he effected the control.

 

Slowly, against all the tenets of aerodynamics and in

spite of the prevailing turbulence, the Erasmus sped

down the runway and achieved a perfect takeoff.

 

"I don't believe this," Rhyssa muttered softly. "Who

taught him to fly planes?"

 

"Every boy in this generation understands shuttle

craft," Don remarked, but his expression was no less

bemused than theirs. He watched as the Erasmus

climbed slowly up into the swirling rain and clouds

and out of sight. They followed it up to the supersonic

level.

 

138 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 139

 

The generators wound down from their busy pitch.

 

"There!" Peter said suddenly with a note of com-

plete satisfaction in his voice. "He's firing his engines,

and he should know what to do now. I told him to land

in Woomera. That was fun!" he added with less vigor.

He was extremely pale and still perspiring heavily.

"That was a lot of fun!" His eyes gleamed, and he

grinned at Don Usenik, who shook his head with incre-

dulity as he pointed to an almost normal pattern on the

bioscan screen.

 

"Fun? You called that fun, Peter?" Rhyssa ex-

claimed almost angrily, realizing that she had been

under a tremendous strain of worry even if Peter had

not.

 

"With power like this, I could loft the shuttle much

easier than the pilot could,'' Peter said in a voice that

was suddenly hoarse with fatigue.

 

Dorotea, very privately to Rhyssa: 'How're you goin'

keep 'em down on the farm, after they've seen Paree?'

She rolled her eyes expressively.

 

"Marked fatigue, low energy level, but even that's

within what I'd call the normal range for a Talent,"

Don announced in a baffled tone. "You did great, Pe-

ter," he added proudly.

 

Clearing her throat, Rhyssa said wearily, "I don't

think Ludmilla's going to believe that onboard Talents

also 'ported the shuttle out again."

 

"Well, I couldn't leave it on the runway, Rhyssa,

now could I?" Peter asked with weary irritation.

"Those shuttles cost billions."

 

Suddenly all the telepaths were aware of other

touches, vying to reach their minds.

 

Kayankira: Oh, thank you, thank you. How did you

manage?

 

Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Don exchanged glances.

 

No, Rhyssa, Dorotea said on a very thin thread to the

other two, we didn 't think this whole thing through very

carefully.

 

Rhyssa gulped and replied with an evenness in her

mental tone that Dorotea applauded. Lance is right

there. It was all his idea. A real G and H. Wasn't it,

Lance?

 

Lance: I'll tell her. I'd rather shout "Eureka" but

accept the caveat. He sent an image of a large croco-

dile, jaws wide in amazement, followed by a kangaroo

bouncing from a pictorial map of Australia to the moon.

You never know till you try, do you, cobber?

 

"Enough!" Dorotea said suddenly. "Let's get Peter

home to bed. Don't you try to move a muscle, young

man."

 

For one brief moment, Peter looked as if he was go-

ing to disobey. Then his expression turned woeful. "I

don't think I could right now."

 

"Nothing a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast

won't put right in next to no time," Dorotea said

briskly, but the fierce glance she gave Rhyssa suggested

that a lot more recuperation time might be required in

spite of Don's optimistic interpretation of the monitors.

"Now, how do we get him back to the Center? Boris

and Sascha are apparently up to their eyeballs in their

riot control."

 

The Center vehicle's coming, Sirikit said, a ripple of

amusement in her voice. Just stay put!

 

Even through the heavy roof sheeting of the power

station, they could hear the vibrations of the approach-

ing heli. Then the roof door opened and a figure charged

through.

 

"You all right down there? I was told to come pick

up pieces!" Dave Lehardt cried, descending three steps

at a time.

 

Rhyssa nearly wept with relief. What had Boris, the

sly mutt, said? "Someone you could trust!"

 

"Hi, Peter," Dave said. "What have you all been

up to that your PR man gets called out of his bed in the

wee small hours of the morning?'' Then he knelt down

by the boy, his expression very gentle. "You look

 

 

 

 

140 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

done in. Tell me later, huh?" With tender solicitude,

he gathered up the exhausted boy and, moving with

exquisite care, started up the stairs with him. Rhyssa

followed, immensely grateful for his unexpected pres-

ence.

 

CHAPTER 9

 

^ ^ Within minutes of the Event, an Incident Room

was in place on the wide mall in front of the Assembly

atrium. Crowd-control Talents and LEO specialists had

quickly defused the volatile temper of the incipient mob.

Although a number of attendees had managed to evade

the LEO backup, the rest were being systematically

ID'd.

 

The focus of the Incident, some twenty women of

various ethnic groups, had been immediately seques-

tered in one of the rehearsal rooms behind the atrium

and, despite their loud lamentations and protestations of

innocence, were being adroitly questioned by a special

Talent team.

 

By then Boris and Sascha had arrived in the big heli.

Already the tapes from the hi-eyes, discreetly set in the

high ceiling of the hall by two industrious electricians

who had come with the RIG setup team, were being

viewed in the Incident Room by the original precogs,

Auer and Bertha Zoccola. Boris and Sascha took up

observation positions. The portable's walls were packed

with analyzers keyed in to the LEO mainframe. De-

briefing reports by crowd-control Talents were being

made at the various stations, while LEO personnel av-

idly read rap sheets spewed out by churning printers as

the wrist-ID scans were processed. Frequently the LEO

commissioner was interrupted in his viewing to initial

warrants, but the main meat of the Incident eluded all.

141

 

 

 

 

142 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Reverend Venerable Ponsit Prosit had once again flitted

off in time.

 

"So my precog centered on the women," Bertha was

saying, studiously avoiding eye contact with Auer. The

dour man was pulling at his lower lip, oblivious to her

as the replay continued. "While his was for Flimflam.

When are you going to bust that guy? He's obscene, a

miserable maggot of a man, leeching off emotions—you

know that's all he is! An emotion leech, growing fat

whenever he has a mob to suck! The bigger the bunch

he manipulates, the bigger his hit.'' She waved her arms

in exaggerated circles.

 

"As I've explained before. Bertha, he inadvertenfly

serves a purpose," Boris explained patiently. "He works

them up, yes. He may get a vicarious pleasure holding a

crowd in the palm of his hand, but his histrionics defuse

a lot of pent-up garbage in a catharsis not generated by

passive watching of the tri-d fare. Occasionally he runs

pretty close to dogmatic insult, but usually he's innocuous

and says nothing."

 

" 'Says nothing' is right!" Bertha muttered indig-

nantly.

 

Boris went on. "He had registered sponsors for to-

night, some East Indian Mystical Concept Group which

is properly registered and screens as legit. We had no

grounds to deny them, or him, the right of religious

assembly."

 

"Religious assembly!" Bertha was outraged. "Reli-

gion he ain't got. And religious assemblies are sup-

posed to be uplifting, not downtrodding. He's a rouser,

a leech, a spewer of blasphemy. He's dangerous." She

waggled a finger violently under Boris's nose.

"There're laws against inciting to riot, and he caused

one tonight."

 

"Unfortunately, Bertha, your precog absolves him of

primary blame." Boris tried to exude pacification. Her

voice was getting louder with each denunciatory re-

mark, and she had never been noted for tact.

 

Anne McCaffrey            143

 

"Who gave him strands, Commish?" she demanded.

"You can't tell me he didn't use 'em with criminal

intent!"

 

Boris's patience snapped, and he sent a crisp summons

to Sascha, who was outside helping the telempaths keep

control. "On that count, we've a search-and-find warrant

out for him right now."

 

"It was me twigged Flimflam, Bertha Zoccola,"

Auer said, glaring furiously at the little woman. "He's

none of your business."

 

Sascha arrived and deftly rendered her helpless with

a heavy lean on her speech centers just long enough to

escort her to a debriefing position at the opposite end

of the room.

 

"We got another wild one manufacturing that strand

stuff for Flimflam?'' Auer asked Boris in a low voice.

 

"Could be, Auer," Boris replied unhappily. "That's

the only way fringe fanatics like Ponsit Prosit could

obtain strands." The tangling substance was a recent

LEO invention, produced from an aberrant chemical

compound to provide a fast-drying midrange restraint.

Top secret, its formula and processing were of a com-

plexity that ought not to be easily duplicatable. "There's

a real smart head out there somewhere. Forensic says

the stuff is pretty damned close to our formula. More

toxic, which is bad, and less durable, which is fortu-

nate. You've a good feel for technical matters, Auer.

Keep your mind open for us, will you? Report even the

slightest twinge. We've got to find this bozo as soon as

possible. I don't care what sort of Talent emerges from

Residential genes but, whatever it is, it should be reg-

istered with us."

 

"I can't imagine Flimflam having enough credit to

hire that sort of smarts. Ah, and I see Yassim's got

himself a new ladrone?" Auer asked cynically, point-

ing at the replay.

 

Boris regarded him with approval. "You caught that

one frame of Yassim?''

 

144         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

145

 

Auer shook his head but pointed to the tape being

played over and over on the screen. "I keep up-to-date

on the LEO visitors' list. Every ladrone, hitter, and

sassin known to be connected with Yassim was here

tonight. He had to be, too. Didja get many?"

 

"A good crop but no one of particular importance,"

Boris said, and then grimaced. "You know those new

indestructible door-eyes we've been installing? It could

have been Yassim's people, or maybe the new Talent

who supplied Flimflam with strands, but every one of

them was disabled. Very cleverly, with a bit of wire, a

hairpin, even a twisted length of foil—nothing irrepar-

able but enough to cloud the count. We're ID'ing ev-

eryone who didn't have a chance to leave after the

Incident, but we're shy counts on exactly who, and how

many, came to the party."

 

Auer nodded again, sympathetic in his own sour way

to the commissioner's frustration. "I'll keep it all in

mind. Commissioner. Leave you to it."

 

Boris turned his attention to the head of the team

questioning the focus group. Norma, any luck?

 

No, sir, they 're still on the boil. We 're getting anger,

frustration, envy, some anxiety and worry over being

detained, mainly maternal, but really, sir, we can only

get the dominant emotions. They're angry at being

'done.' And not by old Ponsit Prosit Flimflam. Trouble

is, none of 'em speak much Basic. Could we have a

linguist down here? Someone who's got Neerest, Paki,

and Asian languages? Ranjit, maybe?

 

I'll send him along presently. Anything else?

 

Yes, sir. Nine of them are involved in some kind of feud.

We 've had to separate them twice already to keep them

from scratching each other or pulling hair. Something

about being chosen and it wasn't right to intervene.

Doesn 't make any sense.

 

"Being chosen?" Boris spoke aloud as well as men-

tally.

 

Sir?

 

Thank you, Sergeant, you 'vejust triggered a thought!

Boris turned to the screen as yet another replay of the

Incident began. He forwarded it quickly and then re-

duced the speed, his eyes on the screen.

 

You've got something? Sascha was at his shoulder.

 

If my theory is correct that Flimflam was fingering

people for someone—Yassim probably, since his men

were there in force—/ want to know what the common

denominator of choice was, Boris told his twin. Most

of them were males except our focus group, which

were—ah, here we are!

 

The two brothers watched as the reduced speed clearly

showed the strand falling in the center of the focus

group.

 

It didn 't hit a woman! Unless she was a midget, Sa-

scha said, pointing to the thin hands clawing up out of

the mass. Boris tapped out an enlarge, sharpening the

definition in the center of activity. A child?

 

No child in the group being held. Twenty women. I

can count that many heads.

 

Sascha: Are some tugging?

 

Yes, and some resisting. Norma said the women are

contentious. In an overlay of thought, Boris repeated

Norma's exact words.

 

Sascha: And feeling cheated. Look! Knife severing

the strand. Now all hell breaks loose.

 

"Okay, who were the nearest crowd controllers?"

Boris asked.

 

Cass Cutler and Suzanne Nbembi were summoned,

still wearing their undercover gear, although Cass had

wiped off the heavy makeup and discarded the tangle

of cheap jewelry. Boris spun the tape back to the rele-

vant scene.

 

"Cass, Suzanne, good strong damper work today."

 

"It was very close, Commissioner," Cass said, roll-

ing her eyes. "Could have been a bad one without that

precog."

 

 

 

 

146

 

Anne McCaffrey            147

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

"Either of you two see a child with our focus

group?"

 

"No," Cass replied quickly, and then frowned. "At

least, I don't think she was with them. We first noticed

her trying to get away from Bulbar.''

 

"We would have intervened—no girl child should be

caught by that scuz—but she freed herself," Suz added.

"Knew well enough how."

 

"She dodged behind us for a moment, on her way to

an exit. Just then the Incident erupted. Funny about that

..." Cass faltered, frowning. "I felt something. Com-

missioner, when I touched her. A shield solid as a wall,

and that's odd enough for a Linear kid. She might even

have some latent Talent.''

 

"We still haven't found the reason for the riot. Could

she have something to do with it if she's a possible

latent Talent?" Boris mused, tapping the monitor.

 

Cass gave a diffident shrug, but both she and Suz

watched the replay closely. Boris speeded it up, stop-

ping at the moment when the hands appeared, looking

more balletic in slow motion than frantic as the slender

fingers splayed in panic; then the sequence went on,

showing fingers clutching at the strand, the flash of the

knife, and the scrimmage of the women.

 

"Can you get the perimeter of the scene just before

they started to boil?" Cass asked.

 

Boris tried every combination of review, but the hi-

eye had been fixed on the precogged site of the Inci-

dent, and although the definition was sharp, the angle

obscured what Cass wanted to see.

 

"Ranjit Youssef reporting as requested, sir." The

young LEO officer presented himself a respectful dis-

tance from the absorbed cluster around the screen.

 

"And what did the search of the assigned quarters

reveal, Lieutenant?" Boris asked formally.

 

"Commissioner, the count of illegal children under

the age often is'eight hundred and three, including five

 

newboms. In fact, all the children apprehended are un-

der ten."

 

Although the LEO commissioner was not actually

surprised, the total was considerably higher than esti-

mated. He propped himself against the desk edge and

folded his hands over his chest, rubbing his jaw pen-

sively. Eight hundred? he repeated.

 

And three, Sascha added, his mental tone equally

grim.

 

Boris: And all to be sacrificed to produce more un-

derfed disposable kids to be abused one way or an-

other. How can the traffic be stopped when people

blindly follow an archaic ethnic imperative?

 

"Any with legal wrist IDs?" Boris asked Ranjit

aloud.

 

"The nine-year-olds, sir, but so far no IDs match the

genetic print registered for the number. There are also

far fewer preteens and teens than a Residential popu-

lation should generate."

 

"As usual. How many of the illegals under ten were

found in the quarters of the focus women?"

 

"Thirty-two, some too young to run for it. The older

ones had some warning—they always do. But a clamp

is already initiated. No one without a wristband will

move out of this Linear," Ranjit said, "even through

disposal chutes."

 

"Ah, yes, disposal chutes," Boris added with a fur-

ther sigh of resignation. "And, I trust, the cargo lines?

Good." He tapped a sequence and the screen showed

the architectural schematic of Linear G, slowly rotating

to display every angle of the immense ziggurat. "Nonna

Banfield needs your linguistic abilities. Lieutenant.

She's in the rehearsal hall to the left of the stage. She's

got a mess of ethnics with little Basic, and there are

two factions at least willing to pull hair."

 

"Pull hair?" Cass sat upright, a wisp of a memory

surfacing from the recent explosion.

 

"Got something, Cass?" Boris asked.

 

 

 

 

148         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

149

 

"I'll work on it." She sagged into as much of a re-

laxed state as the activity in the room permitted. Suz

began a soothing massage of her neck muscles to en-

courage recall.

 

"I'll do what I can to help Lieutenant Banfield,"

Ranjit saluted and left.

 

Cass stood. "I wanna check something in the hall,

sir, unless some officious moron has sent the cleaners

in already."

 

"Go to it." Boris gestured broadly and turned back

to the schematic to try and figure out where refugees

might hide in the maze of corridors, closets, and con-

duits. Sascha, get your teams to start searching ducts.

Scared kids can squeeze into the damnedest places. I

don't want a single illegal to get caught by Yassim's

slimy hooks.

 

Done. Sascha's eyes blanked briefly as he gave the

orders.

 

"I got it," Cass cried, reentering the room. She gave

an eerie yodel and held the trophy up. "Her scalp, by

all that's holy!"

 

With two fastidious fingers, Boris took the hank of

hair, the dull severed strand tangled right to the bloody

patch of skull skin. Loufan! Find out all you can about

the person who grew this!

 

The technician hurried to the commissioner's side,

received the tress without expression, and went back to

his cubicle.

 

Commissioner, Ranjit said. After a polite pause to be

sure he was not interrupting, he went on. They're hid-

ing something.

 

Norma: Someone. I concur. Someone important to

them.

 

Ranjit: 7 think that's the reason for the dissension,

sir.

 

Norma: / would go along with that. May I nudge

them, sir?

 

Boris: By any, fair means, Lieutenant. Boris told

 

them. He grinned to himself, knowing Ranjit's scru-

pulous sense of honor, and then felt the mental touch

that meant Sascha had overheard the exchange.

 

Dealing with the unTalented took heroic efforts, Bo-

ris thought. On the other hand, did he really want ev-

eryone to have paranormal abilities? Or at least some

minor paranormal quirk, so that there would be less

hassle? But that gave rise to envy—envy of someone

more Talented than oneself, which only increased dis-

sension and prejudice. No, far better to have a small

minority, dedicated—and disciplined—to perform func-

tions that the mind-numb could not. And all of the pe-

culiar and unusual quirks registered!

 

Sir? Loufan paused. / removed the strand from the

scalp, as it interfered with the reading and is certainly

irrelevant. The subject is a Eurasian ethnic mix, pre-

adolescent female. Good strong genoprint, good im-

mune factors, healthy, unusually so. The technician

sounded surprised. Linear G subsistence fare was nu-

tritionally adequate, of course, but if the child was il-

legal, as Boris suspected, how had she managed to be

healthy? And there's no match of birth ID.

 

Boris: Did you really expect to find one?

 

Loufan: Yes, sir.

 

It was Boris's turn to be surprised.

 

Loufan: She could have been a runaway or a kidnap.

 

Boris: Okay. File the data, Loufan, and give the hair

to Bertha. Ask her—in your ineffably polite style—if this

artifact sparks anything off in her mind?

 

Moments later Bertha came storming back to him.

"Oh, the poor thing! Hair torn right out of her scalp!

Commish, who did it?"

 

"Possibly Bulbar. Sense anything?"

 

Bertha pressed the lock against her ample bosom,

closed her eyes, and concentrated. "Not a thing, but

it's there in my mind now." She grimaced in sudden

revulsion and thrust it back to him. "Take it away!"

 

Sascha intercepted the lock. "Black, good length,"

 

 

 

 

150         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

he murmured. "Some of those women never cut their

hair. Healthy, and much cleaner than you'd expect.

Shouldn't be too hard to find a juvenile with a hunk

torn out of her scalp."

 

' 'I'd rather you give it to Carmen,'' Boris told him.

Ranjit thinks quite a few of the older illegal kids eluded

the search teams, he added. Could she be one of them?

She might lead us to the rest.

 

Carmen Stein laid the lock across her thighs and

stroked it flat, using her long fingernails to separate the

tangled hairs. For several more minutes she fingered

them, softly coaxing a sense of their grower's where-

abouts. Carmen always looked so placid and imperturb-

able when she was evoking her Talent as finder. Better

than most, Sascha knew just how much activity her

brain was generating at such moments. She was one of

the best searchers he had ever encountered and, because

her Talent was intense and exhausting, he protected her

as much as he could, limiting her assignments.

 

"The incident occurred how long ago?" she asked

without taking her eyes from the hair.

 

"Approximately sixty-two minutes."

 

"Ah, she is hiding. That accounts for the darkness.

I cannot see where. There is no light. A constricted

space."

 

"A conduit?"

 

"That's possible." Carmen sounded dubious. "I

think she sleeps."

 

"That's a cool one."

 

"No," Carmen said, taking him literally. "Not cool.

Tired.'' She offered him the hair.

 

"No, keep it. Carmen, for now. We'll need to know

if she moves."

 

Calmly Carmen leaned forward, took a clip from the

brightly enameled jar on the table, and fastened the

tress, the scalp end now coated with a protective film,

high on the right ,side of her head.

 

Anne McCaffrey            151

 

Sascha had relayed Carmen's comments to Boris.

 

A conduit, huh ? There's so few of those in a Linear. The

LEO Commissioner's mental tone was facetious. We're

flushing kids out of every available space. I hate this,

Sascha, I hate it. Sascha sent quick soothing thoughts to

ease the turmoil in his brother's mind, but Boris went on.

The miracle of life should be a blessing, not a curse. How

can people be so irresponsible as to produce countless

unwanted children and waste them?

 

Even illegal kids have rights, Sascha responded,

gently quoting his brother his own words. See that even

the least of them get that much.

 

Illegals go to the space station. Boris sounded de-

feated.

 

They don't go as grunts. They 're trained to do some-

thing a lot more constructive than their parents ever

did. Leave it, brother.

 

I scratch your back, Bro, not your nose, Boris said

wryly. Now, I'mputting in an appearance to scare some

sense out of those flipping focus females!

 

No one better. By the way, when you have a spare

moment, listen to a news update. Then you 'II know why

we twisted your arm with a G and H.

 

I congratulate the triumph I sense in your mind, but

I'll have to wait on a replay of the event, Boris said as

he entered the rehearsal hall, thinking what a scarce

commodity time was right then.

 

He crossed the threshold, assuming his most awe-

inspiring official manner. Tall, handsome, the strength

in his powerful frame shown off even by the bulky ac-

tion uniform, he succeeded in scaring the gaggle of

women silent, a silence that did not last too long, though

the renewed bursts of argumentative crosstalk were con-

siderably subdued.

 

I just got something, Commissioner, Ranjit told him.

A flash from the woman fourth on the left, the plump

young one with the caste mark. "It's all Tiria 's fault."

Tiria is, I think, a feminine name.

 

 

 

 

152 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

"Translate for me, Lieutenant," Boris said, striding

imperiously in front of the women, his tone haughty.

"I am LEO Commissioner Boris Roznine. Where is the

girl child you had with you this evening?"

 

Boris had no trouble picking up the reactions of re-

sentment, envy, anger, dismay, and fear as he gave

Ranjit time enough to repeat his words in the various

languages. The women had had time to realize that they

were in deep trouble with Authority. Several had vivid

worries about their children, left too long alone in their

squats. Others concentrated on nursing their sense of

grievance. He caught occasional variations on the phrase

Ranjit had twigged, but no one else volunteered a name.

"It was all her fault." They contented themselves with

impersonal malice.

 

"Let me reassure you that the children in your homes

are being cared for until you can return to them," he

said, smiling kindly.

 

As the import of his sentence was understood by each

group, the wailing, breast-beating, and pulling of hair

began, and more recriminations were spewed. Boris was

well aware of fury, loss, resignation, and relief in one

case, but he could not understand any actual linguistics

used in the varied emotional reactions.

 

Ranjit: This Bilala says that it is all her fault for

resisting the Lama's choosing. Ranjit was restraining

the plump caste-marked virago from rushing at the

haughty, hawk-nosed older woman on the other side of

the room. She says Mirda Khan brought all this on

herself. Mirda Khan replies that—ah, the name again,

Tiria—would not have been able to translate for any of

them up on the stage. She had done little enough to

earn baksheesh, a tip.

 

Boris: Lieutenant, ask them who is Tiria's mother.

 

The question shut the women up and briefly closed

down their mental perturbations. Then they all launched

into personal lamentations again. The answer was also

quick. None of them was Tirla's mother, and without

 

Anne McCaffrey            153

 

exception, just as Boris had hoped, every one of them

flashed a quick mental image of the girl in question.

 

Got it, Ranjit and Norma told him in unison.

 

As I did. With a gesture to signify that the women

could be processed or released as their condition war-

ranted, the LEO commissioner hurried back to the In-

cident Room.

 

Loufan awaited him there in front of the graphics

pad, stylus ready. For this sort of transference, Boris

grasped the technician's thin shoulder and concentrated

on the vivid image of the Tiria child. Loufan sketched

quickly, capturing in a few clever lines the intense

face—remembered by most in its panic at being

stranded—the wide-set, slightly tilted huge dark eyes

above prominent cheekbones, the abundant waving dark

hair framing it, the fine straight nose, the small cautious

mouth, the long sweep of a determined jawline, the odd

cleft in the chin. A charming face, if one discounted

the fright, intelligent despite the fear. Tiria looked no

more than eight or nine, but some wisp of thought—

from the fat old woman—suggested that she was older.

The woman's memory of her went back quite a few

years.

 

"Is that her?" Loufan asked, transferring the sketch

to the screen.

 

The LEO commissioner allowed himself a good long

look, matching the image on the screen to the consensus

in the minds of twenty women. "Yes, that's it. Print

it, circulate it to all officers and Talents. I think we

should find that child. Cass might be right about latent

Talent. And if Flimflam was after her, there may be

more to her than we realize. I also need to file an in-

telligent reason why a RIG damned near turned into a

full-scale riot, and she just might provide the answer,''

he concluded. Sascha, could someone be an instanta-

neous translator?

 

Sascha considered that. I'd say that she displayed

more than a mere language facility—quite possibly Tal-

 

154 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 155

 

ent. Anyone who could translate ten different languages

as she apparently could would be valuable to either or

both of us. He grinned at his brother. First we 'II have

to find her. Then we can evaluate her abilities.

 

Firlo!

 

Tiria woke suddenly, jolted out of her exhausted sleep

by someone calling her name softly and appealingly.

Tiria did not move, or so much as open her eyes.

 

Clever little trinket, isn't she? Call her again.

 

Won't work, Boris. She's alert now.

 

It had to have been part of a dream. She often

dreamed that she heard her mother calling her name. It

had to be a dream, because no one could know where

she was, despite LEOs searching the main conduits and

sending drone units down the smaller ones. On her way

home from the debacle of the meeting, she had escaped

all types of earnest hunters. She had seen the numbers

of children being flushed from hidey-holes.

 

Her hunch about the meeting had been correct. It had

served as an excuse to sweep down on the pads, collect

illegal children, and check all IDs. No one, absolutely

no one, had ever known where she squatted. She did

not even think to herself where she was. And no one

was likely to discover her even in this intensive search.

 

Somewhat reassured, Tiria nestled back into the

warmth of her sleep sack. Suddenly she heard noises

nearby and froze. She heard the doors into the closed

section being opened. This search was unusually thor-

ough. Not even she had been able to get into the engi-

neering space, and yet it was being checked.

 

Not even Yassim's men could find her, and they knew

all the ducks and dodges that any subbie had ever fig-

ured out. She had been so lucky not to be caught by

Bulbar. He was wicked dangerous. Her head still

throbbed where the hair had been torn away. She had

dabbed on some dis-wipe. Bulbar could have been car-

rying any kind of 'mune to infect her, scabby old scuz.

 

Her problem with Yassim remained. She had not

washed the tieds. How would he expect her to when

he, and every trader, had been lucky to escape the bust?

Not that he took excuses. What awful luck to be singled

out by the Lama-shaman! Which of the women had he

really been after? And why? It made no sense to Tiria.

None of them was pretty or young, or even on the lay—

not with their husbands!

 

The noise of search was diminishing, and carefully

Tiria reached unerringly for the water jug and food that

she kept for such emergencies. Chewing the dry-eat

made terrible noises in her head. She had heard about

the wide-range ultrasensitive gear that was said to pick

up breathing in a radius of five klicks, but there should

be enough minor noises from the generators and air-

conditioning units to mask her chewing, and she was

terribly hungry. Finally, thirst and hunger assuaged,

Tiria snuggled deeper into her sack and went to sleep

again.

 

Take a break, Carmen," Sascha told the finder. "She

won't venture out until night. If then."

 

Carmen rubbed delicately at her temples and sighed.

"You're right. I'll rest. She's unusual, isn't she, Sa-

scha?"

 

"We believe so, even if we don't know specifically

why."

 

Carmen regarded him with some surprise. "It's a

lovely clear mind. Like a bell—when she's asleep. She's

wary and cautious awake, that one. I can touch her but

not read her. And with her in the darkness, I can't even

help you home in on her."

 

"She'll come out in good time."

 

Carmen shot a look that suggested that Sascha Roz-

nine might—this once—be wrong. He grinned and

 

winked as he turned to leave her quarters.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

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Anne McCaffrey

 

157

 

"Frankly, Sascha, we've run everything we got on the

people Flimflam fingered for Yassim," Boris Roznine

said, tossing a sheaf of hard copy onto the desktop, "and

we can't find a common denominator. They're mostly

able-bodies, doing enough work to keep away from Con-

scriptive Work Services, only minor misdemeanors on

their sheets, none of 'em known to gamble or dip."

 

Sascha smiled knowingly and felt his brother poke at

his mind, but he kept his shield in place. He could do

that to Boris, whereas Boris could not keep him out at

all. "You've had a hard thirty hours, so I'll tell you.

They were all fathers.''

 

"What?" Blood suffused Boris's face.

 

"Flimflam had accessed ordinary info on residents of

the Linear. Mind you, it was so simple we didn't see it

at first. Bertha's sensitive to females and children, Auer

to the blacker side of life."

 

Boris scrubbed at his head. "Sometimes it is the sim-

ple things we miss. So Flimflam was fingering fathers

with likely youngsters, and the girl was a bonus?"

 

"I guess, and we're still in the daric about her," Sa-

scha added, aware of his brother's next query. "Car-

men's latched, but the girl's cautious and hasn't moved

since she went to ground."

 

"Scared?"

 

"Strangely enough, no. I'd hazard that she's had to

keep a low profile before. She's a preteen and illegal."

 

"That will sharpen the senses."

 

"How're you doing with Yassim's operation?"

 

"We figure he picked up at least nineteen children,

maybe a few more." Boris grimaced. "We collected

eight hundred and three illegal kids from Linear G. If

what Harv believes is possible—mat every one of the

related mothers has been having a kid a year—we're

minus a possible forty. We located eighteen of that forty

in a storage basement, but they've got the entry jammed.

We're working on it." Boris shook his head. "They

really will be better off in hostels."

 

"And in space?" Sascha asked wryly.

 

"Even in space they have a better chance than stale-

mated in a Linear."

 

"But they won't be able to reproduce themselves."

Sascha had never approved of the law that required the

sterilization of illegal offspring.

 

Boris raised his hands in resignation. "I don't make

the laws, Sascha. I only enforce them." Then he leaned

forward and tapped up a new program on his big screen.

"All right. Now, we have to find Yassim in his warren

and save nineteen kids or more from him.''

 

"She's moved, Sascha," Carmen said, her tone half-

triumphant, half-anxious.

 

Sascha consulted his watch. ' 'This time of day?''

 

"Linear will be crowded with those coining off

work."

 

"Keep as close as you can to her."

 

"It's very difficult, Sascha. It's almost as if she isn't

seeing the things she's looking at. I can't get a real fix,

except that there are people all around her. Wait! She's

stopped. No, that's no good. All I get is a mass of

standard-issue clothing. She's still in a crowd."

 

"I'm in touch with our teams on the main levels of

G. Just give us a direction. Carmen. Any direction."

Alert to our quarry! he added in a mental call to Cass

and Suz.

 

Tiria was relieved that it had been Mirda Khan she

first came across. Mirda was full of the whole affair,

her black eyes snapping with indignation and a certain

sly malice that she had not suffered at the hands of the

Public Health—it had been a long time since her womb

had borne fruit. But she had the grace to mourn her

friends' losses, of both their existing children and their

hope of more.

 

"They will see how hard it is for those of us who

have no children to sell.''

 

 

 

 

158 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 159

 

"Was that why Yassim was there? To buy chil-

dren?"

 

"Why else?" Mirda lifted her shoulders in an elo-

quent shrug. "He would have no interest in spiritual

things."

 

"Did he get them all?" Tiria was aghast. Yet if a

big score put Yassim in a very good mood, he would

be easier for her to deal with over the matter of the

tieds she had been unable to wash.

 

"No, they got most of them. Yassim cannot have

many, but those he got he got for nothing!" Mirda was

indignant. "No price was paid to their grieving mothers

and fathers. They ran into his arms to escape the LEOs.

Ran! And no credits exchanged, not even a bargain

made. Oh, he will not dare to enter G again." Then

suddenly Mirda latched steely fingers into Tula's shoul-

der. "What was the Lama-shaman saying? You didn't

tell us. Aiiiye, and to increase insult, you did not even

have the grace to accept the strand mat chose you. You

have earned the undying hatred of Bilala and Pilau for

not accepting his choice."

 

Tiria wrenched herself free. "Choice? I am nothing-

why would he choose me? I think he missed. Tell Bilala

that I think he was aiming for her and missed. But, as

for what he said, you missed nothing. That Lama-

shaman spewed stupid syllables only. Not a proper word

in any language. Even in his head he wasn't using real

words. He didn't mean to. He is a sham man, not a

shaman. It was all set up for the Public Health to raid

Linear G."

 

"How could that be?" Mirda was startled. "No, it

could not be. Not with traders there with all their goods

and some of it not things the LEOs should discover on

them. And certainly not when Yassim, and every lad-

rone, hitter, and sassin he employs, were also present.

They would have known. Perhaps the strand was meant

for Bilala, as you said. She felt that was proper for her,

too, you understand, for she has been worthy. A woman

 

who has borne a child every year for her husband.

Aiyyee, and they have taken that from her now, and his

pride from him. He will reproach her until the day of

her death." Mirda began to beat herself across her

breasts, and Tiria used the distraction to slip away.

 

So, Yassim had children from G and had not paid for

them. And she had tieds that she could not deal for him,

which she had better return. If he had enough children,

men with luck he would not take her.

 

It was wrong of Bilala to hate her. Tiria wished that

she had asked Mirda if any more of her clients did. It

was essential for Tiria to stay on good terms with ev-

eryone in Linear G. She was just as illegal. Bilala or

Pilau could be spiteful enough to turn her in, as a token

revenge for the loss of their own children. Unless . . .

 

Unless Tiria could get a price for the children who

had run into Yassim's clutches. She knew where he

kept such merchandise. It would depend on who he had

taken.

 

She skipped down a side aisle where, looking around

to be sure she was not observed, she yanked at a con-

duit grille. It resisted, and she saw that the screws had

been replaced. She felt inside the grille to be sure there

were no wires or eyes, but this was a small opening,

one only a very small or thin child could have used,

and had not been staked out. She got out the vibro-blade

she had earned for some long-forgotten favor and

sheered off two screws. Then she climbed into the dark

conduit.

 

Carmen was exasperated. Just when I had a good

placement—or thought I did—she's gone into the dark

again. No, wait, Sascha, there's light around her now.

She's in some sort of a cramped tunnel.

 

Sascha: Uses the bloody conduits like a subway. I'll

have the schematic of G on my screen for the next year

at this rate.

 

 

 

 

160 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Carmen: Think how well you 'II know the innards of

a Residential by then.

 

Sascha: Thanks. Keep track of our mole.

 

Carmen: Wait a minute, Sascha, I think she's moving

out of G.

 

Sascha, startled: How can she?

 

Carmen: She's in the underground. Red light. The

freight subways are the only tunnels illuminated in red,

aren't they?

 

Sascha: Omigod, which direction has she gone?

 

Sascha, Cass here. Mirda Khan was just seen talking

with our quarry. Khan insists that the girl escaped from

her. I'll believe that when pigs fty.

 

Sascha: What were they talking about?

 

The meeting, Flimflam, Yassim. Khan has gone into

panic and isn't making much sense. She's afraid—

there's suddenly a real big dollop of guilt, anxiety,

mainly fear. For herself and just a little for Tirla.

 

Sascha: Boris! Our quarry may be venturing into one

of Yassim's industrial territories. Alert your surveil-

lance.

 

At his desk in the Parapsychic Tower, Sascha Roz-

nine experienced the sort of frustration that plagued few

Talents. Hardened criminals were easier to apprehend

than one preadolescent child who looked nearly half her

actual age. And what on earth was the child doing in

Yassim's territory? She would have done better to crawl

back into her very secret hidey-hole. He was tormented

with memories of the pix of vivisected child bodies.

 

CHAPTER 10

 

^ ^ Barchenka was furious when informed that she

would be deprived of her strongest kinetics for the week

it would take to mitigate the monsoon flooding. She first

cried mutiny, then grand larceny, but was brought up

short by her own Station Authority, who pointed out

that the Talents had a legal right to attend major dis-

asters such as the one that undeniably existed in the

Bangladesh flooding. Also, the pilot was an off-duty

volunteer, and there had been no damage to the Eras-

mus, which he had returned to Padrugoi as soon as

Woomera cleared him for a launch.

 

Massive efforts in shoring up the levees and careful

manipulation of the barriers and dams prevented the

Ganges from turning the lower portion of Bangladesh

into a vast lagoon from Bogra to the sea. Still, whole

towns had to be evacuated and necessary supplies

shifted, difficult even kinetically in the appalling con-

ditions. The force of the channeled flood did inundate

Chittagong and coastal towns below it, but not as dis-

astrously as the precog had predicted. Talent once again

had reduced the impact of a major natural catastrophe.

 

Peter Reidinger, on the other hand, slept late into the

next morning, but when Don Usenik checked him over,

he seemed none the worse for his major gestalt effort.

But mere was no doubt that his achievement had altered

him: he neither floated nor essayed to walk—he strut-

ted, chin high, with a slightly superior smirk on his

face.

 

161

 

 

 

 

162 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 163

 

"What was the saying? 'Power tends to corrupt, and

absolute power corrupts absolutely'?" Sascha asked

Rhyssa, peevish in his frustration over the lost girl.

"He's insufferably smug this morning."

 

Dorotea gave a snort. "Don't overreact, Sascha! He's

got a right to crow. Perfectly natural in anyone, espe-

cially a fourteen-year-old boy whose only available

movement until recently was tonguing a switch or

blinking his eyes at tri-d to change channels. Pretty

heady stuff to save a country. I scanned him pretty

deeply at brunch while he was still sleepy, and there's

nothing in his mind that smacks of corruption." She

grinned. "A bigger generator, more derring-do, and

plenty of self-satisfaction."

 

"Lighten up, Sascha-bear," Rhyssa said, smiling en-

couragingly. "Or don't you remember some of the

tricks you and Boris pulled at that age?"

 

' 'A telepath can't get into quite the same sort of trou-

ble a kinetic can," Sascha said, grimly thinking of a

girl rumbling in red-lit freightways. What was her Tal-

ent?

 

"Peter's got a fine sense of integrity, Sascha,"

Rhyssa said. "He's sensitive and sensible. We have to

think how to bring him back to cruel reality after his

minor miracle."

 

"A diversion usually helps," Dorotea remarked with

a gleam in her eyes. "I used that ploy often with my

lads." She wrinkled her nose and sighed. "All too of-

ten."

 

"It's going to have to be pretty good to distract him

from the Erasmus stunt," Sascha said with uncharac-

teristic gloom.

 

Rhyssa was distracted from the conversation by the

mental hail of Johnny Greene. Rhyssa, you guys called

a G and H. Did it have something to do with the spec-

tacular landing and takeoffofthe Erasmus?

 

One of the phones on Rhyssa's desk rang, and being

nearest, Sascha picked it up.

 

"Yes, Dave? No, Rhyssa's got a call on her mind.

Can I help?" He listened for a moment and then re-

placed the handset, his face grimmer than ever.

 

Johnny, Rhyssa was saying, it's very complicated.

 

Sascha: You haven't heard the half yet, dear. Dave's

got bad news for us, too. Ludmilla 's claiming that we 've

perjured our immortal souls and deliberately falsified

our Register.

 

Johnny: Vemon's had all kinds of flak from NASA,

the Space Authorities, the Padrugoi Authority . . .

 

Rhyssa, fiercely: Remind Vemon what kinetics are

doing on the Indian continent. Sascha, tell Dave that

his public pitch is that, despite all odds, Talent has kept

its covenant of disaster assistance. And I want Johnny

and Dave up here as fast as they can make it. Partic-

ularly you, Greene. To Dorotea, she said, "I think Pe-

ter's immediate illusions of grandeur are going to be

heavily dampened."

 

Boris entered the telepathic conference. The Power

Resources commissioner is also demanding an expla-

nation for a G and H that caused last night's brownout

and wiped out all his power reserves, he said plain-

tively. The city commish wants a lot of answers. Sas-

cha, you heard anything?

 

Sascha, savagely: No!

 

Vsevolod Gebrowski, urgently: Rhyssa, Barchenka is

out to get you! And there's nothing I can do to distract

her. I told her G and H. Her telempaths have explained

that this is a Talent emergency code which needs no

elaboration. She does not accept that.

 

Rhyssa: You tell Ludmilla from. me that she's had

plenty of secrets she doesn 't share, like early-completion

bonuses, as well as fines on delays. I don't question

her; she doesn't question me.

 

Vsevolod: She does. I warn you.

 

Dorotea, helpfully: Amalda Vaden sees nothing un-

toward.

 

Rhyssa: Why did you bring her in on this?

 

 

 

 

164         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

165

 

Dorotea: / think we need all the reassurance we can

get.

 

Sascha: Dave Lehardt, Gordie Havers, and two top

NASA generals are on the same heli with Johnny.

 

Rhyssa remembered how satisfied Peter had looked

after dealing so beautifully with the Erasmus crisis. She

groaned. "He's only fourteen."

 

Carmen: Sascha, I've got a fix on her.

 

Sascha was out the door in a flash. Good luck!

 

Rhyssa: Right back at you!

 

"Peter's far more mature than most fourteen-year-

olds I've dealt with," Dorotea mused. "Including

you," she added, favoring Rhyssa with an admonitory

glance. "And he's got all the right instincts for being

Talented."

 

Tiria did not like using the freight subways. The red

light was off-putting. However, a cargo train servicing

the automatic industrial complexes all along the river-

side was the only way to get to the secreted holding

place Yassim used to stash his merchandise, a train go-

ing into the J industrial. Then she would have to walk

to the correct shunt. There were emergency alcoves set

at intervals all along the right-hand side, so she could

avoid being crushed by any passing cars. Dead unthink-

ing things like tram trains did not frighten her. Live

unthinking things like some of Yassim's sassins and

hitters did.

 

She waited a hundred meters from the yawning red-

and-black mouth of the G shunt for nearly an hour be-

fore a J train arrived. It would have to slow as it reached

the junction, so it was no problem for an agile person

to drop onto the first segment, catch a good hold of the

flange, and settle down for the trip. Flattened on the

top, she was small enough to have several centimeters'

clearance from the curved ceiling of the tunnel. She

reset her grip as the train picked up speed again, vi-

brating under her. The fetid wind, a noxious combina-

 

tion of overheating metal, grease, and the acrid stink of

electricity, roared down across her body, and she an-

gled her face down.

 

When the J train finally slowed with screeching brakes

and made the left-hand turn into the cargo docks of its

destination, she readied herself to jump off. She had to

land clear of the coding machinery that opened and

sorted out the goods to be delivered from the load. But

she had done it with no problem before and did it again,

dropping lightly down and running up the narrow ledge

by the various chutes and moving ramps that began the

unloading.

 

When she came to the first curve in the narrow tunnel

and the last of the red light was gone, she used her

handlight, glad that she had filched a fresh charge for

it only the previous week. With the dim beam to light

her way, she trotted along in a half crouch until the

muscles in her legs and back ached. She dropped to her

knees then and rested a moment before continuing on.

 

Motivated by her keen sense of self-preservation,

Tiria had once taken the precaution of investigating his

holding cell, a room hidden behind a false wall of bar-

rels at the back of an automated factory, where the noise

of the ill-tuned machinery would drown any screaming.

But he did keep the children reasonably well cared for,

since purchasers could view them on a closed-circuit

system he provided. Disabling the archaic scanner

would be no problem for Tiria, and she knew the pre-

cise location of the ventilator hatch in the room's ceil-

ing.

 

The kids had been in there nearly two days. They

would be rested, she knew, and possibly feeling pretty

good about their new conditions, which were, after all,

a considerable improvement over squats. They might

not want to leave. She wished she knew whom Yassim

had grabbed—then she could figure out how to stir them

to leave Yassim's hospitality long enough to force him

to pay their parents proper compensation.

 

 

 

 

166         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

167

 

She loosened the appropriate wires on the ancient

scanner so that the static would snow the visual. Then,

gaining entrance through the ventilator hatch, she dan-

gled from the ceiling to the excited clamor of young

 

voices.

 

"Hey there, cool it way down!" she ordered in Ba-

sic, repeating the message for those who might be slow

to translate or need to be reassured. "Yushi, pull a mat-

tress down so I can land soft. It's a drop."

 

While Yushi and his younger brother complied, she

did a quick estimate. Yassim must have been quite

pleased at his catch: twenty-four prime kids to sell. The

remains of a recent meal relieved her of one obstacle—

the guards were not likely to check soon again—but it

meant that the kids would have one less reason to want

to leave such a cushy setup. Why, there were only two

kids per bunk. They all had new gear on, and the girls

were tarted up like their mothers.

 

"Yassim take any of you yet?" Tiria asked, imbuing

her voice with trembling urgency and widening her eyes

with real fear. "I got here as quick as I could!" she

added, implying that maybe she had not been quick

enough.

 

"Huh?" Yushi was good at taking orders but not at

 

thinking.

 

"They took my sister!" Suddenly little Minnalar's

painted face screwed up into tears. "They took her an

hour ago. And she had on the prettiest things—orange

and brown with gold, and new earrings ..."

 

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Mil-malar. I did everything I could

to get here in time." As Tiria lavished sympathy on the

weeping seven-year-old, she could see panic beginning

to spread to the others. She got madder than ever at

Yassim. It was one thing to take ten-year-olds, but not

seven- and eight-year-old babies'. What kind of pervs

did he supply?

 

"Whaddya mean?" Tombi, Bilala's eldest son,

asked, his manner slightly aggressive. He was nibbling

 

at a sweetbar; judging from the smears on his face, it

was one of a series.

 

"We gotta git out of here," Tiria said, releasing Mir-

malar with a reassuring pat. "This place has a baaaad

stink."

 

"It ain't got any at all," Tombi replied, though he

turned his head immediately to the rudimentary sanitary

unit in the comer.

 

"They take Raina already, you all are in biiiiig trou-

ble. I'm gonna get you all out. Now. Before more bad

men come. You girls know what I mean," she added,

waggling a stem finger at them. Tombi and Dik snick-

ered. "Same thing happens you guys, too, and you

know you too small for that cany-on yet.''

 

Tombi stopped nibbling the sweet and looked appre-

hensively at the door.

 

"Sure they feed you up good. Sweet stuff coming out

your ass, giving you a bellyache," she said, dismissing

the remains of the recent meal. "This place's good to

keep you from crying much. You cry plenty soon and

no one hear you ever. Stick it up you good, every which

way, and that's the best of it. You know what your

mothers tol' you. You know what to watch out for."

She was succeeding in scaring them—the younger ones

were beginning to weep. She did not want them so

scared that they could not move. "Yushi, Dik, Tombi,

help me move the bunks. We make a stepstair. There's

room up there to stand.''

 

"I ain't goin'," Tombi said, glaring defiance at her.

He was heavier and taller than Tiria, but she kicked

him so hard that he doubled up.

 

"You're going 'cause your mother sent me to get

you," Tiria knew how scared Tombi was ofBilala. "So

you're coming. Now, move! And crying won't do no

good, so stop. You need your breath for climbing and

walking."

 

Just then the enormity of moving twenty-four scared

and perhaps unwilling kids sank in. Tiria allowed her-

 

 

 

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

168

 

self only a moment to reflect on it. She had to do it,

somehow, because otherwise she would have to leave

G, and she did not want to. Linear G was home. She

had made herself a place there, she had a business—she

was safe there. Well, safe enough, if she laid low for a

 

while.

 

She chivvied and bullied all the kids up into the ven-

tilation shaft, kicked the telltale bunk over, and re-

placed the grille. Someone might think that the kids

were small enough to escape through it, but where

would twenty-four of them go7

 

She led the way, grouping the kids so that there were

bigger ones holding the hands of the smallest. She made

Tombi rear guard to give him some responsibility and

put Yushi in the middle. He would always follow or-

ders.

 

The unloading platform with its eerie red light gave

her no comfort—she knew that some of the kids would

not be able to manage the acrobatics needed to get on

one of the drones. They could, of course, straddle tracks

all the way back to G, but it was a long, long walk,

and there would be danger every time one of the speed-

ing trains went by.

 

Well, maybe they could all make it back one station

to I and get lost in that industrial complex. It was safer

than staying in J. Or was it? Maybe she would just take

the older ones, who would be in more danger? No, they

were all in danger, because whoever was left could be

made to tell who had rescued the others. Maybe if she

put the younger ones in a safe place and went back for

help . . . Mirmalar's father adored his daughters and

would do anything to save the remaining one. And Yu-

shi's father was one of the strongest men in G.

 

The vibrations that told her a train was on the tracks

beyond the shunt alerted her. How much time did they

have before they would know if its destination was J?

 

"Hide in the tunnels! Quickly! Stand on the ledges!"

 

Anne McCaffrey            169

 

She took Mirmalar herself, for the little girl was puck-

ering up to cry again.

 

"Ah, there's never anyone on goods trains," Tombi

said.

 

"Yeah, and how d'you think Yassim's people get

back and forth? Dumper cars are big enough to hold a

dozen people."

 

That shut Tombi silent and lost him more face in the

eyes of the other boys. Tiria shoved him toward a tun-

nel as she pulled Mirmalar after her.

 

The screech of distressed metal announced another

goods train being shunted into J from the north. She

had not counted on one arriving quite so soon. She

would never get the kids on this one even if it was going

in the right direction for them to get home—unless there

was a dumper car.

 

But there was something odd here: Tiria realized with

a sinking feeling that there was no cargo waiting on the

platform to be loaded onto the arriving train. If a goods

train was coming in here, what was it coming./w? Could

Yassim have someone in the main Dispatch office?

Could he know that she had emptied his cage?

 

There were five cars on the double-ended train. Two

looked like empty dumpers. Without waiting to ques-

tion such great good fortune, Tiria hauled Mirmalar out

onto the platform.

 

"Quickly. It won't stop long. We must all get in."

 

They were, therefore, all on the platform when the

train stopped. So none of them escaped the sleep gas

that suddenly spewed out, catching them all in its mist.

They fell like wilted flowers onto the plastic-coated

loading surface.

 

"She's some kid," Sascha said as he and Carmen

carefully placed the object of their intensive search on

a blanket pad and covered her. "Christ, but she's a bit

of nothing."

 

Carmen smiled slowly and turned the sleeping child's

 

 

 

 

170         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

171

 

head to one side to see where the lock of hair had been

wrenched out. Her other hand reached halfway to touch

it but then stopped. "She's nothing but skin and bones,

Sascha. We'll have to improve her."

 

Sascha frowned a bit, looking around to see the rest

of the team attending the other children. "We may not

want to. Carmen. Boris and I have a feeling about this

one."

 

"So do I." Carmen smiled at him with her most mys-

terious smile.

 

Boris: Did you catch her?

 

Yes, Brother dear, her and them. She'd sprung the

lot of 'em. She must have known exactly where to go.

Sascha spoke aloud. "I'm wondering how."

 

What the hell possessed her? Boris swore with frus-

tration. He and Sascha had followed Carmen's lead,

and while Tiria was haranguing the kids, a team had

been cautiously organized, aware that Yassim had in-

terests in Industrial J.

 

How about we find out where they were kept? Sascha

asked.

 

What good will that do now? He's not likely to reuse

a holding area that's been breached.

 

He might if he thought the kids had escaped on their

own.

 

Can you manage that? Boris's tone leaped to hope-

fulness.

 

I can try.

 

If you could, and rigged it, we 'd have one more bolt-

hole filed on Yassim. Why did she do it?

 

"Let's wake Tiria up," Sascha said to Carmen,

reaching for the oxygen. "If she can show us where,

we can get some good out of this operation."

 

"We already have. We've found more than we

hoped, haven't we?"

 

"Yes, and no. Bear with me. Carmen. There's a lot

more than this valuable young girl at stake."

 

Revived, Tiria went immediately on the defensive, wary

 

and contained, her dark eyes darting around, taking in the

unconscious bodies and noticing the medic, who was

daubing scrapes and bmises with nu-skin. Carmen offered

a restorative drink, deliberately taking a long swallow of

it before handing the cup to Tiria.

 

Sascha, lightly trying to get inside the girl's mind,

could sense only her fierce thirst. With great restraint,

she took a very small sip, rolling it around in her mouth

before drinking more deeply. Her bright dark eyes chal-

lenged him. He sat down beside her in a relaxed posi-

tion, hooking his hands around his knees and leaning

back against the wall.

 

"Tiria," he began. He saw her start of surprise. "Oh,

you're well known in G. And your bravery in releasing

the children will be appreciated, and not just by their

grieving families."

 

"How could you find me here, with them?" She

glanced inquiringly from him to Carmen and then saw

the lock of her hair, which Carmen still wore as talis-

man. Involuntarily her hand started to the scabby patch

on her head. Her shoulders sagged around her narrow

chest, but any emotional reaction was carefully guarded

in her mind. "I've heard of people like you. You found

me because you had my hair."

 

"It's not witchcraft, Tiria," Carmen said gently. She

handed the strand back to the girl. "I have a Talent

which allows me to find lost people and things."

 

"I wasn't lost."

 

"No," Sascha said conversationally, with an approv-

ing grin, "but you found what was missing from Linear

G."

 

"He hadn't paid for them."

 

Carmen gasped. "You mean, once he's paid for

them, he can have them again?"

 

"Sure. The parents live on subsistence. They need

the money for extras only floaters can buy."

 

Sascha was well aware that the girl's seeming cal-

lousness distressed Carmen, who had seen the child in

 

 

 

 

172

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 173

 

a much different light. "Also puts you in well with your

clients, who were rather upset with your abrupt depar-

ture from the meeting," he said amiably.

 

Eyes never leaving his, Tiria nodded once.

 

"They're all illegal, aren't they?"

 

Tirla's thin shoulders lifted in an indifferent shrug.

"Sure, so it's no credit out of your stash what happens

 

to them."

 

"Oh, no," Carmen said, pained. "They're alive.

 

They have rights!"

 

Tiria gave her a quick look before resuming her scru-

tiny of Sascha. "Illegals don't have rights."

 

"Only their births are illegal, Tiria," Sascha said.

"They're alive. They have the right to shelter, food,

clothing, training, and useful occupation. They do not

have the right to reproduce themselves." Sascha was

about to explain the legal anomaly in simple terms when

he realized that she understood perfectly. She was ma-

ture far in excess of her chronological age, and well

conditioned to the realities of Residential life. She was

not a romantic like Carmen. "But they do not deserve

the occupations Yassim had in mind for them." Sascha

caught that instant spurt of fear, followed by the hard-

ening of the young eyes and the flick of hatred. "You

don't like Yassim either."

 

Again one of her indifferent shrugs.

 

"Would you by any chance help us disable him?"

 

She had been wary before, but now she appeared to

Sascha to coil in on herself. "You're not LEO. Why

do you want to queer Yassim?"

 

"No, I'm not LEO myself, but we have a connec-

tion. Especially against someone like Yassim.''

 

Tiria gave a snort. "Someone like Yassim buys him-

self off every time LEO collars him. He has powerful

friends; LEO can never make it stick."

 

"You wish that LEO could?"

 

She hesitated briefly, then gave him a candid look.

 

"There will always be men like Yassim, but I could do

without him very much, thank you."

 

Sascha would have given a great deal then to have

been able to read her mind, to delve that reply. Tiria

was far deeper than they'd had any reason to suspect.

She sat there in front of him, cross-legged, completely

composed, alert—and bargaining just as if she could get

up and leave the scene at any moment.

 

"I want to get rid of Yassim, too, Tiria. Will you

help me?"

 

A glimmer of a smile touched her eyes and mouth.

"What's in it for me?"

 

Carmen inhaled in surprise. Sascha sent the finder

soothing thoughts, urging her to let him handle the sit-

uation his way. He flicked his fingers, fanning out crisp

new floater notes.

 

"How did you manage that?" Her eyes widened in

surprise and indignation.

 

Sascha did not often employ his kinetic ability, but

this trick was always effective. "You help me now—

and we must be quick about it before Yassim discovers

his birds have flown—and these are yours."

 

She eyed the notes. Casually she scratched about her

ribs. Sascha kept his grin to himself, knowing that she

was checking on the tied notes hidden there. She con-

sidered his offer with all the solemnity of a computer

analyst.

 

"There's the little matter of your legality, Tiria," he

added gently.

 

Boris nudged him mentally. C'mon, Brother, we

don't have time for amiable lipflap.

 

On the contrary,—we nave all the time we need,

Brother. This is a strong personality and a deep one.

I'm not rushing her.

 

Get on with it then.

 

Tiria gave him a wide-eyed bright smile. "I am the

only child of my mother."

 

"But not her legally registered issue."

 

 

 

 

174         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

"How would you know?"

 

Sascha touched her hair. "That told us. But it is a

small matter that can be quickly remedied."

 

She regarded him from narrowed eyes. "A small

matter?" The twist of her lips was cynical. "You must

be in real good with LEO." She considered, obliquely

watching Carmen's expression. "And I get to keep the

floaters, as well?" Her tone was ingenuous.

 

Sascha suppressed a grin. Legality would be the most

valuable reward he could offer, and still her fingers

itched to relieve him of the money. Not that he had

offered a large sum, but the amount would keep her in

 

extras for several months.

 

"If we get a move on—now!" he said, drawing out

 

his acceptance.

 

She spat in her right palm and held it out to him.

 

Without a second thought, he accepted the deal in ar-

chaic ritual. Her grip was unusually strong for the del-

icacy of her bones. Physical contact with the conscious

and vibrant personality startled Sascha with an odd

jolt—a sense of precognition that was gone too fast for

 

him to pin it down.

Boris caught the edge of it. What did she do to you,

 

Sascha?

I'm not sure, Brother, but this one we handle very,

 

very carefully. I want a special ID for Tiria when we

 

get back. Hear me ?

To hear is to obey! Boris might sound facetious, but

 

Sascha was relieved by his compliance. Keep the bar-

gain, but I want this wild one under control.

 

The deal struck, Tiria rose with lithe grace to her feet

and tilted her head back to look appraisingly up at Sas-

cha. "So how do we disable Yassim?"

 

"Can you lead me to where he kept the children?"

When she nodded, he went on. "We want to fix it so

that he will think the children escaped by themselves."

 

Tiria snorted contemptuously. "I had to frighten them

 

Anne McCaffrey            175

 

to make them leave at all. Such things I had to tell

them. Though it was all very true."

 

' 'How would Yassim know that they were all docile?

It need only look as if they had broken out. That one

of the guards had been careless locking them in."

 

She considered that. "Yes, that could have hap-

pened. They had only just brought food.'' She gave him

a shrewdly appraising glance. "You will have to

crawl." That seemed to amuse her.

 

"Up this tunnel?"

 

She nodded, then looked over her shoulder, for the

first time betraying some apprehension. "What happens

to them?"

 

"They can sleep on until we get back," he replied.

"We've got to move now."

 

She led him into the tunnel, and he did have to crawl,

wondering how she had managed her initial trip until

he saw the small circle of light that guided her steps.

She had the courtesy not to go faster than he could

follow, and he had time to reflect: she might not have

an ounce of telempathy, or was perhaps too wary to let

down the shield that had protected her so long in her

young life, but there was no question that she possessed

considerable Talent.

 

She halted at the end of the tunnel and turned to him.

"You wouldn't fit down the hatch I used, but if you

know how to open that inspection door, that's an easier

way to get to where he held the kids."

 

Sascha took the scrambler from his belt and decoded

the door. He opened it cautiously, aware of the hissing

intake of her breath, and listened—on another level than

Tiria, who was kneeling at the lower half of the open-

ing. The level and complexity of noise in the main in-

dustrial complex was appropriate for an automated

factory. He sensed nothing human, but it was Tiria who

first slid through the door. He opened it enough for his

larger frame and closed it carefully behind them.

 

Though the industrial space was lit only by occa-

 

 

 

 

176

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 177

 

sional green lights of operational machinery, Tida

moved confidently forward. Sascha would have passed

right by the false wall, but she went unerringly to the

double drum and pinpointed the lock mechanism with

her pencil light. She glanced questioningly at him.

 

"Electronic, I hope?" he murmured, and she nod-

ded.

 

He scrambled the circuit, and the door swung back

 

to reveal the deserted room, the overturned bunk bed,

and the table with the empty food packages. She pulled

the door shut behind them, shooting him a disapproving

look for his careless entry.

 

"How did you get them out?" he asked.

She pointed to the darker square of the grille in the

 

ceiling.

 

"Good work." He righted the bunk bed and pushed

it back into its former position, managing to stick a

minuscule device on the wall behind it. Then he looked

about the place. It stank of many things, not all tangi-

ble. "I think you'd better mastermind this escape, Tirla.

Make it look like a kid had done it."

 

Tiria's upper lip curled in derision. "None of them

 

would have!"

 

"Point taken, but for Yassim's benefit it should seem

 

so.

 

With her eyes half-veiled, Tirla considered the prob-

lem. Sascha waited patiently, wishing he could have

been in her head, noting her thought processes.

 

"Okay," she said finally, leading across the room to

the comer where pieces of clothing had been discarded.

Deliberately she tore strips from several garments, her

hands clever in finding the break in a hem or seam that

would rip. "There'll be a fight . . ." She hauled mat-

tress pads off two of the lower bunks, and the soiled

blankets off the upper ones. She went back to the comer

and, using a shirt, gathered up some of the containers

and the remaining food before she knocked over the

makeshift table. "Now, we open the door just enough

 

to let kids out, and start leaving trails. Come out, I'll

just close the door over a bit. Now, you drop stuff half-

way to that wall. Then circle around. I'm going this

way. I'll meet you at the maintenance door."

 

He did as she directed, and they met again in the

chucking, clanking dark of the automated manufactory.

 

"Lock it?" Sascha held the door ajar.

 

"Yes."

 

"But how will Yassim know how they got out?"

 

"They're not there, are they? The cage door is

open." Sascha saw her shrug and felt, rather than saw,

her malicious smile. "Why should I make it easy for

him?"

 

By the time they reached the loading dock, Sascha's

muscles were protesting their abuse. The team had

loaded the children into the cars, and the dock was full

of cargo to be transshipped.

 

"You cut that fine, Sascha," the team leader told

him. "There'll be a goods train through here in two

minutes. We're not supposed to disrupt the service."

 

Tiria tugged imperiously at Sascha's sleeve. "My

floaters."

 

With one hand he passed them to her, with the other

he grabbed her wrist. "No tricks now. There's more

business we can do together. We'll discuss it back in

G."

 

Sascha did not know whether it was her surprise that

allowed him to capture her or if she was willingly co-

operating with him. But she entered the car ahead of

him as he tried to keep his grip from breaking fragile

bones.

 

Go! he told the driver, and the starting pressure of

the special train pushed him against the padded end of

his car.

 

"Are you taking us all to G?" Her tone was casual.

 

"That's what you wanted, wasn't it? To get the kids

back to G?"

 

 

 

 

178         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

"I kept our bargain." Her voice held an element of

antagonism.

 

"So will I. Back at G. Then we deal again."

She was silent for a long time, thinking that over.

 

CHAPTER 11

 

^ ^ Peter tried to follow the tri-d meteorologist's re-

port on the latest freak weather conditions that seemed

worldwide, Bangladesh being the worst example. It was

difficult to concentrate when he felt "problem" hover-

ing in the air. He knew he had done nothing wrong; in

fact, he knew that he had done something most extraor-

dinary, about which he felt very good indeed. But it

was hard not to be worried. He could sense the nebu-

lous anxiety emanating from Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Sa-

scha. He should not have asked Dorotea about a bigger

generator. The moment the words were out of his

mouth, he knew it was the wrong time. But he had

proved what he could do with enough power to increase

the gestalt, and that 4.5 felt like puny kid stuff now.

 

Kid stuff! Peter grinned to himself and gave the 4.5

a little shove; it whined obediently. Like a dog. And

who was he kidding? He was still only a fourteen-year-

old boy. He had already absorbed enough Talent dis-

cipline and seen enough examples of the sort of people

Talents were to realize that he had rushed the gate. One

did not climb mountains when one could not walk.

Rhyssa, Sascha, and Dorotea had supported him

throughout the entire Erasmus incident, ready to help

him, ready to keep him from burning himself out. And

he hadn't. But had it been because they had been right

there to protect him? Think about that, Petey boy, and

get your swelled head back to normal. There are a lot

of things you can't do just yet.

179

 

 

 

 

180

 

Anne McCaffrey             81

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

He poured himself another glass of orange juice and

brought it to the living room as the broadcaster an-

nounced that once again supply shuttles for Padrugoi

had been grounded by weather conditions. The screen

depicted the rank of four perpendicular space vehicles,

locked into their gantries, waiting for lift-off conditions

with urgently needed materiel so that the First World

Project would be finished in time.

 

Talents were helping to do that, Peter thought with a

little thrill of corporate pride. He had just started won-

dering how big a generator he would need to send a

shuttle safely through the foul weather when the pro-

gram switched to coverage of the flooding in Bangla-

desh. There were no scenes actually showing the Talents

at work; teams of doctors and rescue workers were

filmed rushing about. There was also no mention of

exactly how the Erasmus had landed so safely at Dacca.

He had not really expected to be mentioned publicly.

But one would think that there would have been some

comment that Talents were risking their lives in the

appalling monsoon conditions. The results of their work

were shown, all right enough, but somehow that did not

seem to be enough.

 

Rhyssa and Dorotea were always subtly mentioning

how important it was not to rub Talent into people's

noses. People resented differences. Talent had always

to be discreet. The way his mother looked at him had

demonstrated that\ Peter grimaced. His own mother was

scared of him now. When he had been totally helpless,

she had been so good about coming to see him, hugging

him, kissing him, always bringing him something: a fax

clip about his favorite ball team, a couple of her special

cookies, a few flowers. Now when she visited she would

not hug him; she sat bolt upright in the chair and tried

not to look at him when he wanted so much to show

her what Talent allowed him to do.

 

When Mum was there he redoubled his efforts to ap-

pear to walk normally and carry things properly so it

 

would not freak her out. How often had she said she

prayed every night to see Petey on his feet and walking

around? And she never looked at him now. She never

once mentioned his ball team. Not that he would ever

play sandlot baseball again . . . Then Peter grinned,

thinking what homers he could whack and how fast he

could run the bases. Maybe now he could be the pitcher

he had always wanted to be ... His fastball would be

something else\ Even if he only used the 4.5!

 

But he had gone past that sort of ordinary thing,

hadn't he? When one could zap shuttles about like

gameboard pieces, ordinary accomplishments no longer

satisfied.

 

He drank his orange juice. Not all ordinary things,

though. Some very ordinary and extremely homely ac-

tions—like getting himself an orange juice when he felt

thirsty for it—were, in a special way, far more impor-

tant than what he had done with the Erasmus.

 

He sent the empty glass back to the kitchen, rinsed

it out, and put it upside-down on the drainboard.

 

He had to keep things in perspective. It was more

important to have the freedom to do little things and the

option to do bigger ones. But, jeez, it had been a won-

derful feeling to have all that power and do something

no one else could have done with it—just when help

was needed.

 

The tri-d was showing floodwater flowing obediently

away from a small town and its surrounding fields. The

sandbags and barriers along its torrent seemed to be

containing it, but Peter could recognize the subtle signs

of kinetic force. He wondered which Talent was at

work. Rick Hobson? Mr. Baden? Now, if he'd had ac-

cess to a generator, he would have been able to do that.

He settled down to leam what he could about flood

control from the program. Next time he would be ready

to help. The 4.5-kpm was portable, wasn't it?

 

His thoughts were interrupted by Rhyssa's mental

call. Peter, would you come up to my office, please?

 

 

 

 

182 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 183

 

Sure! He leaned briefly into the generator and sped

out to Rhyssa's building and in through the front door,

slowing to maneuver the staircase; he got his feet to the

ground as he reached the carpeted hallway leading to

Rhyssa's office. No effort!

 

Show-off. Rhyssa was standing by her office door, but

she was smiling. "We don't have any mountains for

you to move today, but there's trouble in the wind, dear

boy, there's trouble in the wind."

 

Peter stumbled in his forward motion and corrected

himself.

 

Trouble? Why? We didn't do anything wrong!

 

Her touch reassured him, as it always did. Dorotea

was great: she treated him casually, as she would any

of her grandchildren, and that relaxed attitude made

many things easier for him. But Rhyssa was different:

 

her mind had so much depth—not that he had disobeyed

the prime rule of mental privacy, but he could not help

but sense the depth and purity that was there. She was

also the most beautiful woman Peter had ever seen, on

or off the tri-d. And she was so good! Everything about

her was shining and brilliant. She made him feel whole

and strong.

 

"We did something a shade too right," Rhyssa said.

"And we were not quite as discreet as we should have

 

been."

 

Momentarily afraid, he reached out to see exactly

what they had done wrong.

 

Peter!

 

"Sorry."

 

Rhyssa, more fiercely than Peter had ever heard her:

 

Damn that Barchenka woman!

 

"Was I supposed to hear that?" Peter was confused.

 

"Yes, and double-damn Barchenka!" Rhyssa said

aloud, and waved him on through to her office, closing

the door behind them.

 

He halted, sensing the aura of crisis. Dorotea, who

was rarely perturbed, was brushing imaginary threads

 

from her slacks. Things must really be bad. He zigged

sideways, aware that Rhyssa just missed bumping into

him.

 

Dorotea: Well done, Peter!

 

"This is a strategy council, Peter," Rhyssa said, ges-

turing for him to sit as she resumed her chair in the

tower bay window.

 

Peter floated over to the conformable seat, grateful

for its automatically adjusted support.

 

' 'Don't ever forget just how proud we all are of you,''

Rhyssa said, her gesture including the entire Center.

"You've added a brand new dimension to Talent." She

gave him an impish smile. "And reminded this Cen-

ter's manager not to get too complacent."

 

Without violating etiquette, Peter could hear what she

was not saying aloud: Talent was very happy; the

unTalented were not.

 

Dorotea: The unTalented always resist a new Talent

which we haven't carefully led them to expect. In this

instance, you!

 

Rhyssa: We don't do something right, Peter, without

doing something wrong! Peter sensed a second qualifi-

cation behind the thought and, remembering his man-

ners, broke the contact.

 

Dorotea: And we've got to figure out how to improve

our testing methods! She cleared her throat in a busi-

nesslike manner, then winked at Peter.

 

He thought, very privately to himself, that something

bad was definitely about to happen, but he was assured

of their love and approval and that was all that really

mattered to him.

 

"If your main desire right now," Rhyssa said, smil-

ing with that special twinkle in her eye which she saved

for Peter, "is to have the biggest generator on the planet

at your disposal"—Peter flushed, looking hard at his

bony knees—"then the main desire of half the indus-

tries on Earth and in space is to have you using theirs,

and theirs alone."

 

 

 

 

184

 

Anne McCaffrey            185

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Space? He could get into space? He looked up in

surprise, staring at her. Clearly she did not mean his

 

way.

 

"How do they know about me?" He felt suddenly

very defenseless. His father was always talking about

the managers working a man to death with no consid-

eration for him as a human being, only how productive

he was, a cipher in a gigantic program.

 

"They don't know it's you," Dorotea said.

 

"That's the problem," Rhyssa went on.

 

"Why?" Peter asked, thinking of big generators.

 

"Candidly," Dorotea said, "you're fourteen, you're

only just beginning to understand your Talent, and pre-

mature exposure could—"

 

"Bum me out," Peter finished for her, though pri-

vately he did not think he could bum out—if he had the

right power source for anything he wanted to shift. "But

I didn't bum out..."

 

"Without in the least diminishing your achievement,

Peter, we were closely monitoring you the other night,"

Rhyssa went on. "What they have in mind for you is

another can of worms altogether. Speaking as a Center

director, I must tell you that it has never been the policy

of the Centers to assign trainees even part-time work

until they're at least eighteen."

 

"Even I," Dorotea put in, her hand gracefully

sweeping her chest, "wasn't permitted to do much until

I was eighteen!" She made a face. "As a child, I

thought I was just playing a game, guessing which ones

in the room could hear me—people who thought they

might be Talented." She shot Peter an image of herself

as a five-year-old, prettily dressed—and her early beauty

was still apparent in her face and manner—walking

through the Center's crowded reception area.

 

"But I've proved what I can do," Peter said. "And

I was the only one who could land the Erasmus."

 

"The situation is not about right or wrong, Peter,"

Rhyssa said, leaning toward him, a sad expression in

 

her eyes and face, "or even a moral obligation to re-

duce suffering and mitigate disaster." Then she opened

her mind to him so he could directly assess the current

problem.

 

Peter had known, of course, that the Parapsychic

Centers had had to send the best kinetics to Padrugoi to

help complete the station on time. He had not realized

all the undercurrents beneath the carefully contrived

public image of Padrugoi, much less the machinations

of Ludmilla Barchenka, who had forced the capitulation

of Centers, ruthlessly stripping them of kinetics in what

was basically a face-saving operation. He fumed when

he saw that this Barchenka woman was threatening his

Rhyssa with all kinds of offenses when it was now pa-

tently clear to him that Barchenka was at fault. And he

was part of the problem. No, at the moment, he was

all of the problem, because Barchenka was out to add

him to her force of Talent.

 

"And I used to think working on the station would

be the most special thing you could do," he said slowly.

It just was not fair!

 

"No, not fair, Peter," Rhyssa replied, "but Talent

recognizes that completing the station is far more im-

portant than individual personal considerations. Com-

pleting it on time is obviously Ludmilla's personal goal.

I can't deny her that, only her means of achieving it,

since by her achievement, mankind has made another

giant step to the stars. Don't be deflected too much by

the skeletons in the space lockers. There's been no ma-

jor forward progress in all of human history that has not

been accompanied by some problems."

 

"Like letting people float out into space and die be-

cause rescue would put her behind schedule?" Peter

was aghast.

 

"That's been taken care of," Dorotea reminded him.

 

"By Talents, and now she thinks she can conscript

tae?" Peter was so agitated that he floated above the

chair.

 

 

 

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

186

 

Dorotea, prosaically: You're drifting, dear.

 

Peter settled down. Well, I just won't work for a per-

son like her. And you 're not going to ask me to!

 

"Indeed and we're not," Rhyssa assured him. "But

first," she said with a grin, her eyes twinkling, "we

have to prove to them that you're you\ We've been try-

ing very hard to keep you sheltered until you've more

control ..."

 

How much control do I need if I can move a shuttle

 

about the world?

 

"Peter!" Despite the sharpness in her voice, Peter

knew that Rhyssa was amused by his outrage, proud of

his achievement, and concerned for his future all at

once. He subsided. "Thank you. Now, we were warned

to expect visitors of high rank and great prestige. We

wanted to brief you, since you are the cat we are about

to let out of the bag."

 

"I rather think he's the cat among the pigeons," Dor-

otea said with a sarcastic snort.

 

"Pigeons? War hawks, Dorotea," Rhyssa corrected,

settling into her chair. Then they all heard the unmis-

takable thunking of a big helicopter landing on the X

outside Henner House. "Peter, don't let the fuss get to

you. There's bound to be some bruised feelings and

outraged sensibilities. You just pay them no heed!"

 

But he could not help but heed the fine but controlled

aura of apprehension. They were worried. About him!

 

For him.

 

Ragnar's voice came through on the intercom. He

was duty officer, and twenty years in the Center had

made him impervious to rank and prestige. "Rhyssa,

there's a bunch here to see you. Do I send 'em up?"

 

"Yes, I'm expecting them, Ragnar."

 

His "humph" came over the speaker, and Peter no-

ticed Rhyssa's little smile. He also noticed that she was

nervously running the stylus through her fingers. Dor-

otea sat even straighter in her chair and managed to look

 

Anne McCaffrey            187

 

not only larger and more imposing but very, very

queenly.

 

There was a polite knock on the door, and Rhyssa

pressed the release button. The first man in the room

was a telepath, Peter realized, and he was directing tight

private warnings at Rhyssa. The second man, very tall,

thin, and wise-looking, gazed directly at Peter and nod-

ded. He knew who Peter was even if Peter did not know

him, and he was also a telepath. He courteously iden-

tified himself to Peter as Justice Gordon Havers.

 

Peter knew the third man, Dave Lehardt, who im-

mediately moved to stand by Rhyssa's desk, facing the

others as they filed in. He made his partisanship very

clear. He exchanged a glance with Rhyssa and gave an

almost imperceptible nod of his head. She had a slight

smile on her face, and Peter sensed that she was very

glad to have Dave Lehardt so close by. But knowing

that Dave was not a Talent, Peter was surprised by the

intimate exchange. He felt a flair of jealousy.

 

The next six men to enter were obviously important

people; four were in uniform and only one of them was

Talented. That one appeared very nervous and kept

looking from Rhyssa to Dorotea. The last man to enter

gaped at Rhyssa in a fashion that made Peter very un-

easy—his eyes and his manner made Peter wonder if he

was one of those perverts his mother used to warn him

about.

 

As Rhyssa asked them all to be seated, Peter picked

up names: Vemon Altenbach, who was secretary of

space; the Russian officer was General Shevchenko,

Padrugoi liaison official, and even with the shield he

wore, he was bristling with aggression. The telempath

was Andrei Grushkov, and Peter felt sorry for him—he

had to be truthful to his employer, the general, but he

felt obscurely that he was betraying Talent in doing so.

There were two NASA officers, a general and a colonel,

and that pervert was the world-famous Josephson-

junction specialist, and a Malay sian prince besides, who

 

188         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

189

 

did such fantastic programming of air and space traffic.

Peter did not like the man any belter once he knew he

was a genius, not when the man kept sloppily ogling

Rhyssa. The man who had come in first was Colonel

John Greene, and Peter watched in some awe as the most

successful etop pilot of the early days of the Padrugoi

Project placed a chair next to him, Peter Reidinger, and

smiled quite pleasantly at him. Colonel Greene seemed to

be the only one who was smiling. Even Justice Havers

looked solemn.

 

"It would be pointless for me to deny that I am aware

of the reason for your visit," Rhyssa said calmly.

"Shall I call up the Eastern Center Register for you to

check on our memberships?" She placed her fingers

over the keyboard.

 

Peter regarded her with pride. She even had a little

smile on her face. And that pervert kept smarming at

 

her.

 

The Russian liaison general cleared his throat. "We

have already seen it, Madame. But we believe that you

have not honestly declared your full kinetic strength."

He crooked his head to see his telempath's face.

 

"Andrei can certainly assure you that our declaration

is honest and complete. We have nothing to hide. No

Talent does."

 

"Andrei has also assured me, Madame Owen," the

general continued ponderously, "that no kinetic any-

where could have successfully landed the Erasmus, not

even the twenty-two on board her, or—" He paused

dramatically, "—assisted its takeoff from the Dacca

field in the weather conditions prevailing that day." His

chest seemed to deflate slightly once he had delivered

his accusation.

 

"It was me," Peter said. He wanted to get it all over

with, and get that smarmy-faced man out of the room

and away from Rhyssa. "I mean, it was I."

 

The stunned silence was worse than noisy disclaim-

ers. Then Colonel Greene started to chuckle and Dave

 

Lehardt began to laugh. He also winked approvingly at

Peter. Not one of the other visitors appeared to be the

least bit amused.

 

"And tell me just how, young man," Vemon Al-

tenbach asked, skeptically, "you accomplished such a

feat?"

 

Stick to the facts, man, the facts, Rhyssa said, mental

laughter rippling her tone.

 

"Well, the Erasmus needed help landing at Dacca

because the kinetics had to be there to reduce the di-

saster potential. So Rhyssa called a G and H—that's a

Talent mayday—and I got to use the generators at the

East Side power station," Peter replied. He kept his

face straight, but he was enjoying the incredulity of the

non-Talented in his audience; even the Russian telem-

path was admiring, and Peter sat himself even straighter

in the chair.

 

Dorotea: Well said, Peter!

 

Gordon Havers: In times of doubt, honesty is the best

policy.

 

Johnny Greene: You better believe it, because they're

not! Unobtrusively, he patted Peter's knee.

 

"You have, I must assume, a kinetic Talent?" Ver-

non continued.

 

"Yes, sir. I'm in training as a kinetic, but I can't do

as much as I'd like because the people who should be

training me are all up on the station."

 

Rhyssa: Don't spread it on too thick, Peter.

 

Johnny: Nonsense. They deserve that kick in the

shins.

 

"How much training have you had then?" the gen-

eral asked.

 

"Well, Rhyssa and Dorotea do the best they can, but

they're telepaths ..."

Rhyssa, dryly: Thank you!

Gordon: He's sticking to the truth.

"Initially Rick Hobson was helping me," Peter went

 

 

 

 

190 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 191

 

on, "but we'd only just gotten past the necessary stuff

when he got conscripted to the station.''

 

"Talents were not conscripted," General Shev-

chenko objected forcefully. "They volunteered to assist

in the completion of the first Great World Project.''

 

Peter gave a contemptuous little snort. "If you're not

given a choice, you've been conscripted."

 

"And you expect us to believe that a frail boy ma-

nipulated the Erasmusf" Prince Phanibal Shimaz shot

out of his chair and stood belligerently in front of Peter,

shaking his finger at him. "I, Phanibal Shimaz, prince

of Malaysia West, know that this would have been im-

possible from such a source! Tell us the truth, little

boy!" he demanded, making the adjective pejorative.

 

"He is telling the truth," Johnny Greene said, rising

to his feet to look down at the much shorter prince.

Dave Lehardt and Rhyssa jumped to their feet angrily,

ready to leap into the fray if need be.

 

"As Andrei confirms to me," General Shevchenko

said in a hard voice. "You exceed your authority. Your

 

Highness."

 

"And I shall prove it," Peter added, glaring back at

the prince. Just because he could do games with Jo-

sephson junctions and traffic-flow patterns that no one

else could do did not make him an authority on Talent.

"Look!" And Peter raised his right arm, wishing he

had enough small motor control to point a finger, but

he had not quite mastered that yet.

 

Actually, it was easy enough with power diverted

from the Center's equipment to raise and hold the big

helicopter just outside Rhyssa's bay window so that all

could see it—and see that the huge rotor blades moved

idly in the breeze of its ascent.

 

"Do be careful with it, Peter," Johnny Greene said

amiably, one of the few in the room enjoying the mo-

ment. "It's government property."

 

"I'm always careful, Colonel Greene," Peter replied,

feeling the euphoria of potency. He was almost sorry that

 

he could not think of an even more convincing demon-

stration of his kinetic Talent. Dorotea was glaring at him

significantly in her enough-is-enough look. He returned

the vehicle gently to the ground.

 

"How old are you, Peter?" Colonel Greene asked,

just as if he and Peter were the only ones in the room.

 

"I was fourteen on the eighth of September."

 

"And you get about now yourself under your own

power?" the colonel inquired.

 

Peter could see in his eyes that the man knew the true

extent of his handicap.

 

"I was that much"—his fingers measured a two-

centimeter gap—"away from paraplegia myself after

Mission Number 20," Greene continued.

 

Peter realized that Colonel Greene was very much on

their side and making it very clear to everyone else that

Peter's Talent was off limits. "I've learned how to

compensate just fine," he replied, and a glance at the

colonel told him that that was the right answer to make.

"Rick Hobson really helped me. We were just begin-

ning to go on to tougher things when he had to go to

Padrugoi."

 

"So you've been Rhyssa's skeleton crew? All by

yourself?" Colonel Greene chuckled and looked across

at the secretary of space.

 

"I'm not nearly as much of a skeleton as I used to

be." Peter extended his arms and legs and regarded

them dispassionately. "I'll get some muscle on them

yet. I've got to build slowly, you see, and it takes

time."

 

Colonel Greene rose. "I think that's the answer, gen-

tlemen. It takes time to build muscle, any kind of mus-

cle, and you build slowly to last longer."

 

"Now wait just a moment here," Prince Phanibal

said, recovering from his initial surprise. "That is not

the answer I came to find. You have indeed concealed

from4he world a kinetic Talent of demonstrated ability.

He can take the place of those at Bangladesh . . ."He

 

 

 

 

192

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

193

 

leaned across Rhyssa's desk, and Peter saw her flinch

back from such a menacing posture.

 

Peter could not stand it. Kinetically he dragged Prince

Phanibal backward from Rhyssa, the prince's face set

in a paralyzed rictus of amazement. The door that

opened to allow his exit closed firmly behind him.

 

"Peter!" Rhyssa could not quite disguise her relief

or her consternation at his breach of courtesy.

 

"He's got no right to threaten you, Rhyssa! No right

at all!"

 

Dorotea: Bravo, Peter, though I shouldn 't encourage

 

you!

 

"Now see here, young man—" Shevchenko took one

step toward Peter and stopped, blinking in astonishment

when some invisible force prevented him from moving

farther forward.

 

"That's enough, Peter," Rhyssa said with appropri-

ate severity. That was rather clever of you, dear, even

if you wouldn 't realize it. The mental image in her mind

showed suppressed laughter. "The general will not in-

timidate you any further. General, I think Peter has in-

advertently displayed another cogent reason why the

Center is unwilling to utilize his unique abilities except

in a crisis. At fourteen, he does not always abide by the

courtesies that a more mature personality has learned."

 

"I demand that the boy apologize to His Highness

Prince Phanibal immediately."

 

"You may demand all you wish, General," Rhyssa

said sharply, "but I don't even know why a traffic man-

ager, royal or not, was included in this gathering."

 

"Engineer Barchenka insisted on his inclusion,"

Vemon Altenbach remarked, attempting some diplo-

macy.

 

"I insist that he be excluded from any future meet-

ings involving the Center or myself."

 

Peter: He's a slimeball!

 

Johnny Green and Gordon Havers, simultaneously:

 

Where did you stash him ?

 

Peter: He's in the helicopter, and he can't seem to

get the seat buckle undone. He could not help grinning.

/ won't let him.

 

Johnny: Buckle down, Winsockie, buckle down!

 

Dorotea: I didn't think anyone in your generation

knew that old song.

 

"Now, gentlemen, you have, I trust, seen to your

own satisfaction that we have only been protecting

young Peter, not deliberately denying the platform his

Talent. I'm sorry that you had a long trip for nothing,"

Rhyssa said, coming around her desk to shake hands

with Andrei Grushkov. "However, when Peter is fully

trained and we have a better understanding of the pa-

rameters of his potential, we will, of course, be obliged

to let prospective employers bid for his contractual ser-

vices."

 

Vemon Altenbach eased the disgruntled Russian gen-

eral out the door, the NASA colonel and the telempath

assisting. But the others lingered until the first group

had entered the elevator.

 

"Ms. Owen," the NASA general began. "Is it pos-

sible, given the boy's display of incredible ability, that

he could—from time to time, that is ... Well, we do

have a serious crisis right now ..."

 

"What kind?" Rhyssa asked in an unencouraging

tone.

 

' "NASA's supply schedule is at a standstill with the

current worldwide weather conditions ..."

 

Peter zoomed out of his chair, hovering between

Rhyssa and the general. Please consider it, Rhyssa.

Working for NASA wouldn't be the same as working for

Barchenka, would it? But it would be almost as good

as being in space. He exerted all his mind's pressure

against hers, begging her consideration. He felt her stem

resolve not to exploit him.

 

\ Johnny: It's something to consider, Rhyssa, though

we'won't be pushy about it. If you say no, we'll go

quietly. But it would gall me personally, and profes-

 

 

 

 

194 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 195

 

sionally, to have Barchenka saying that the Americans

couldn 't meet their contractual obligations. He cocked

his head at Rhyssa, grinning wryly.

 

Peter could feel Rhyssa beginning to relent.

 

Dorotea: Consider it a training diversion, Rhyssa.

 

Rhyssa: But that's it! He's had hardly any training!

 

Johnny: Repetition hones skills, gal, and it sure re-

duces the glamour quotient.

 

Peter did not understand that but felt Dorotea's ap-

proval become more urgent. He sensed that at last

Rhyssa was seriously considering the suggestion.

 

"Look," Johnny said aloud, "this is so important

that Vemon would actually get himself another minder

for a few weeks. I know all the technical data that Peter

needs to understand if he's flinging shuttles about the

stratosphere. Hell, I'd get a vicarious thrill out of it

myself, getting back into space by proxy. And if Peter's

working for NASA, Barchenka can't say Talent has

been obstructing Padrugoi's timely completion."

 

"I know it appears that it's always we who compro-

mise," Gordon Havers said, entering the discussion,

"but we put a wedge in her works if suddenly we insure

delivery of the materiel she needs."

 

"You'd have to go with Peter, Rhyssa. I'm no longer

up to that sort of sustained effort," Dorotea said. "Sa-

scha's too involved in the present crisis at Linear G to

leave that. And frankly, my dear, you are the stronger

telepath and, I think, more tuned in to Peter's mind than

Sascha is. Someone has to monitor him during the ge-

stalts. I can see you squirming to go, Peter Reidinger.

Is it what you really want? Will you behave like a ma-

ture Talent?"

 

Peter managed to curl his fingers around Rhyssa's.

"I'll behave. I'll do just as I'm told. I promise! And

I'dleamalot."

 

"You'd call the moves, Rhyssa," Johnny Greene

said.

 

"I don't think we have any choice in this either,"

 

Rhyssa said, and Peter leaned against her, wishing for

her not to sound so defeated. She looked down at him

and cupped his head with one hand, smiling tenderly at

him. "I'm not defeated, Peter dear, but I intensely dis-

like being left with no options."

 

"Think of the options that you've canceled," Johnny

Greene said with a malicious note in his voice as he

lifted his middle finger skyward.

 

"Put like that," Gordie said, grinning, "we're one

up on Barchenka."

 

Rhyssa turned to Dave Lehardt, her expression se-

vere. "And you keep Peter's name out of the 'casts and

the fax."

 

"Your skeleton crew at work again?" Dave asked,

pretending to ward off an attack.

 

" 'Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones, and hear

the word of the Lord!' " Johnny Greene sang, doing an

intricate breakdance step.

 

 

 

 

Anne McCaffrey            197

 

CHAPTER 12

 

•^ <$• 'phe blond man had an air about him that fasci-

nated Tirla. She had never had much to do with Talents,

and she surreptitiously crossed her wrists. She had heard

such folk discussed in the Residential often enough, in

fearful, awed whispers, but she had not believed half

of the powers alleged to them: finders of persons and

things, seers of souls, readers of secrets, prophets of

future things, and movers of mountains.

 

She stole a look at him where he sat with his head

leaned back against the padded wall and his eyes closed;

 

daring to observe him more closely, she noticed the

quick flow of facial muscles, as if he were having an

argument in his head. His jaw tightened in anger, and

his lips thinned. He should have been pleased with his

day's work, Tirla thought. She was startled then, when

his mouth relaxed into a half smile, a clever sort of

smile, and his eyebrows twitched. Had he won his in-

ternal argument? He was a strange man, she thought,

even though outwardly he appeared no different from

others.

 

He was not LEO, and yet he was, and she could not

figure out where he fit in, or how he and his teams had

appeared so conveniently at the J shunt—especially

when she had just realized the difficulty of cajoling

scared whiney brats like Tombi into riding cargo pods

back to G. Without that unexpected rescue, Yassim's

ladrones would surely have recaptured them, herself in-

cluded. She shuddered.

 

196

 

So they had been rescued from Yassim. But not from

Authority. She wanted no part of Authority: too many

conflicting rules and regulations and silly restrictions

that only begged to be ignored or evaded. The prospect

of a new ID briefly dazzled her, to the point where she

could feel the narrow plastic strip knocking against her

wrist bone. But she did not—quite—believe that the man

would be able to produce any such ID, no matter how

well he seemed in with the LEOs.

 

No matter! She had clean floaters—more than she

needed for the tieds she had been supposed to launder

for Yassim—so she was well ahead in the game. The

matter of the hot tieds bothered her, but she was loath

to face Yassim as long as he was in the market for kids.

And it was very likely that the LEOs could not collar

Yassim, and that he would go into deep hiding some-

where to wait out the furor. So, morally, she could hide

the tieds for a while and discreetly exchange them, es-

pecially if Yassim was out of circulation, over the next

several months. This was the biggest hit she had ever

made.

 

But still she was uneasy. She was trapped in the

closed cargo pod and did not really know where they

were going, though she had been keeping mental count

of the rail junctions. The blond man could just as easily

leave, her off at the hostel with the others. Who would

believe that she had an arrangement with him? The train

began to decelerate, and Tirla, with a spurt of dread

anticipation, waited for the shunt connect. They were

going to the G platform. She was both comforted and

concerned.

 

"Where are we now?" she asked.

 

Sascha opened his eyes, and she saw that they were

an unusual shade of light blue. He looked amused.

"You know we're at G. So now we return the lost chil-

dren'to,their grieving parents. That is important to you,

isn't it, Tirla? That Bilala, Zaveta, Pilau, and especially

 

 

 

 

198 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 199

 

Mirda Khan and Mama Bobchik know that you helped

retrieve their lost ones?"

 

Now how could he know that? How much did he

know about her? Why was he playing her along this

way? He was a sharp one indeed. What sort of a scam

was he running? Not all of this action had to do with

that perv Yassim.

 

She refused to be drawn by what could just be a

shrewd guess on his part. LEOs were not above putting

surveillance on Meetings, even a silly RIG with that

Lama-shaman. Perhaps there had been eyes on her cli-

ents, although why such a gaggle of silly women would

be the object of LEO interest she did not know—unless

it had to do with selling kids. But none of them had

been there to deal kids—most of theirs were too young

yet. They had all been looking for "messages" and

"salvations." Yet Sascha had identified her clients, and

he had even known that Mirda Khan and Mama Bob-

chik were especially important.

 

"It just pays to be a good neighbor," she answered

diffidently.

 

"Oh, you have definitely been a good neighbor to-

day, Tirla. And a very good citizen!" He laughed

softly, throwing his head back and showing large white

even teeth. It would be a very nice laugh, Tirla thought,

if it had not worried her that he was laughing at all.

Perversely she liked him, for his strong grip and his

droll words, but she did not trust him any further than

she could have thrown Bulbar.

 

She gave him a quick stare for calling her ' 'citizen.''

Citizens lived across the river in the beautiful hives,

luxury cones, platforms, and complexes, not in Linears.

 

"Trust me, Tirla?" His eyes were not laughing, nor

was his mouth, and his voice was gentle and entreating.

 

"I have no reason to."

 

"If I give you one?"

 

She snorted scornfully. Just then the train braked to

an easy stop, an'd the lids of the pods opened to reveal

 

a group of adults, waiting to lift out the unconscious

children. A slim woman in a LEO uniform standing at

the edge of the platform spotted Sascha and thrust a

narrow plastic case at him.

 

"Here's a reason, Tirla." Sascha showed her the ID

bracelet in the case. He took advantage of her surprise

to clasp it around her wrist.

 

She stared at it, holding her arms away from her,

trying to absorb the significance of having a legal iden-

tity and then the slowly dawning knowledge that the

bracelet was not banded in the usual Residential col-

ors. Green banding meant that one could travel be-

tween Linears, but what did the gold and black stripes

mean?

 

"You are now legal, Tirla."

 

Just then the four freight elevators reached the cargo

level. A mass of women flowed out onto the platform,

raising loud lamentations when they saw limp bodies

on medipads. Sascha drew Tirla to one side as Public

Health personnel circulated, establishing the parentage

of those Tirla had rescued.

 

"What happens to them?" Tirla asked. This was not

what she had had in mind when she set out on her mad

venture. Parents would not be pleased that their chil-

dren were in the hands of Authority. Nor would they

profit as she had intended. She had an ID bracelet and

more credit than she had ever possessed in her life-

but what good would it do her if the tenuous position

she had carved for herself, her clients, her means of

supporting herself, were gone? Suddenly her future

seemed as bleak as that of the children she had saved

from Yassim.

 

A tall, slender, very handsome young man in a LEO

uniform planted himself squarely in front of the Sascha

person and saluted. "What do you wish me to tell the

women, sir?" he asked.

 

"That Tirla here," Sascha said, moving her to stand

in front of him, his hands lightly—and, she felt,

 

 

 

 

200         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

201

 

kindly—on her shoulders, "found where Yassim had

hidden their children. She was leading them back home,

to their mothers and fathers, when we, also searching,

came upon them."

 

In a voice that penetrated the tumult of wailing

women, the young man rattled off the announcement

in the required languages—a task that made Tiria rest-

less under Sascha's hands. As each of the linguistic

groups understood, they fell to whispering among

themselves. When the translator had finished, Mirda

Khan and Mama Bobchik waded forward, their ex-

pressions grim. Under Sascha's hands, Tirla's narrow

shoulders tensed, and surreptitiously she shielded her

brand-new ID bracelet by moving her arm slightly be-

hind her.

 

"And the children?" Mirda Khan demanded in Ba-

sic, jutting her chin out. She stared pointedly at Tiria.

 

"The records have been checked," Sascha said, his

voice diplomatically apologetic. "Their births were il-

legal."

 

When Mirda Khan frowned, Sascha signaled for Ran-

jit to translate. The wave of hysterical weeping was

punctuated as mothers of now officially illegal children

threw themselves across the unconscious bodies, obvi-

ously determined to resist attempts to remove them.

Sascha ordered the crowd-control partners to neutralize

the incipient hysterics. He dampened his own reception,

but he could not remain immune to the intense emo-

tional agitation that battered his senses. He was per-

plexed. These same women would have sold their sons

and daughters in a few years.

 

Boris, he said, it's going to be a lot easier to buy

these women off with something.

 

How about the truth? Isn't a hostel a better fate than

the future Yassim planned/or them?

 

I would think so, Sascha replied, but I do not think

they'll see it in the same light. I'll tap our slush/and if

you won't ante lip. Anything, Sascha thought, to shut

 

up the spine-crawling ululations. He was not used to

having to deal on this level.

 

Getting soft. Brother?

 

You're not here and listening. And there's Tiria to

think of.

 

You 're taking charge of her, aren 't you ? Boris asked.

 

I'd rather she wasn't jeopardized. Her Talent could

be very useful in multilanguage groups.

 

The noise was fearful, the aura exceedingly unpleas-

ant for any Talents with the least modicum of empathy.

Tears were streaming down Carmen's face.

 

"How much, Tiria?" Sascha asked.

 

Startled, she twisted in his hands to see his expres-

sion.

 

"How much will stop their tears and relieve their

loss?" he went on.

 

"You'd pay?"

 

He saw the leap of astonishment in her velvety brown

eyes before a canny veil settled over her expression.

Brother, this one's going to deal for the hairs on our

chests.

 

"For the youngest, you don't have to give much."

She named a figure. "Add ten percent for each year

they have, and that should be enough."

 

"I'd say five percent for each year."

 

' 'Seven!'' she retorted. ' 'The bigger they are the more

it takes to fill their bellies."

 

He spit in his hand and held it out. She closed the

deal and then stepped four paces nearer to Mirda Khan.

 

Ranjit, monitor this for me! Sascha ordered.

 

She's speaking Arabic, Ranjit said. She's saying that

she has been arguing hard for the grieving mothers ever

since they were caught in the tunnel. Only because she

has spoken out so forcefully has a way been made to

ease the sorrow of the mothers. Illegal children have

rights, the big man says, and she believes him. They

will be much safer than with Yassim, for which every

mother should be thankful, knowing perfectly well the

 

 

 

 

202 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 203

 

fate which awaited the children, despite the grief it

causes. For how else can people survive on mere sub-

sistence alone? A price has been agreed, as they must

have seen, and she has acted in good faith. Sascha,

Ranjit added as Tiria turned to face another section of

the women, this child is amazing. She's speaking Urdu

now as glibly as she did Arabic. Oho!

 

There was a commotion, and a plump little woman,

her face contorted with conflicting emotions until her

beady eyes were hidden in the folds of her cheeks,

pushed through. Sascha recognized her from her caste

mark and the vindictiveness of her roiling thoughts. She

would have leaped upon Tiria if Mirda Khan and Mama

Bobchik had not intervened. Sascha sprang forward to

protect Tiria, berating himself for not anticipating an

attack.

 

"Unwanted bitch," me woman shrieked in Basic.

"Illegal, you! The bint is illegal! She is illegal!" She

struggled against the restraining hands. "Take her. You

take her if you take my Tombi. You take her!"

 

"Of course I am illegal, wasted barren woman whose

husband will beat her morning, noon, and evening for

refusing a fair price that will feed him for many days

to come on lamb and papadums." Tiria leaned with

fervor into the task of returning verbal abuse. She had,

Sascha noted, managed to run her bracelet up under her

sleeve, out of sight.

 

Sascha restrained Tiria by her shoulders. "She is il-

legal, woman. She comes with us. Tell them, Ranjit!"

When the message had been translated, he added, "The

deal she spoke of will be good for only three more

minutes." He looked pointedly at his digital watch.

"Then there is no more to talk about. Let each mother

who accepts the offer stand by her child."

 

Then, to shut up the renewal ofBilala's caterwauling,

Sascha shot a strong silencing command compulsion on

the hysterical woman. She fell back in the arms of the

 

women who held her, her mouth working soundlessly.

An awed hush fell over the platform.

 

The business was quickly concluded then, and Tiria

watched solemnly as crisp floaters changed hands. She

had never seen so much money in circulation at one

time and in front of everyone. It was better so. No one

could claim afterward that one had received more than

another. Some of the women lingered, displaying real

distress as their children were loaded back into the front

four cars. Sascha propelled Tiria towards the last car,

which the search group was boarding.

 

Tiria held up her braceleted arm. "You keep the bar-

gain in fact but not in spirit?" she demanded as the

drone cover slid shut. She tugged at the coveted wrist-

band.

 

"The bargain is kept in fact and in spirit, Tiria, but

you can't go back to G, not with Bilala your enemy."

 

"Huh! That one!" Tiria snorted derisively. "She

wouldn't find me if I didn't want her to. I'm not afraid

of that stupid woman."

 

"Frankly, I would be, were I you," Sascha said.

"She'll certainly make sure Yassim knows what part

you had in clearing out his hide."

 

That caused her to reflect, although Sascha still could

not nudge his way past her shields.

 

"Then what was the point of making it seem as if

they'd escaped?" she demanded with some exaspera-

tion.

 

"That seemed a sensible safeguard at the time. Up

until you'd wanted to be such a good neighbor. C'mon

..." Sascha held out his hand. "I think I can find you

a safe squat for a few days with a friend of mine."

Dorotea? he called. Can you spare a moment for this

waif?

 

Tiria looked at his hand as if it were covered in acid.

"At the hostel? With theml"

 

"You're legal, remember?" he reassured her with

a little smile. "Technically, you're free to move any-

 

 

 

 

204 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 205

 

where you want to now. You've got a wad of floaters,

but—" He raised his hand in a cautionary gesture.

"—you know as well as I do that an unattached kid in

a Linear right now is in jeopardy. Yassim has got to

find replacements, and Mirda Khan and Mama Bobchik

wouldn't be there to defend you."

 

"Defend me?" Tiria was both indignant and aston-

ished.

 

"Oh, they did, in their own ways. And if a ladrone

didn't snap you up, the Public Health would, as you're

underage and should be in school." Wow! he exclaimed

to Dorotea as he sensed Tirla's sudden reaction. That

opened up an excited crack.

• Dorotea: Keep working it then!

 

"Frankly, I would be wary, were I you," Sascha

said.

 

Tiria fingered her precious ID. "School? I could ac-

cess Teacher?"

 

"You've the right to all the education you can stuff

into your head—that is, once you overcome the little

problem of being an unattached minor. C'mon, get into

the pod. It's ready to go, and I want you out of this

hostile environment."

 

Tiria cast a look over her shoulder at the knot of

women around Bilala and said "Stupid cunt" under her

breath, but she did not resist Sascha's guiding hand.

 

"Once you've caught up with the grade level, you

could even go to a regular school."

 

"Me? In a school?" Tiria was skeptical as well as

contemptuous.

 

"I suspect you've got a lot more talent than you re-

alize, Tiria."

 

Dorotea, acidly: You were never one to understate a

cause.

 

Tiria hunkered down beside him, balancing her torso

between spread knees, hands dangling limply between

her legs, her butt against the padded end of the cargo

pod. She cocked her head up at him, hauling the strands

 

of dark hair off her face, her dark eyes sparkling with,

it seemed to Sascha, a private amusement that, for all

his telepathic skill, he could not penetrate.

 

"Talent?" she repeated.

 

"Yes," he said. "Talent." He settled down beside

her just as the train began to ease forward.

 

"I'm nothing like you," Tiria said warily, swaying

a little.

 

"No, you're not. I cannot talk to everyone in their

own language as glibly as you do."

 

Tiria thought for a moment and then shrugged.

"That's not hard to do."

 

"Not for you. Ranjit, who's quite a linguist, was

making heavy weather of the translations just now."

 

Tiria shrugged again, dismissively.

 

"In a few years, you could earn a big wage just trans-

lating." He could feel her attention. "Enough to live

at the top of any Linear and never have to worry about

the Yassims of this world."

 

"Working for LEO?" She was plainly unwilling.

 

"For someone with your gift of languages, there are

far better opportunities than LEO. You do need some

schooling."

 

"I got schooling." Her tone was both rebellious and

indignant. At Sascha's prompting, she added, "I used

my brother's ID—as long as I had it. I got schooling."

 

Dorotea, would you check that out? The brother's

name and ID are on the Incident report.

 

I caught a glimpse again, Sascha, Dorotea said. I'm

going to need personal contact with her to get past that

shield. I gather you plan to bring her to my place and

I'm to play sweet frail harmless grandmama? Boy, this

has been a day! In for a penny, in for a pound. Did

you get any of the high-level interview?

 

Caught most of it! Sascha sent an image of him cheer-

ing like a mad soccer supporter.

 

When all the excitement dies down, Sascha, we are

 

 

 

 

206         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

207

 

going through the testing procedures with the prover-

bial fine-tooth comb.

 

Just then Sascha felt the jar as the four forward cars

were detached to go on to the western hostel that would

accommodate the illegal children. He caught the look

of apprehension on Tirla's face and her quick glance at

him.

 

I'll take her to my spare room if you 'd rather, he told

Dorotea.

 

Nonsense. I may hate typecasting but I'm far more

suitable. Though you 're doing rather well, Dorotea al-

lowed somewhat grudgingly.

 

Sascha smiled and resettled himself. "It'll be

smoother from now on," he said to Tiria. "We're be-

ing shunted to the commuter track.''

 

"Where are you taking me?"

 

"To my grandmother."

 

I'm not sure I care to be related to a glib philanderer

like you, Sascha Roznine. No morals.

 

"If she'll have you for a few days until I can find the

right Residential school for you," he amended. "That

would solve the problem of nosy Public Health officials

and keep you out of Yassim's notice." The mention of

school briefly opened her shield and he saw a fearful

startlement—a hunger and a withdrawal—before it low-

ered. He went on casually. "But, as I said, you've a

legal ID, floaters enough for months, and you can suit

yourself."

 

Their car had been shunted several times, and the

progress became smoother and faster. Tiria noticed it,

and she also noticed how the other people in the car

were relaxing, smiling and chatting comfortably with

one another.

 

Residential school, my ass! Boris's disgusted tone

echoed in Sascha's mind. / can just see Fairmont or

Holyoke taking in that subbie.

 

Tolerance, Bro, tolerance. She's clean and healthy,

and that tight mind might conceal a genius.

 

Boris: For scams!

 

Dorotea, steel in her tone: You just let us handle one

of our own.

 

Since when am I disowned? Boris asked.

 

Dorotea: When you 're wearing nothing but your LEO

hat!

 

Sascha had a mental image of his brother withdraw-

ing quietly, offending hat in hand. No one took on Dor-

otea in a crusading mood. He glanced down at Tiria,

who was deep in thought, staring down at the floor,

though her body appeared relaxed. When the cargo-pod

door opened as they reached the vehicle park in the

quiet grounds of the Eastern Center for Parapsy chics,

she reacted with amazement and disbelief. As the other

members of Sascha's team piled out, laughing and

chatting over the successful assignment, Tiria just

stood, her large eyes wide and white as she stared

around her. Sascha did not hurry her. The old Henner

estate, with its big old beeches, maples, and oaks, the

wide lawns and the attractive two-story residential

units, was unusual enough in modem Jerhattan and

had to be a revelation to a Linear resident. Tiria looked

appalled.

 

"My grandmother lives over there," Sascha said,

pointing to the dwelling that had once been the garde-

ner's lodge. "There she is, weeding the border." You

are'the most complete ham, Dorotea. Weeding?

 

True enough, but I wasn 't going to swathe myself in

black subsistence and bedeck myself with bracelets and

nose rings to make her feel at ease. And the border

does need weeding.

 

What about your arthritis?

 

I always suffer for my art, m'dear. I've recruited

Peter, too. He needs to climb down from rarefied at-

mospheres, and something homely will help. Also, he

may be older than she is, but he looks young. He's

to appear with eats. Refreshments are always a good

way to start off a conversation, particularly for some-

 

 

 

 

208 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 209

 

one with a Near East background. "Why, Sascha,

what a pleasant surprise!" Dorotea hoisted herself to

her feet and held out her arms to him. Kiss me, you

lout. Even grandmothers need a ration of passion now

and again!

 

"Grandmother, this is Tiria . . . Tunnelle."

 

Inventive boy! Dorotea commented.

 

"She needs a place to stay for a few days. Would it

be too much of an imposition?"

 

Dorotea extracted herself from Sascha's enthusiastic

embrace and extended a mud-daubed hand to Tiria.

Since Dorotea had been accepted and acceptable from

the moment of her birth, she had about her an aura that

made rejection from anyone impossible; Tiria delayed

only a moment before grasping the extended hand. She's

got bones like a bird's, Sascha. How could she possibly

do all she's just done ?

 

"Tiria, this is Dorotea Horvath." There's nothing

frail about Tiria's mind, Dorotea.

 

"Actually, I was just about to quit and have some-

thing to eat and drink. The sun's warm today. Peter, is

the juice ready?" she called, and gestured for her guests

to precede her into the little house.

 

Sascha was glad that he had thought of Dorotea, in-

stead of taking Tiria to the far more daunting manor

house and its formality. Judging by the girl's stunned

expression, even this homey room was far outside her

experience.

 

"I expect you'll want to wash up, and I need to,"

Dorotea said gently, touching Tiria's arm and pointing

to the little hall. "Lavatory's second door on the left,

dear, plenty of towels. Peter," she said as she made

for the small kitchen, "we have two more guests."

 

Peter: What's she like?

 

Sascha: Scared.

 

Peter, wryly: Know the feeling!

 

Dorotea: Tight shield.

 

Peter, earnestly: I'll be careful.

 

Dorotea: And don't show off. You'll terrify her.

 

Peter: / did all the showing off I'm going to do this

morning.

 

An apprehensive Tiria reentered the room, surrepti-

tiously trailing fingers along wooden surfaces and across

me sofa backs. Sascha noticed that she had washed

hands, arms, neck, face, and that portion of her chest

that was visible above the round neck of her rather worn

clothing. She had brushed her long hair neatly back

over her shoulders. Sascha thought of the cheerless

functionality of subsistence living quarters and gave

Tiria another full mark for nonchalance.

 

"Here we are," Dorotea said, arriving with a large

tray laden with all sorts of fingerfoods: savories, small

open-faced sandwiches, wedges of fruit, and strips of

fresh vegetables. "Peter, don't drop the glasses!" For-

tunately, Tiria's back was to the boy who, with both

hands on the huge pitcher of orange juice, was allowing

four large tumblers to float along beside him.

 

"Hold it while I pour," Peter said, handing Tiria a

glass, a diversion that kept her from noticing the other

glasses sliding to positions on the low table near Dor-

otea and Sascha.

 

Dorotea: Peter!

 

Peter: She didn 't see it.

 

When all had been served with juice, Peter bounced

into theichair beside Tiria and took a long drink of the

juice, wiping his mouth and exclaiming with satisfac-

tion at the taste.

 

"Don't inhale the juice, Peter," Dorotea said as she

offered Tiria the tray of snacks. An uncommon fondness

for green pepper, she noted when she saw Tiria's eyes

brighten at the sight of the slices. Closely watching

Dorotea, me girl had closed her fingers about three,

then increased her haul to six when there was no reac-

tion. "The cheese puffs are hot and fresh," Dorotea

said, pushing them toward Tiria. "You'd better get

them now before Sascha or Peter hog them all."

 

 

 

 

210 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Tida let the pepper strips fall into her lap and obe-

diently took a cheese puff.

 

/ couldn't make myself some coffee, could I, Doro?

Sascha asked plaintively.

 

Drink! Anything. She won't until we all do. "Peter,

this is just what I needed. I must have dehydrated in

the sun. Sascha, there're asparagus in the breadrolls.

I know you like them! And Peter, you are not to eat

all the chicken sandwiches. He would, you know,"

Dorotea rattled on, nibbling at a cheese puff which she

then put to one side to take a bite of a pated cracker.

Well, we 've all sampled everything to prove there's no

poison or drugs: Ah, good! Oh, my word! She's

starved!

 

Tiria had started to drink and eat with quick sharp

bites and snatched swallows, as if she was torn between

eating and drinking and afraid that the food would sud-

denly disappear. All three telepaths were aware of a

sudden lightening of her carefully guarded thoughts as

she made inroads on the snacks. The pastry melted in

her mouth, releasing tastes that satisfied unknown crav-

ings with textures that titillated her tongue, from the

reassuring crisp watery tang of the green peppers to the

bite of sharp cheese and savory meat fillings.

 

Food would be a trigger, Dorotea went on wryly,

when you consider she's probably been hungry all her

life. She took a long drink of the orange juice. ' 'I hope

you've more in the kitchen, Peter, because it tastes mar-

velous. But then, fresh-squeezed orange juice always

does, don't you think so, Tiria?"

 

Sascha! Boris's tone was authoritative. Your waif's

in good hands. Someone just snatched one of the Jer-

hattan schoolkids we stranded three weeks ago.

 

"Well," Sascha said, rising and dusting crumbs off

his fingers. "I'll leave you to it, Tiria. You're safe

enough here for a few days, and Peter can show you

how to log on to Teacher. Right?"

 

As he strode across the lawn to the main house, Dor-

 

Anne McCaffrey            211

 

otea told him, She paused in her eating when you left,

but I fear the snack tray and the orange juice pitcher

are of far greater moment than you, honey.

 

Sascha was not certain, in his private mind, if he

liked taking second place to a batch of canapes, even

with a preadolescent.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 13

 

•$» •$» you been here long?" Tiria asked Peter the next

morning as they ate breakfast in the pleasant and, to

Tiria, amazing kitchen room. Dorotea was preparing

eggs—fresh eggs—in a pan at the stove, using, of all

things, a naked flame. Tiria did not wish to distract her

from the dangerous procedure, so she spoke in a low

voice.

 

"Hmm," Peter said amiably, taking neat spoonfuls

of the ripe melon. "Ever since I got out of the hospi-

tal."

 

Tiria watched to see how he dealt with the food—she

would have sliced it thin and eaten down to the rind.

"Why were you in the hospital?" she asked. Hospitals

were fearsome places to Tiria, who had always made a

practice of avoiding medics, as well as quacks. She also

had a wary distrust of sick people, never having been

ill or injured herself.

 

Peter gave a diffident shrug of one shoulder. "A wall

collapsed all over me."

 

"You must have been hurt bad." In Tiria's experi-

ence people did not survive walls coming down on

them.

 

"Couldn't walk for months. Couldn't even feed my-

self." His eyes took on an unfocused cast.

 

"And they let you live?" Tiria was stunned at such

good fortune.

 

Peter regarded her with some surprise. "Of course,

though for a while there, I really didn't want to live."

212

 

Anne McCaffrey            213

 

Tiria absorbed that remarkable statement as she bent

to the task of eating melon. It was really good—not

gone off like most of those she scrounged. She nicked

careful glances at Dorotea to make sure the fire was

under control. Why didn't the woman use the hotter she

had right there in the wall? One of the first things one

learned in the Linears was not to mess with naked

flames. Fire was a sure way to bring down the wrath of

the LEOs.

 

"Why did you?" Tiria asked, realizing that Peter

was waiting for her to comment. "Live, I mean."

 

"Rhyssa taught me how to move again."

 

"You do move sort of oddly," she said, having no-

ticed the peculiar gliding motion he used. He did not,

in fact, seem to take real steps, though his legs moved.

 

Peter snickered, his mouth full of melon. He swal-

lowed and grinned broadly. "That's because I'm not

really walking. I impel myself kinetically." His eyes

glinted with mischief at her mystification. "I make my

body move. It can't."

 

Tiria stopped eating, staring at him until she recalled

that even in Linears a lengthy stare was impolite. "Your

body doesn't move? But you're eating. You're using

your arm and your hand—just like me." She held her

own hand up.

 

"I'm pretty good at it, aren't I?" Peter was delighted

with his effect on Tiria. "I've done some other stuff,

too, moving—" He broke off, with a slightly rueful

grin. "I hear you're pretty good at your Talent, too.

That was larky—getting the kids away from the per-

vert."

 

Tiria slowly shook her head, dismissing her achieve-

ment. "Nothing like what you do. I don't have much

Talent at all."

 

Peter snorted with good-natured contempt. "That's

what you think. It's not what Rhyssa said. I'm good at

what I do. But you're very very good at what you do.

Don't knock it."

 

214

 

Anne McCaffrey           215

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Slightly embarrassed by the sincerity of Peter's tone,

Tiria changed the subject, eager to pump him on puz-

zling topics. "You said Rhyssa helped you? Is she the

dark-haired one who was here last night after Sascha

left?"

 

Peter nodded his head. "She's the director here."

 

"Not Sascha?"

 

Peter shook his head, grinning. " Sascha's the deputy

chief. He takes over when Rhyssa's involved with

someone. Like me! I'm her special project—" He broke

off, blinking his eyes rapidly, and flashed a quick, al-

most apologetic glance at Dorotea before he grinned.

"Rhyssa has lots of special duties, being the director.

I'm not the only one."

 

Tiria noticed that his cheeks flamed briefly. What

could embarrass a boy like Peter? Then Dorotea was

passing plates with freshly cooked eggs and bacon and

urging Tiria to sample the hot toast. Tiria ate until she

was stuffed. She thanked Dorotea profusely for the ef-

fort of handcooking.

 

"I enjoy it," Dorotea replied, smiling gently. "Es-

pecially for appreciative appetites. Peter, why don't you

take Tiria to the study and log her in? You've got to go

through some assessments first, honey, but once your

standard's been decided, you'll be expected to be pre-

sent for all the classes you're assigned."

 

Tiria nodded briefly, far more interested in the way

Peter got down from his chair—indeed he did glide as

he conducted her to the study, and the curious fluidity

of his movements fascinated her.

 

"And you aren't really walking?" she asked.

 

"Nope, it's all kinetic. My spinal cord got severed

when the wall fell on me. Medical science can't splice

that—yet—but kinetic science gives me movement. Bet-

ter'n being stuck in a support chair," he assured her

blithely. "Here's your terminal, and here're your ear-

plugs. I've got to do my hours with Teacher, too. Can't

slip out of that with kinesis!" He made a face as she

 

slid into the chair he indicated. When she had slipped

the plugs into her ears, he typed a sequence with an odd

finger movement, and suddenly the blank screen

cleared.

 

"Tiria Tunnelle, may I, as your personal Teacher,

welcome you to this Educational Program." The screen

showed the School Room and a pleasant-faced woman

seated at the desk. Tiria knew that the Teacher was a

construct, devised to reproduce the old teacher-pupil

confrontation, but she had always liked the look of

Teacher; someone a person could trust, who would not

laugh at questions or honest mistakes, who was there

to help one leam. "Sascha Roznine told us that you

have had some credits under the name of Kail, Linear

G resident. Flat 8732a. Today, if you will bear with

me, Tiria, we will just see how much of those early

lessons you remember. Now, shall we begin? If you

need to be refreshed about the function keys, please

type H for help. Or, if you're ready to begin, strike

RETURN, and we'll begin the assessment."

 

With conflicting emotions—awe at realizing a long-held

dream and fear that the miracle might be withdrawn for

some capricious reason—Tiria touched RETURN.

 

"I think," Dorotea began, drumming her fingers rap-

idly on the kitchen table, "Tiria is going into an

education-overkill phase. She won't leave the terminal,

though Peter has been as slyly devious as you, Sascha,

in getting her outside. I also think she finds the grounds

daunting instead of pleasant. She sticks to the paths and

won't use the playground facilities. But all this study

and no play is not an improvement."

 

Don Usenik, who had joined the informal meeting as

medical advisor, shook his head, mildly amused by

Dorotea's fervor. "According to the medical reports,

she's in excellent shape. Amazingly so when you con-

sider the conditions under which she's lived."

 

"Well, I think it's wrong for a child her age to try

 

 

 

 

Anne McCaffrey           217

 

216 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

and absorb two years' education in four days," Dorotea

maintained.

 

"Any improvement in receptivity?" Rhyssa asked.

 

"What does Peter say?" Dorotea countered with

some heat.

 

Rhyssa laughed. ' 'Peter thinks she could if she would.

When she's involved in her studying, he can hear an

ongoing mental commentary. She has amazing retentive

powers, visual as well as auditory. She's answered him

telepathically once or twice when she didn't realize it."

 

"We have got to make her aware of her potential,"

Sascha said, frustrated.

 

Rhyssa leaned across the table. "It will take time,

Sascha. There's no need to force scope to her Talent."

 

"Boris would like a hundred more like her," Sascha

said, frowning.

 

"But I thought you and Boris had found the Jerfiattan

child," Rhyssa said, having followed his thought. She

did not like what she read: that Boris wanted Tiria to

work undercover with Cass.

 

"Oh, we found and rescued her all right enough,"

Sascha replied with no sense of achievement, "and two

others, but there were no leads whatever of any use.

Only a minor ladrone who reports by phone—another

of those conveniently illegal connects. So a dead end.

The girls could tell us nothing; they had been gassed,

blindfolded, stuck in some sort of smooth plastic co-

coon. Their trauma went pretty deep."

 

"The psychological scarring of their incarceration is

going to be difficult to neutralize," Don remarked,

frowning. "A new wrinkle in rendering the abducted

docile—tactile disorientation. Villainous trick." He

shook his head. "You and Peter are off today, aren't

you? So that leaves Dorotea and me to come up with

some brilliant ideas on sharpening up the Tests, huh?"

 

"And me," Sascha said, coming out of his gloom.

"I am after all, director of training for this Center. The

trouble with a unique like Tiria is that she doesn't re-

alize she's got Talent in the first place. And in the sec-

ond, how can you test children that aren't supposed to

exist?"

 

"What training have you planned for Tiria then?"

Rhyssa said.

 

Sascha shrugged. "Training? She's a natural at what

she does—getting into the communication center of any-

one's brain and adapting to whatever language they're

using." He spread his hands wide. "How can we im-

prove on that? And she can't explain any more than

Peter can explain how he does what he does."

 

"I'd do it myself, but I hate crowds and I can't walk

far," Dorotea said suddenly, "but Sascha, why don't

you start by hauling her away from Teacher for an af-

ternoon? Those issue shoes are useless, and while she

might feel happy in subsistence issue, I would like to

see her dressed in something nicer. Several something

nicers."

 

"Me?" Sascha glanced first at Dorotea and then at

Rhyssa and pretended not to see Don's amused expres-

sion.

 

"You!" Dorotea pointed a stem finger at him. "She

trusts you."

 

"But I've never bought clothes for a kid."

 

"No need to panic," Dorotea replied unfeelingly.

"I'm sure Tiria knows what she'd be comfortable wear-

ing; and^that's all you need to go by. She's still a trifle

young to want to bedeck herself alluringly."

 

Wanna bet? Rhyssa said in a tight aside to Dorotea,

who gave her an unfathomable glance without betraying

a mental explanation.

 

"Take her to one of the good malls. Let her see how

the other half lives—the one she's inhabiting now,"

Dorotea went on. "And then treat her to something

tooth-rottening and utterly satiating. Spoil her a bit.

Show her there's more to life on this level than a square

box and a wrist ID."

 

 

 

 

218 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 219

 

"She might know of other kids with unusual apti-

tudes," Rhyssa added. "She doesn't miss much."

 

"That's for sure," Sascha replied heartily. "Your

heli just landed, Rhyssa. I'll just see you all off."

 

"Peter!" Rhyssa called. "Dave and Johnny are on

their way. Are you all packed?"

 

Dorotea snorted. "He's been ready since before you

thought of the—" She paused and grinned wickedly.

"—distraction."

 

"I'm coming," Peter called. He glided to Tiria's

room. "I'll see you," he told her. "Keep clocking in

the study time."

 

She hit the HOLD and regarded him in surprise.

"You going somewhere?"

 

Peter grinned mischievously. "Rhyssa's got a job for

me." He winked.

 

"Job? For you?"

 

"Sure. I'm very useful, I'll have you know."

 

Tiria gave him a long disbelieving look. "Doing

what?"

 

"More of what I'm good at."

 

Tiria gave him a look of profound disbelief. "What

could you be good at?"

 

Peter made a clicking sound in his mouth, since he

could not snap his fingers. "I just wish I could tell you,

Tiria. But it's a professional secret."

 

"So don't tell me. I got better things to do than guess

secrets!" Tiria turned back to the monitor.

 

"But I'll be gone weeks."

 

Tiria wriggled her fingers at him over her shoulder.

"Have a good time," she said, keeping her eyes on the

screen. The Teacher on hold had her mouth open and

hand half-raised as she was making a particular point

in the lesson. Tiria tried to resume her studying, but

the truth of the matter, though she could not let on to

Peter, was that she would miss him. Weeks?

 

He was the first boy she had ever met who had some

sense. She knew' he was supposed to be a very clever

 

kinetic—he had talked to her about thought transfer and

telepathy, which made her a bit nervous—but he had

also been good about helping her with some of the

harder problems Teacher set her. At least Sascha would

be around. She would not like Sascha to be gone for

weeks.

 

She was surprised to have her lesson interrupted a

second time—and by Sascha.

 

"Tiria! Have you stirred out of this room today?"

 

"No," she said, tapping out the answer to the prob-

lem on the screen.

 

"Tiria! Turn that damned thing off! We've got some-

thing better to do with the afternoon."

 

She rolled over on her side to look up at him.

"What?"

 

"Buy you some new shoes and clothes."

 

Tiria looked down at the toes that were visible

through the latest cracks in her footwear. "I did try to

find the issue slot, but Dorotea doesn't have one."

 

Sascha hunkered down and firmly punched the Off

switch.

 

"Hey!" Tiria regarded him with astonishment that

quickly turned to antagonism. She reached for the

switch, and he caught her hand.

 

"You can pick up where you left off when we get

back. On your feet!" Sascha gave her hand a warning

pull, "We don't have issue slots at the Center. Gener-

ally we get ordinary stuff from the Remote Mail, but as

I haven't a notion of your shoe size or what colors you

like, I think this once, we'll go in the flesh. When we're

done, we're going to have a treat."

 

That got Tiria's interest. She bounced to her feet, her

black eyes sparkling. "What kind of treat?"

 

"That'll be entirely up to you, my dear," he said,

leading the way to the transport lot. "m our malls

there's a lot to choose from," he added in a provocative

tone.

 

Whatever misgivings Sascha might have entertained

 

 

 

 

220 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 221

 

about shopping for a child were swiftly compounded.

First Tiria had to recover from her initial shock at the

size of the mall that Sascha had chosen. Then she led

him a dance through every department of the twelve-

story complex, eyes and head constantly on the move

as she did an initial reconnaissance.

 

Back on the first floor, she mused at length over the

various items that had caught her attention the first time

and then began a second tar. On the fourth level, for-

tunately the one dealing with shoes and apparel for

young people, the sole of one shoe disintegrated—

"From the heat of the speed at which she was travel-

ing," Sascha told Dorotea later.

 

When an officious floor walker moved in on Tiria

with the obvious intent of removing the waif from the

elegant premises, Sascha intercepted him.

 

"I wouldn't," Sascha said in a low voice, pushing

out his sleeve so the special design of his wrist ID was

visible. "I'm escorting her. Is she acceptable as a pa-

tron now?"

 

"Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir, but you must admit . . ."

 

"That's why we're shopping."

 

The man walked quickly out of Sascha's vicinity with

several anxious backward glances.

 

"You weren't going to hex him, were you, Sascha?"

an amused voice beside him asked.

 

He turned to see Cass Cutler grinning up at him. "If

I could, I'd put a hurry one on Tiria," he said. "We

went through all twelve levels of this place like a dose

of salts, and now she's settling down for a second tour."

 

Cass laughed at his discomfort. "And they sent you

out on your own with your protegee?" She laughed

again. "That's unkind."

 

"It's supposed to be mutually instructive."

 

Tiria reappeared and latched onto Sascha's hand, re-

garding Cass very narrowly from her suddenly inscru-

table eyes.

 

"I remember you," Cass said. "You ricocheted off

 

me and my partner at Linear G. And you messed up

Flimflam's scam to a fare-thee-well. My congratula-

tions!"

 

"You're one of him," Tiria accused, jerking her head

toward Sascha.

 

Cass laughed again, a throaty, genuine laugh. Sascha

could feel Tirla's fingers relaxing. "Not quite, chip.

We're on the same side, but right now I'm assigned to

LEO, crowd control."

 

Tiria looked about her, slightly contemptuous. "Not

much of a crowd here today."

 

"I'm not on duty today," Cass replied, grinning

down at Tiria. "I see you're on a day off, too. What've

you found that appeals to you?"

 

Will you help me, Cciss? Please say yes! Sascha

pleaded. I've a hideous presentiment that that child in-

tends to case the entire mall again before she'll even

try something on.

 

"If you don't mind me saying it, Tiria, you'll be able

to walk further with a decent pair of shoes on your feet.

There're some good bargains to be had right now. What

strikes your fancy?"

 

With a sense of reprieve, Sascha followed Cass and

Tiria to the shoe department. An hour later, after two

harried human clerks had replaced the mechanical fitter,

Tiria's small, narrow, and very dainty feet ended up in

soft purple leather boots, in the only pair that would fit

her feet.

 

Totally unsuitable for a child, of course, Cass said,

but they do fit,

 

And she adores them! Sascha saw how Tiria's face

glowed as she strutted from mirror to mirror, regarding

her feet.

 

"Mr. Roznine," the head clerk said wearily as me

docket spun out of me teller machine, "your young

companion has a most delicate and unusual foot to fit.

May I recommend this concern? They do very fine cus-

tom work."

 

 

 

 

222         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

223

 

Sascha read the man easily and caught the unspoken

message: "So we won't have to go through this again."

But he was just as grateful to take the card, which could

be inserted in Dorotea's mall machine for home shop-

ping.

 

He blessed Cass with every new purchase, for the

woman actually seemed to enjoy the looking, the try-

ing, and the endless discussions of fit, style, and color.

 

"The concept of having unlimited funds to spend is

foreign to the child, Sascha," Cass said at one point,

"but you must admit that she knows what suits her."

 

Tiria was modeling a one-piece outfit as different from

subsistence issue as diamonds from rhinestones. The

main color was a soft blue with purple accents in seam-

stitching, pocket trim, and fasteners. Once Tiria found

that outfit to her taste and Sascha's—it was always

Sascha to whom she turned for approval—it took the

combined efforts of both Sascha and Cass to get her to

buy additional clothing.

 

"Why do I need more? I've boots, and this material's

hard wearing. It'll do for weeks. Even if I had to catch

freights again," Tiria added, peering mischieviously up

at Sascha.

 

He had to chuckle at her impudence. "It's a fetching

outfit, Tiria, there's no question of it. But even Teacher

will get tired of seeing you in it."

 

Tiria gave him a long hard look. "Teacher doesn't

see me."

 

"No, but Dorotea and I do, so do Sirikit, Budworth,

Don, and Peter, and Rhyssa. You never see them wear-

ing the same clothes two days in a row."

 

"Oh, they have lots of clothes. Dorotea has closets

full." Tiria did not sound envious—if anything her tone

was slightly censorious, as if she felt it was improper

for people to have so many things to wear.

 

"A few changes are in order," Cass said. "I've got

quite a few myself," she added encouragingly while

Tiria merely stared back, her hands plunged into the

 

deep pockets and her shoulders hunched under the

smooth fabric.

 

"This isn't coming out of your floaters, Tiria,"

Sascha began, suddenly realizing what might be caus-

ing her hesitation. "Dorotea and Rhyssa want you to

be suitably dressed now that you're a Talent. You're

not a subbie anymore, you know." He pointed to her

wrist ID.

 

"Oh." There was look of surprised wonderment on

the girl's face as she regarded her bracelet with dawning

comprehension. "Is that why those salespersons were

so nice to me?"

 

"Quite likely," Cass said in a dry tone of voice.

"Everyone in malls like these recognizes the distinctive

pattern."

 

Tiria twirled hers on her fragile wrist. "They do?"

She settled the band outside the cuff of her new clothes.

"How much can I buy with just this?"

 

Sascha disguised a choke of dismay with a cough just

as Cass caught him in the ribs with her elbow.

 

"Let's find out, shall we, chip?" Cass asked cheer-

fully and held out her hand.

 

Tiria took it readily enough, but her other hand im-

mediately sought Sascha's, and then she was dragging

them after her toward a rack of brilliantly colored trou-

sers.

 

. Shekwas not as profligate as Sascha feared, but she

ended up with "something different to wear every day

of the week." Then Sascha made good his promise of

a treat, inviting Cass to join them in the Old-Fashioned

Parlor of Gastronomical Confections and Irresistible

Desserts.

 

Tiria managed to get through three immense, rich

concoctions that Sascha privately thought revolting.

 

Cass: Let her enjoy, Sascha. Ice cream is something

she's only heard about.

 

Sascha: What if she comes home sick? Dorotea will

skin me alive.

 

 

 

 

224 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 225

 

Cass: This child has an iron constitution if she's sur-

vived subbie slop until now. And look at how much

pleasure she's having.

 

Sascha, groaning: I'll be sick!

 

It was then that Tiria realized there were other girls

and boys enjoying the parlor. Her spoon on automatic,

she took full note of the other youngsters.

 

That blonde ought never to wear bright colors. She 'd

look better in pastel shades. Boy, what's he wearing

such tight pants for? He'll squeeze 'em dry. Now that    \

red outfit might look good on me. Maybe I can get    \

something like that next time Sascha wants to spend    |

money.                                               |

 

Sascha glanced surreptitiously at Cass, who rolled her

eyes.                                                  . i

 

Sascha: Stream of consciousness and loud and clear,    j

Does she realize she's broadcasting ?                    ^

 

Cass, busily spooning up the last of her treat: Highly    '

unlikely. That child's had to be on the qui vive all her

life. Frankly, Sascha, I take it as a high compliment

that she's relaxed enough in our presence to do some

unguarded thinking.

 

Sascha: Good point.

 

As nonchalantly as he could, Sascha observed Tiria,

listening to her pithy and acute remarks about physical

appearances, style, clothing, manners, and a range of

other subjects that flowed across her alert and fascinat-    ^

ing mind.                                              \

 

Then Cass, with apparent reluctance, rose and said

that she had to get back to the Center, as she had an

evening assignment. Tiria even looked disappointed that

their threesome had to break up.

 

' 'Look, chip, anytime you want to have a gawk round   ;

 

some of the other malls—" Cass started.

 

"There are other ones?" Tiria exclaimed, shooting

an accusing glare at Sascha.

 

"Thousands," Cass told her with an unrepentant grin.

"But you can't really do more than one at a time, or it

 

all gets jumbled up in your head as to what you saw

where and which price. Believe me, I know!"

 

Tiria saw the merit of that and, tucking her hand in

Sascha's, was content to return to their transport and

the Center.

 

By the time they reached Dorotea's, their purchases

had arrived by express package tube and were piled

neatly about the room.

 

"What a charming combination!" Dorotea exclaimed

on seeing Tiria's clothes. Did you buy the mall out,

Sascha?

 

Give her a little while and she probably will. Cass

made the mistake of informing her there are a thousand

more just like Grafton 's, and we may never be able to

pay her bills.

 

Dorotea laughed. "I'll expect a fashion show after

supper, Tiria."

 

"Show? Why? I can put on something new every day

this week. That'll show you," Tiria replied. "What's

for supper? It smells good!"

 

"After all you just finished eating?" Sascha de-

manded.

 

"That was the treat. Don't I get supper after a treat?"

 

"Of course you do," Dorotea assured her, glaring at

Sascha.

 

If you 'd seen the three huge, gooey, sickeningly sweet

things\she consumed only a half hour ago, you might

not be so quick to stuff her with supper, Sascha cau-

tioned.

 

"Wash your hands, Tiria, and I'll serve immediately.

Are you staying, Sascha?"

 

"No, thanks," he said, managing to sound polite.

Peter was right about her being telepathic. But she

doesn 't know she is.

 

Hmmm. You see, you did team something from her

today. What did she learn from you ?

 

How to spend money, Sascha replied sourly, and left.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

226 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 227

 

If the official spectators at the launch even noticed

the youngster seated to one side in the upper control

room, they would have supposed him to be a child on

a special tour, his youth according him a treat. The men

certainly noticed the woman who sat beside him, for

she had an arresting beauty and an unusual silver streak

in her dark hair. However, her attention never strayed

from the boy. Equally involved in him was the tall dark-

haired man in fatigues with a colonel's eagle on one

collar tab. So few spared the trio more than a passing

glance. The real action was taking place out by the mas-

sive towering gantry, where gale-force winds whipped

the steam from the shuttle's rocket end. All recent

launches had been pretty tricky, the bad weather caus-

ing havoc with all air transport but none more so than

the critical first minutes of a shuttle launch.

 

The countdown echoed through the shielded room—

at the count of eight, the spectators were jockeying for

position for an unimpeded view through the treated slit

windows, eager for ignition and takeoff. Fingers were

surreptitiously crossed, for this was the thirteenth suc-

cessive shuttle flight.

 

"We have ignition!" As often as that phrase was

uttered, it was always said with a ring of quiet triumph.

 

As the shuttle engines began their full-throated roar,

none of the spectators would be able to hear another noise,

that of power generators pulsing at ever-increasing speed:

 

a subtle whine that built and then leveled on" just as the

shuttle, one of the majestic new Rigel class, began its

first imperceptible upward thrust. The final link to the

launch tower fell away. Everyone held his or her breath.

Then, despite the howling wind and the lashing rain,

the shuttle crept upward from the reinforced concrete

without deviating a centimeter from the optimum take-

off trajectory. Lift became obvious with increasing ac-

celeration, and suddenly the bird was up and running,

disappearing, except for the radiance of its rockets, into

the lowering ceiling of dark gray swirling clouds.

 

Immediately all eyes turned to the newly installed

infrared monitors that continued to track the shuttle on

its unswerving path through the atmosphere and safely

above the turbulence, well on its way to Padrugoi Sta-

tion, where its payload was urgently needed.

 

"The pilot has the conn," Peter Reidinger said,

opening his eyes. He glanced first at Rhyssa and she

nodded, smiling reassurance as she removed her hand

from his. He liked her to be touching him in these mo-

ments, even if he could not feel it.

 

"You have the conn, Crosbie," the controller said,

letting out a small sigh of relief. "Good thrust, Pete.

You're working like a charm. Got the whole thing down

to a science."

 

"It is," Johnny Greene reminded him, grinning.

 

"You know what I mean, Colonel," the controller

said, flapping his hand.

 

"He's teasing you," Peter said, turning his attention

to the monitor. He did not really need it—he could fol-

low the ascent of the shuttle like a pulse in his vein, a

tingle of power running up and down his bones. He

could feel that.

 

"Very economical thrust, Peter," Johnny said, pe-

rusing the printout on the generator control panel.

"That's the third one in a row at that level gestalt. I

think we can now establish certain parameters to power

usage in bad-weather launches—even if I still can't tell

how you do it." He made a disgruntled noise in his

throat. The ex-etop pilot had been hoping that he could

learn Peter's gestalt link by following his mind during

a launch. He and Rhyssa had decided that the fact that

he had only latent kinetic Talent might be all to the

good—for a pure kinetic might be unable to adapt to

Peter's ways. But he had had no more luck than Sascha

at discerning the boy's method.

 

"Maybe you're trying too hard, JG," Peter sug-

gested. "I keep as open as I can ..."

 

"I know you do, lad. Wide open. I'm just too clumsy

 

 

 

 

228 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

to get through the door. I think it's going to have to be

a trained kinetic."

 

"Second-stage ignition," the controller said, alerted

by his board. "On its way! You do good work, Pete.

Good work."

 

"C'mon, time for your swimming lesson, Pete,"

Johnny said. "Gotta keep you fit enough to launch these

 

birds."

 

"Can't I stay? To be sure it docks okay?" Peter

would not admit, even deep in his skull where Rhyssa

might see, that he did not have enough energy left im-

mediately after a launch to move from the couch. He

grasped at any excuse to gain the few necessary mo-

ments to reenergize himself.

 

"The bird's okay," the controller assured him.

 

"Look all you want," Johnny said, reseating him-

self. If he had guessed Peter's secret, he never let on.

 

The spectators below were beginning to file out of

the gallery, hunching into wet-weather gear, bracing

themselves for the stiff winds. With a wink, the con-

troller turned on the intercom.

 

"I tell you. Senator, it is a measure of the state of

the art in space technology that we're now able to launch

despite the weather."

 

"If I had a nickel for every hold I've had to wait

through, m'boy, I'd be able to buy drinks for the entire

base. Just how much did you say this new technology

cost us?"

 

The figure mentioned by the congressman was three

times as much as Peter's contract had actually cost. And

nearly one hundred percent more than the generator.

 

Peter grinned broadly, thoroughly enjoying the

eavesdropping. He had been appalled at how much a

big generator cost—though Colonel Greene assured him

that it was a pittance when compared to other items

purchased for Canaveral—and he could not believe the

contract figure, for his short-term services. Not to men-

tion the bonuses for every successful launch. He had

 

AnneMcCaffrey           229

 

been even more delighted when Rhyssa suggested that

the Center increase the pension that was being sent to

his parents.

 

Talents were generally not contracted until they were

at least eighteen years old, but the circumstances and

his unusual ability had been construed as sufficient to

make an exception—a brief exception.

 

Vemon's advice to the Center had been that if the

technology cost, it was bound to be considered more

efficient than something in the medium range. The dif-

ference between fact and fiction went into the Center's

research fund.

 

At that, it had taken some finagling on Altenbach's

part to get the Canaveral staff to consider the "new

technology," even with the enthusiastic assistance of

General Halloway and Colonel Straub. Peter had not

been mentioned; the generators had, plus some very

odd "instrumentation." Peter, in fact, had been hidden

behind a screen with Rhyssa when the "new technol-

ogy" had had its first test. He had kinetically flown a

drone from Canaveral to Eglin Field despite gale-force

winds and a ceiling of 100 meters. He had landed it

right on the target painted on the runway—to show the

precision of the "new technology." He was then al-

lowed to launch a loaded drone into orbit, where it

could be retrieved by a Padrugoi-based craft. His pre-

cision again was the deciding factor: so many drones

had wandered off course that the drone program had

been drastically curtailed.

 

Two days later a proper shuttle launch was grudg-

ingly permitted. There was no foreseeable change in the

terrible weather patterns, and shipments had fallen

weeks behind delivery. That first morning, Peter had

been a trifle anxious, and the shuttle had ascended at

such an astonishing rate that the controllers had thought

that a misfire had occurred, and they had been about to

abort the mission. Peter, with Johnny telepathically as-

sisting him, had reduced the thrust and the mission had

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

230

 

continued. The pilot later was heard to mention that his

instrumentation had registered a g-force of 11 for the

first few moments—he had been scared shitless thinking

he would not even be able to activate the escape-pod

 

control on his armrest.

 

The "new technology" improved in finesse over the

ensuing launches, and NASA breathed a corporate sigh

of relief that it could complete all the programmed sup-

ply runs to Padrugoi.

 

Rhyssa and Johnny watched the expression on the

boy's rapt face as he followed the current shuttle's

progress. The controller handed them coffee as they

waited through Peter's absorption.

 

"Okay," the boy said finally, as the screen showed

the shuttle nearing its docking rendezvous and he had

recovered sufficiently. "The new technology is ready

for its swim.'' Though still a bit weak, he managed a

proper descent from his chair, raising his right hand in

a creditable wave to the controller as he maneuvered

the steps to the ground exit of the room.

 

It had taken four launches before the mission launch

controller was comfortable with "new technology" and

Peter's peculiar part in its schematics, but he had come

to like the youngster and had given up trying to figure

out how he did what he did—whatever it was.

 

"Get your slicker on, Pete," Johnny said.

 

Peter had discovered that he could kinetically keep

rain from soaking him, but he tried to resist the temp-

tation to show off unnecessarily. Dutifully he flipped

the slicker over him. Exiting the concrete bunker, they

all made a dash for their waiting aircar.

 

Two weeks after Rhyssa and Peter went to Florida,

Boris made one of his rare visits to the Center to apprise

Sascha of the fact that undercover agents believed more

children had been sold. The agents had noticed a lot of

floaters being,spent in Linears A, B, and C. So Cass

and Suz were sent on assignment to Linear E. As the

 

Anne McCaffrey            231

 

two women frequented all the Jersey Linears, they were

known to the inhabitants. Cass's pregnancy made her

even less suspicious, and she pretended ill health to

account for Suz's company. So far they had nothing to

report, not even a ripple of expectation. Whenever con-

tact permitted, they stuck a locating strand in the hair

of each child they encountered.

 

Similar teams were stranding Linear children

throughout the Jerhattan area. Scan teams worked

around the clock, waiting for a strand to show up in an

unlikely area.

 

"You know, Bro," Boris said, "we've got nothing

but stopgap techniques. Planting a telempath won't stop

kids being abducted." Sascha was in Rhyssa's office,

attending to routine administration details as he took a

break from formulating new testing procedures. Boris

was standing at the window, looking out on the peace-

ful scene below.

 

"No, no, no, and no, Bro," Sascha said without

looking up from the monitor. He made a rapid motion

across the keyboard, then swiveled about to give his

brother a hard stare. "There is no way in which I'll

permit Tiria to be used as bait!"

 

"But she's a natural," Boris said. "She knows how

to decipher Linear rumors the way no other operative

available to us can."

 

"You^think I,"—Sascha jabbed his chest with his

fingers—"would risk her?"

 

"Candidly, I don't think Tiria would be at risk,"

Boris went on, beginning to pace. "We could put her

in with Cass and Suz, set her up with every telltale

known to technology. She knows Linears, she can speak

any lingo, she's clever as can stare, and—"

 

"She's twelve years old and you're not using her as

bait," Sascha roared, not bothering to dampen his out-

rage and fury.

 

Boris regarded him with surprise. "That kid was

never twelve! And what's the matter with using the one

 

 

 

 

232 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

advantage we've found in dealing with Linear abduc-

tions? She's got a unique Talent, a natural camouflage,

and an ability for this sort of thing. Look how she man-

aged in Linear G."

 

"Linear G was a once-off. I'm not putting her at risk

like that again."

 

"She was never at risk. Except maybe from you!'\

Boris glared right back at his brother. "And this was

Cass's idea. I think it has potential. One thing sure,

Bro—unless we can get at the mastermind behind this

despicable traffic, we're going to be losing kids. Kids

who might well be Talented, too."

 

"You step up your search-and-seizes, Boris. Leave

Tiria out of your calculations. There are other ways,

ethical and technological ways, to solve LEO prob-

lems."

 

"Sascha, if I had the personnel to do it the hard way,

I would," Boris replied, his face reddening in an effort

to keep his temper in the face of his twin's intransi-

gence.

 

"Use some of the Linear G kids as bait then. They'd

love a chance to get out of the hostel!"

 

Boris gave his brother one long look. "You know,

that's not a bad idea. I'll check 'em out." With that he

strode out of the room.

 

CHAPTER 14

 

•?* •$• Despite the work, those last three weeks in Flor-

ida had been almost vacation time for Rhyssa, John

Greene, and Peter. Launching thirteen of the eighteen

supply shuttles occupied two or three hours of a day at

the most for Peter.

 

When Johnny Greene started to explain the mechan-

ics of lift, trajectory, orbiting, and other such matters

pertaining to the job at hand, he and Rhyssa discovered

that there were woeful gaps in Peter's education. He

had not even had bedside schooling during his months

in the hospital. So a telempathic tutor was immediately

hired.

 

Alan Eton quickly discovered that Peter had the usual

boyish disregard for grammar, spelling, and syntax,

though his vocabulary skills were, in technical areas,

beyond his age group. His mathematics were well into

first,-yea^ university, and his understanding of certain

aspects of physics was curiously advanced. With the

colonel as his role model, Peter was eager to progress

in those sciences. Taking advantage of the boy's ad-

miration, John Greene suggested that he had better im-

prove his computer and English skills, as well, even if

he was kinetically superior. While Peter understood

some chemical and biological concepts—particularly

those that had a bearing on his accident—he had, nat-

urally, had no laboratory experience. A course of study

was initiated and regular school hours kept, with Alan

guiding Peter deftly into independent study of whatever

233

 

 

 

 

Anne McCaffrey            235

 

234 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

the boy wanted to learn while filling in the more obvi-

ous lacks. A university degree, bachelor or advanced,

was not at issue for Peter Reidinger: his career was well

underway, but if he was to develop to his full potential,

it was essential for him to have an overall understanding

of many disciplines. Occasionally, as he struggled

through his lessons, he wondered how Tiria was doing

and what sort of training Sascha was giving her.

 

Physiotherapy was still a necessity, and without the

inhibiting body brace Peter had no trouble exercising

his limbs, which he did religiously, hoping to acquire

some muscle.

 

"There have been instances," the physiotherapist had

told Rhyssa and Johnny, "where even badly damaged

neural tissue has been stimulated. That's what we can

wish for Peter. To feel and to move normally."

 

"What's the probability?" Rhyssa asked.

 

The physiotherapist had shrugged ruefully. "Who

knows? It certainly does no harm for him to exercise

kinetically. Improves muscle tone and fluidity of move-

ment. I'll be honest, I wouldn't have guessed he was

walking kinetically when he entered the gym the first

time."

 

Swimming was Peter's favorite sport. Water sup-

ported his body, and with minimal effort he could give

the illusion of swimming. He could even do incredible

dives oif the board, hovering in the air as he made his

body twist and then entering the water cleanly. There

had not been enough sun in those weeks to produce a

tan, but surrogate facilities had given him an excellent

color. Rhyssa had benefited, as well.

 

"You needed this rest," Johnny told her as they

lounged on the sunbeds while keeping an eye on Peter,

who was splashing happily about in the pool, pretend-

ing he was a dolphin.

 

"You know," she said with a deep sigh, "I think I

did. It's been pretty hectic the last few months." She

sighed agahL "But that's the rigors of being Center

 

director—and I wouldn't be anything else in spite of the

negatives."

 

"You ever going to marry, or have kids?" Johnny

asked at his most casual.

 

"Johnny Greene, what are you leading up to?" She

cocked an eyebrow, which warned him that, if he was

not straight with her, she would probably winkle the

information out of his mind.

 

Johnny gave her a rakish grin. "Nothing—except that

Dave Lehardt just arrived." His grin broadened as he

saw her reaction. "Ah! So! You're not entirely immune

to his charm, after all."

 

Rhyssa managed a laugh, though she could not hide

the sudden flush of pleasure at the news. "How do you

know? You can't 'hear' him if I can't."

 

"I saw him get out of the car. He's coming around

through the house." The gleam in Johnny's eyes was

intolerable to her.

 

"We're just working friends," she said, and heard a

mental ha-ha from Johnny as Dave Lehardt strode into

the pool room. Johnny chuckled again as Dave's glance

rested on her just that moment longer before he greeted

the others.

 

"Hi there, Skeleteam," Dave called to Peter, who

had an arm looped around the pool stair rail. "Need a

hand out?"

 

"I think you'd better, Pete," Rhyssa said. "Your

lips are blue, and your skin's wrinkled. Hi, Dave."

 

Johnny, on a tight band: You'd make a good team,

you know. His beauty and your intelligence!

 

Rhyssa projected an image of herself chasing Johnny

with an outsized hunk of wood with the words "blunt

instrument" carved on it.

 

Johnny: Dorotea thinks so, too.

 

Rhyssa: You guys let me do my own thinking.

 

Johnny: Dave will, because he can't hear you. And

that's about the only drawback. He lusts after you, you

know.'

 

 

 

 

236 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 237

 

"Really impressive launch today, Pete," Dave went

on, hauling the boy out of the pool by one arm and

deftly covering him with a huge towel.

 

"He gets better every time," Johnny said, latching

onto a spare lounger with his artificial foot and hauling

it closer to where he and Rhyssa were sitting.

 

Rhyssa: You watch yourself, John Greene. I've my

own minder, she recalled with amusement Peter's handy

treatment of the annoying Prince Phanibal, and I'll tell

him to dunk you if you misbehave.

 

Johnny sent her an image of wide-eyed innocence.

Me? Step out of line—especially if you threaten to short-

circuit my cybernetic limbs in a lousy pool? D 'you know

what salt water does to my spare parts? He imaged a

violent shudder that sent bits and pieces spinning off his

artificial arm and leg.

 

"Actually, the last three shoots have been within a

jog of the same power settings," Rhyssa said to the

new arrival.

 

Dave Lehardt periscoped his lean length to seat him-

self on a lounger and grinned at Rhyssa. Was she imag-

ining that his eyes were wanner when he looked at her?

Damn him for not having a Talent! Damn him for hav-

ing such a naturally dense mental shield! She had no

real clue—except in blue eyes she wanted to drown in-

to go on. No wonder the unTalented regularly bungled

relationships. And yet...

 

"NASA is delighted with the effectiveness of its new

guidance-and-tracking system," Dave was saying,

looking well pleased, "and they're quite happy to leave

it in the 'need to know' category. More queries from

Padrugoi, requesting details of this top-secret G and T

as a possible adjunct to their systems."

 

"And?" Johnny queried, flipping over on the sunbed,

eyes narrowed to slits and his body relaxing in the

warmth.

 

"General Halloway hems and haws with the best of

them about a' trial model, with a formidable test

 

schedule ahead of it, by no means a totally proven

system ..."

 

"I am too a proven system," Peter said, looking dis-

gruntled as he floated over, an eerie-looking maneuver

since his feet were invisible under the swathing of towel

that he was trying to keep out of the puddles around the

pool. His teeth chattered.

 

"Oh here," Rhyssa said, making room for him on

the sunbed. She would have fallen off if Dave had not

quickly prevented it with hands and knees. She felt

warm where he touched her, a warmth that was nothing

generated by a sunbed. Then she settled Peter beside

her, adjusting his limbs. "You're up to fifteen minutes'

sunning today, aren't you?"

 

"Tell you one thing," Dave went on, still supporting

Rhyssa's body. "I'm going to have to change the nick-

name Skeleteam. You don't look so much like one any-

more."

 

"All this good wholesome Florida sunshine," Peter

said, grinning at Dave. He had finally gotten over his

jealousy of the PR man: it was difficult to be jealous of

a guy he liked so much, who could think up neat treats

and found the best places to eat. Johnny often argued

to Rhyssa—when Dave was not around—that the man

had to have Talent but that it simply wasn't measurable.

Then he discussed things like traumatic breakthroughs

and psychological reluctances, and Rhyssa replied that

sometimes it was nice to know someone who could al-

ways surprise you.

 

"If you see any of that wholesome sunshine, let me

know, huh?" Dave remarked, referring to the fact that

the rain had lifted only briefly in the past three weeks.

"When are you guys going to develop a reliable

Weather Talent?"

 

"Look, we just got one minor miracle up and run-

ning," Rhyssa replied. "Give us at least three days!"

 

"God,only rested one day," Dave said, deepening

his voice to a bass register and looking pious.

 

 

 

 

238         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

239

 

"Three weeks, three months, three years, three de-

cades," Johnny replied in a sepulchral tone. "Can't

even figure ol' Petey boy out, and I've been busting my

buns for weeks now."

 

"Pete," Dave began, "how do you see what you do?

Might as well ask the source right out straight," he

added in a broad aside to Rhyssa.

 

Peter laughed and pretended to consider the question,

knotting his brows and rubbing his chin the way Johnny

sometimes did. "It's like I think that's what I want to

do—move the shuttle up—and I sort of lean into the

generators, revving them up, and then I sort of—he

shrugged his thin shoulders—"let go."

 

"Like a stone from a slingshot?" Dave asked.

 

"Yeah, sort of like that."

 

"You don't sound sure."

 

"I'm not. It needs doing. I do it."

 

Rhyssa, sensing Peter's distress about being unable

to explain adequately, put a warning hand on Dave's

knee. His hand immediately covered hers, keeping her

arm in a slightly awkward position. Over Peter's prone

body, Johnny grinned at her.

 

"There are many operations," Rhyssa went on

quickly, "that one accomplishes strictly on an invol-

untary basis. Like breathing. You don't consciously go

through the steps of drawing breath in and exhaling it—

it's an involuntary procedure. Or take reaching for a

glass. You don't consciously tell your hand to extend

the required distance, tell your fingers to encircle it and

your arm to lift the light weight. The task is accom-

plished without much conscious effort. Peter is working

on such a deeply involuntary basis that he cannot—yet—

analyze the requisite steps. Once Lance Baden is re-

leased from durance vile on the station, I think we'll

see progress in understanding what Skeleteam does as

easily as he breathes."

 

"It's not quite that easy," Peter said.

 

"Don't hurt Skeleteam's feelings," Johnny said in

mock affront. "He'll strike!"

 

"Not with his contract, he won't," Rhyssa said feel-

ingly.

 

"You know, Pete," Johnny began in a thoughtful

tone, "what you said about something needing to be

done and doing it. You really don't stop to think how?

You just do it?"

 

"As you yourself, if I may remind you, landed a

badly damaged shuttle on your twenty-first mission,"

Dave put in. "Experts still haven't figured out how you

did that!"

 

John Greene grinned at him. "Neither have I. Sorry,

Pete."

 

"You were using kinesis?" Peter asked.

 

"Nothing else would have gotten us down that day

with one wing crumpled and the tail assembly blown

off. Technically I had what they call a traumatic explo-

sion of Talent necessitated by an intense urge to sur-

vive."

 

"What hit you?" Peter asked then. He had always

wanted to ask, but it had never been quite the right

moment and he was not sure if the colonel liked to be

reminded of how he had lost an arm and a leg.

 

"Some damned-fool half-trained clowns, doing aer-

obatics through the flight path," Johnny told him, curs-

ing fluently and inventively on both audible and

telepathic levels. Peter's eyes rounded with awe at the

flavorful language. "Fortunately they didn't survive to

answer to me, or the law, for their antics."

 

"Oh!" was Peter's reaction to John's uncharacteris-

tic bitterness.

 

"You're not going to waste the pool, are you,

Dave?" Rhyssa asked, to change the subject, and in the

hope of regaining control of her hand before her aim

fell asleep.

 

"You're stuck with me for a few days at any rate,"

Dave replied. "Without benefit of the Skeleteam, the

 

 

 

 

240         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

241

 

airport's socked in solid." He rose and, whistling a

jaunty tune, began to pick his way through the puddles

in the direction of the changing room.

 

Johnny heaved a sigh and resettled himself on the

sunbed, hands cushioning his head. The nu-skin sheath-

ing his artificial arm looked real enough except, Rhyssa

noticed, that it did not take a tan. Peter, however, was

becoming a rich brown that made him appear like any

other healthy, if scrawny, boy his age. He was also

falling asleep, considerably more tired by the morning's

activities than he would ever admit. Smiling tenderly

down at the boy, Rhyssa eased herself off the sunbed

and onto the lounger that Dave had just vacated. She

checked the timer: Peter had ten minutes to go. She

relaxed on the soft mattress.

 

'7e-sus Christ!"

 

Dave's sudden expletive roused her, and she watched

helplessly as, in midair, he flailed with arms and legs

from a slip in a puddle, his long body poised to come

down right across the comer of the tiled pool in what

would be a serious fall. The sunbed lights went off, and

the next instant his abrupt descent was halted and he

came to rest gently on the poolside, unharmed, un-

bruised, but considerably shaken.

 

"How the hell . . ."

 

"My God!" Johnny Greene exclaimed. "Did you do

that, Pete?" he asked. The very slightest of snores an-

swered him. "My God\ I did it! I did it! / did it!" His

voice rose in a crescendo as he stared at Rhyssa in a

state of shocked delight and surprise.

 

Rhyssa began to shake her head, grinning so hard at

the breakthrough that she thought her face would split.

 

"That was all you," she assured him. "Once again

Johnny on the spot!"

 

The moment Dave Lehardt entered the kitchen that

evening as Rhyssa was clearing up the debris of their

celebratory meal, she knew "a moment" had come.

 

Over the last few months of their close association, she

had learned to pick up the subtle hints of his body lan-

guage and her own responses to him. She felt her heart-

beat begin to speed up, and she tried not to crash dishes

about or drop things. Worse, she could extract no help-

ful clues from this man's mind. Perhaps that was why

Dave appeared to be so much more romantic than any

of her Talented associations.

 

He came right up to her so that she had to look about,

to acknowledge his proximity.

 

"The hardest thing in dealing with you Talents is to

catch you when no one else is listening," he began.

His blue eyes held a very intense look. He took the

saucepan away from her and returned it to the soapy

water, then put both hands on her arms and turned her

slightly but decisively toward him. "Pete and Johnny

are so involved in a rehash of my pratfall, they couldn't

be paying attention to anything else." With a little pres-

sure of his hands, he pulled her against him.

 

Johnny: Don't you dare be coy!

 

Rhyssa: Get out of my head, Johnny Greene.

 

Peter: Ah, just when it's getting interesting. How'II I

ever learn how it's done!

 

Rhyssa: Break off! Both of you! If I feel so much as

a tendril of thought. . .

 

Johnny: / think she means it!

 

Peter: / know she does!

 

Her mind was filled with a deafening silence.

 

"They're not," Rhyssa assured him.

 

"I've been told and warned, obliquely and right to

my face, that I've no right to ask a woman of your

obvious Talent, and talents, to many a man without an

ounce of the right stuff in him.''

 

Rhyssa felt a surge of anger flare deep inside. She

wondered who had been inhibiting this wonderful, car-

ing man—especially considering all he had done to aid

Talents. Then she willed him not to stop talking such

 

 

 

 

242 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

marvelously romantic stuff and tilted her head up en-

couragingly. She shivered with anticipation.

 

"But I think such a decision is up to you and me,"

he went on. "And I'm so totally besotted with you that

I can't think straight when you're in the same room with

me, and I don't think of much else but you when we're

apart. Rbyssa Owen, would you even consider many-

ing me?"

 

"What took you so many eons to ask?" she replied,

folding her arms about his neck and grinning up at him.

 

With a gladness that seemed to emanate from every

pore of him, he clasped her firmly in his arms and kissed

her with a great deal of entirely satisfactory expertise,

just as if he had read her mind.

 

CHAPTER 15

 

^^ Sascha!

 

He could not ignore Dorotea's call, but it was coming

at an awkward moment. He lifted his hand to signal to

Budworth and Sirikit for a slight break in their discus-

sion.

 

Dorotea's mental tone was colored by vexation. As

you showed her how to use her wristband to purchase

damned near anything anywhere, you may now teach

her thrift and budgeting. And some sense of order in

her own room! There's not an inch of space that isn 't

stacked ceiling-high with "bargains. "

 

Sascha: Where is she?

 

Dorotea, at the end of her patience: Trying on clothes

while viewing today's lessons!

 

"Look, Bud, run those ethnic groupings again,"

Sascha ordered. "We've at least got a statistical fore-

cast of how many psionic Talents each generation has

produced since Darrow and op Owen's time. Now let's

break it down into individual Talent manifestations:

 

precogs, finders, affinities, kinetics, telepaths, telem-

paths."

 

Budworth shrugged equably and began to formulate

the program.

 

"I still don't know how," Sirikit said in her soft,

lilting tones, "that's going to help us discover Talent

in the Linears."

 

"Where there's smoke, there's gotta be a fire or

tw6," Sascha commented cryptically as he exited. But

243

 

 

 

 

244

 

Anne McCaffrey           245

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

his mind was already on one particular Talent who had

come so far from her early years in the Linears.

 

Since that fateful shopping trip three weeks before,

Tiria had discovered a new pastime that almost rivaled

her hunger for learning. At first, Dorotea had been

amused. "It's hunger of another sort: acquisition. It'll

pass."

 

Cass had accompanied her on two more expeditions,

showing her how to use the subway transport, and

thought it was fun to watch Tiria slip into the most

exclusive shops and boutiques. Then she had started

shopping on her own, and scoffed when Dorotea wor-

ried that child-stealers would snatch her.

 

"Snatch me? Not likely," Tiria replied scathingly.

"I can smell their sort coming on the streets. I'm safe

in the malls."

 

But the malls were not free from all peril, for she was

detained twice by overzealous officials and, to her

credit, had waited patiently until someone—usually

Sascha—arrived from the Center to verify her right to

wear the ID bracelet and make charges against the Cen-

ter's account.

 

She was more amused by the detentions than alarmed,

and determined to enjoy her new pastime. Certainly she

was not deterred from her expeditions, and since Sascha

backed Cass's opinion that Tiria was capable of han-

dling herself, Dorotea's apprehension waned. Invari-

ably, Tiria ended her afternoons at the Old-Fashioned

Parlor. When Tiria announced that she was going to

work her way right through the five pages of confec-

tionery selections, Dorotea had laughed.

 

"It might put a little weight on those bird bones of

hers, and she always eats her dinner," she said. "I wish

she would put on weight. What must those shop atten-

dants think when that child looks half-starved all the

time?"

 

Dorotea was standing in the living room when Sascha

arrived in answer to her summons, and she pointed

 

sternly toward Tiria's room. Sascha tapped on the door,

and Tiria's cheerful hum broke off.

 

"Who is it?" There was always that note of appre-

hension when the girl was caught unawares. Once she

could break into the telepathic mode that Sascha was

certain she possessed, she would rarely be caught off-

guard again.

 

"Sascha!"

 

"Just a minute."

 

For just a moment, Sascha thought he caught a stray

coy thought, and then the door opened, in stages, be-

cause Tiria had to rearrange things to get it wide enough

for him to enter. Sascha looked in and groaned.

 

"Tiria, what happened to the kid who had to be

coaxed into buying more than one outfit?" It was the

first thing that came into his head, and it was probably

not at all the way to handle the situation.

 

Dorotea, in disgust: Ham-handed twit!

 

Tiria blinked at Sascha. "But you told me I could

shop whenever I wanted to. Just look what I found to-

day!" And she held up a pair of stiletto-heeled sandals

with jeweled straps. "And they fit. They didn't cost

much, because the shopkeeper had had them around for

decades and practically gave them to me. Aren't they

lovely? D'you want to see them on? They make me

much taller."

 

. "I'm sure they do, Tiria, but to be candid, they're

not the sort of thing a girl your age should wear."

 

"They fit!" she repeated as if that were the most

important aspect.

 

"Tiria! Is there no place I can sit down in here? And

that's what has Dorotea so upset. You know how neat

she keeps everything in the house."

 

Dorotea: That's right. Blame me.

 

"While Talents may have what they need, and also

what they want, within reason,'" he went on, "that's

th^ operative phrase. This—" He gestured broadly,

hooking a hanger and its layers of clothing off the door.

 

 

 

 

246 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 247

 

The pile tumbled to enlarge a mass of colorful blouses

lying beside the door. "This is no longer reasonable!"

 

Tiria merely looked up at him, her face expression-

less, but he sensed so deep a hurt and disappointment

that he relented instantly. "I don't think I can send it

all back," she said. "I've tried everything on."

 

"Look, chip," he said, using Cass's affectionate

nickname for her, "sending it all back is not the an-

swer."

 

It's a start! Dorotea put in.

 

"Learning to buy wisely is. Some of this stuff—"

Sascha pointed to items of intimate apparel in lace and

gauze that were far too sophisticated for even a twenty-

year-old. "—can be packed up and stored ..."

 

Dorotea, acidly: Where?

 

"In the vaults." He began picking up other inappro-

priate garments. "And we'll get the clutter down to

manageable proportions." In doing so he exposed a

small hill of shoes, of all colors and in a variety of

styles that astonished him—and all of them small enough

to fit Tirla's dainty feet.

 

Dorotea: Cinderella complex?

 

Sascha: Pairs, every single one of them, he said

wryly.

 

Dorotea: Then how can they be pairs?

 

"Five pairs of shoes, no more, Tirla." He saw her

sulky expression. "Five pairs at one time. And ten dif-

ferent outfits in the closet. None of this . . ."He held

up an emerald green ball gown with exquisitely detailed

beadwork in silver and leaf green. It was exceedingly

stylish, and the color was perfect for Tirla—but not un-

til she reached twenty. Eighteen, at least. "I'll have

some trunks sent over so you can put everything away.

Then we're going to sit down and work out a budget."

 

"Budget? Like they do for cities and projects?" Sur-

prised, Tirla came out of her sulk.

 

"Yes. Th& Center has a budget, I have a budget,

Peter has a budget ..."

 

Dorotea: All God's chillun got budgets!

 

"Then I won't be able to go shopping again?"

 

Sascha was not impervious to her broken voice and

her sad expression. "Shop all you want. Look in every

damned mall on Manhattan, Long Island, and the Jer-

sey Shore. Just don't buy anything. Window shop to

your heart's content."

 

"Never buy anything again?"

 

La da da, da da da dah! Dorotea sang, mimicking a

nostalgic violin air.

 

All right, Sascha retorted. And how would you curb

a kid who's never had much in her life and suddenly

can have anything she wants?

 

More or less as you 're doing, Dorotea admitted. Just

don't waver at the sight of tears in her big black eyes!

 

Sascha caught an undertone in Dorotea's voice that

puzzled him. But he ignored it and returned his full

attention to Tirla. "No, chip, not never. Just not so

much so constantly, things you don't really need right

now, because you've got enough—of practically every-

thing, as far as I can see."

 

She sank to the edge of her barely visible bed. "But

it's not fun to window shop unless you've got someone

with you. Where's Cass? She loves to shop."

 

"Cass is out on assignment."

 

Tirla cocked her head up at him, no longer a disap-

pointed and confused twelve-year-old. "More kids

missing?"

 

"Not yet," he said mendaciously. "We want to keep

it that way."

 

"Is she in a Linear?" Excitement brightened her ex-

pression.

 

Sascha nodded.

 

Dorotea: For the love of little apples, don't tell her

where, or she'll track Cass down.

 

"Why don't you let me work undercover with her? I

could be her kid and—"

 

"No!"

 

 

 

 

248 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Tula rocked back on the bed at the vehemence of his

response. She looked hurt and confused again and even

younger than her chronological age.

 

"Sorry, chip." Sascha ruffled her sleek and shining

hair in an effort to compensate for his tactlessness.

"Give yourself a little break. We didn't catch Yassim,

and if he spots you, he'd have you wasted so fast, none

of us could help you."

 

Tiria noticeably paled.

 

Dorotea: Well, she's still afraid of Yassim!

 

Tiria seemed so afraid that Sascha gathered her up in

his arms and rocked her. "Yassim can't get you here

in the Center, Tiria. You're safe here. I want to keep

you safe so you can grow up and use that rare Tal-

ent you have ... to earn enough money to pay for all

you've been buying." He tried to make a joke of it.

He felt her stiffen in his arms. "No, not your float-

ers!" And he had to laugh. The little witch. Her hoard

was precious to her, never to be broached. "Just think

how little you'd have left if you had spent your stash.

Think of that the next time you want to buy some-

thing. Pretend you're spending your money."

 

"I wouldn 't spend my money," she mumbled against

his chest.

 

With the slender little body curled trustfully in his

lap, Sascha permitted himself just a few moments to

caress her hair and savor the feel of her in his arms.

Why Tiria? Of all the women in the world, how could

this little waif, streetwise and precocious, have become

so entangled in his emotions and heart? She could not

possibly understand how much she meant to him. She

was far too young for that aspect of maturing to have

touched her. And yet... she responded to him as she

did to no one else. With a final little hug, he put her

from him as gently as he could. One day, eight or nine

years in the future . . .

 

Dorotea had no comment to make. To his surprise,

Tiria obediently began to fold up her possessions, neatly

 

Anne McCaffrey           249

 

and carefully. Sascha watched for a few more moments

and then went to arrange for trunks.

 

Peter and Rhyssa returned in quiet triumph the day

that Cass Cutler reported to Boris that three Neesters

and two Hispanics in Linear E were suspiciously more

affluent than they had any right to be. Boris decided

that he would not darken the happy return with such

news and did not even inform Sascha of the event.

 

Dorotea and Tiria both exclaimed over how well Pe-

ter looked, tanned and healthy and moving with more

confidence, while Rhyssa listened, an oddly soft smile

on her face. Dave Lehardt had remained behind in Flor-

ida to finalize his PR campaign, setting the stage for

Colonel Johnny Greene to assume the role of Skele-

team.

 

In his turn, Peter took full notice of Tirla's new ele-

gance and was amazed that she had shopped the malls

herself.

 

"Well, Sascha took me the first time," she admitted.

 

Dorotea, privately to Rhyssa: And said "Open Ses-

ame," and in a week Tirla's room was as full as a

bazaar.

 

Sascha: / heard that. Knock it off!

 

Rhyssa: Did she pick that outfit herself?

 

Dorotea: She picked out everything herself and a lot

of things a twelve-year-old girl has no need of—yet.

 

Rhyssa: She's got good taste—in what she's wearing

now.

 

Dorotea: Good taste all round. Just a trifle sophisti-

cated.

 

Aware that Sascha was seething, Dorotea changed

the subject.

 

Peter and Tiria slipped out of the room.

 

"How come you're allowed to go to the mall all the

time?" Peter asked Tiria, envious of her freedom. He

was never allowed to go anywhere on his own.

 

Tiria shrugged. "Oh, they tried to tell me how dan-

 

 

 

 

250 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 251

 

gerous it was." She giggled. "As if I didn't know how

to take care of myself in any old Linear. Particularly

one as straight as the ones here in Jerhattan."

 

"And you go whenever you want?"

 

"Nearly every day." She cocked her head at him.

"You ever been to the Old-Fashioned Parlor of Gastro-

nomical Delights?"

 

"Me?" Peter thumped his hand against his chest,

then grimaced. He still didn't have the small-muscle

control needed to use just a thumb or a finger. He was

feeling aggrieved on several counts. "Oh, I heard about

me Parlor." He pretended indifference, but then his

pose faltered. "Is it really that good?"

 

"Good?" Tirla's enthusiasm bubbled out of her.

"It's spectacular. You wouldn't believe the concoc-

tions they serve. 'The most,' " she quoted from the

menu, " 'scrumptious, delectable monstrosities of

confections you'll ever experience.' " Sensing Peter's

longing, Tiria deliberately encouraged it. "Any kind

of flavor of ice cream, all homemade, every topping

known to man . . ."

 

"And you just go?"

 

"Sure. Why not? It's only four stops away on the

subway." She jerked her thumb at the murmur of adult

voices coming from the living room. "Who'd miss us

for half an hour, anyway?" When she saw the hesita-

tion on his face, she added almost challengingly,

"They're busy. We'd be back before they'd know we'd

gone!"

 

That decided Peter, though he knew perfectly well

that his physical circumstances were far different from

Tirla's. Nevertheless, she was younger than he was,

and if she was allowed, he was, too.

 

They left the house by the side door, Tiria skipping

beside Peter in delight at his company. It was going to

be such fan showing him just how well she knew her

way around.

 

* * *

 

Peter could sense how pleased Tiria was to be able

to take him someplace familiar to her but new to him.

So he just smiled as they took their seats on the subway

from the Center platform. Other Talents on the same

car grinned at the two, sending telepathic greetings and

congratulations to Peter, who had learned to assume a

modest demeanor in public, even among other Talents.

 

Tiria was describing in great detail her favorite gas-

tronomical delight—the one with four kinds of ice

cream, four kinds of toppings, four kinds of nuts, and

cherries, coconut, and multicolored sprinkles.

 

"My mother took me to a place like that," Peter

said, "oh, a long time ago now. For my tenth birthday.

My sister goes a lot; Mother says that's why she has

spots so often."

 

"Spots?"

 

"Pimples. Zits. Facial eruptions."

 

"Oh," Tiria replied in a tone that expressed unen-

lightenment. Peter imaged a pimpled face at her. "Oh!

That sort." Surreptitiously she ran her hand over her

face.

 

Peter laughed. "You may never get spots, Tiria,"

Peter said encouragingly. "They keep us on a healthy

diet anyhow. Not subbie food."

 

"What was Florida like?" Tiria asked.

 

Peter had learned a lot from watching Dave Lehardt

answer difficult questions tactfully. So he told her about

the flat land and the palm trees, the sand, the good

food, the pool, and the sunbeds, and she seemed quite

content at his implication that he and Rhyssa had been

taking a holiday.

 

She assumed leadership as soon as they reached the

right station and eagerly started running up the steps

ahead of him before she remembered his disability.

When she stopped, he was right beside her.

 

"Your vacation did you a lot of good, didn't it?" she

said, and plowed on upward. "See—there's the Parlor,

just inside the mall entrance," she added, pointing.

 

 

 

 

252 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Neither youngster noticed that their progress was be-

ing closely observed by two men, just descending from

an elegant private hopper parked on the mall's helipad.

The shorter man took a small black instrument from his

pocket and pointed it at them.

 

"How exceedingly careless. Neither of them has been

stranded! I want them taken! Especially that odious lit-

tle boy! I want no slipup, no excuses. You won't have

too much trouble with the boy, but his companion

mustn't be allowed to spread an alarm. Do it as fast as

you can assemble a crew. Have I made myself plain?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Peter was able to shout just once, his cry more indig-

nant than alarmed. Then an ominous silence descended

despite Rhyssa's attempts to reestablish communica-

tions. She wasted no more time on the silence but

broadcast on the widest band possible.

 

ALERT, ALL TALENTS, ALL LEO PERSONNEL!

Peter Reidinger may have been abducted. Presumably

in vicinity of Old-Fashioned Parlor. Tiria was with him.

 

TIRLA! Sascha's blast was nearly as loud as hers.

 

Complying! came Boris's calming bass tone. All units

in the area are to commence search procedures. Fax

photos of the children are being dispatched to all ve-

hicles. I'm proceeding immediately to question any pos-

sible witnesses. This is a Top Priority.

 

This is a G and H Priority! Sascha added with bitter

vehemence. Sirikit, what does Budworth have on the

strand scanner? There was a long and stunned pause.

Oh, my God. I never stranded Tirla. Rhyssa?

 

Peter neither, was Rhyssa's horrified reply. How

could we have been so stupid?

 

You weren't, Dorotea said in a bracing tone. Their

ID bracelets can be traced far more accurately than a

stranded kid.

 

The exchanges had taken bare seconds while Rhyssa,

Sascha, and Dorotea sped toward the Control Room,

 

Anne McCaffrey            253

 

where the monitoring equipment would, they hoped, be

able to give them some indication of where the children

were.

 

Budworth was in front of the appropriate screen, his

face twisted by anger and distress. "Bracelets were cut

off. Scanner has 'em in a sewer drain in the mall hell-

lot."

 

"Oh, my God!" Sascha's exclamation came out in a

sob, then he shook himself. Carmen, get in here. Ber-

tha, Auer, you come, too. Dorotea, any chance that you

can reach Tirla?

 

If you can't, I'm not likely to. There was a quality of

ineffable sorrow in her response. She's keyed to you like

no one else.

 

"There's nothing, nothing there at all," Rhyssa mur-

mured, her voice breaking. "I've always been able to

hear Peter's mind."

 

"Not if he's been anesthetized, my dear," Dorotea

said. "That's the only time he couldn't hear or an-

swer." Then she spoke to Sirikit on a very tight band.

Phone Dave Lehardt and tell him to get here as fast as

he can.

 

Sirikit, her own eyes bleak, discreetly complied.

 

"C'mon, Bro, c'mon! How long does it take your

squads to get moving!" Sascha demanded, pacing anx-

iously.^

 

The Talents had' to wait another five agonizing min-

utes before Boris contacted them.

 

The kids sat by themselves. Tirla's well known here,

and she introduced her friend, Peter, to her usual wait-

ress. She saw them leave the place. She caught a

glimpse of them entering a small hopper with the Talent

Center emblem. There were four men, but she didn 't

see their faces. She didn't see anything odd, except that

the boy walked funny and then seemed to be assisted by

.one of the men. And no, she didn't notice the registra-

tion, I've an APB on small hoppers with Talent em-

 

254 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 255

 

blems in Jerkattan, but it'd be helpful if your scanners

have picked up their bracelets.

 

Sascha: The IDs were cut off. Left in the sewer out-

side the mall.

 

Boris: That would be the first thing. So, can you pick

something up yet on the strand scanners?

 

Rhyssa, heavily: Neither Peter nor Tiria was

stranded.

 

Boris, exploding: In the name of all that's holy, why

not? The two most important young Talents? You have

everyone running about like lunatics, stranding dumb

subbie kids and pampered hive children, and you don't

strand Peter and Tiria? The silence following his out-

burst was more eloquent than anything he could have

added.

 

Rhyssa began to weep, and Dorotea tried to comfort

her, tactilely and telepathically.

 

All right, then, Boris went on in a calmer tone. We

have to assume the abductors are following their latest

procedures. That's the only thing that would account

for total telepathic silence. The kids were gassed.

They're going to be stashed someplace and in those

neat little cocoons. Sorry, Rhyssa, but I'm too angry to

be diplomatic. Sascha, have you called Carmen in? My

finders are all on the case. Somehow, we 'II find 'en.

Those kids are smart. Once they wake up, they'll be

able to help us find them.

 

Suz and Cass further dampened the spirits of the Tal-

ents by reporting that in excess of thirty children in each

Residential had been sold, or just taken. Ranjit, work-

ing covertly in Residential W, also confirmed evidence

of more activity in the mall markets than could be dis-

creetly ignored. Such scope and audacity was more than

LEO or the Center had anticipated. All had happened

so smoothly and simultaneously that both the Center

and LEO had been caught unawares.

 

"My sympathies go out to Rhyssa and the other Tal-

ents. It's incredible that two valuable young people like

 

that could also be vulnerable to this despicable group,"

the city manager told Boris, who passed her message

on to Sascha and Rhyssa. "This has top priority, and

all the resources of the city are at your disposal. No

effort will be spared. Is there anything I, personally,

can do? Offer a reward? Trade immunity for informa-

tion?"

 

'' Get your department heads thinking,'' Boris told City

Commissioner Teresa Aiello, "where such a significant

number of children could be detained. I've got every

available person on transport surveillance. They can't have

been moved out of the Jerhattan area, not in a group or

singly. I put a hold on all rail freight and every container

is being examined. Any cargo of a suspicious size is being

opened. They've got to be somewhere nearby—for a

while."

 

"Everyone on this staff will start examining possi-

bilities—unused warehouses, old buildings, under-

ground stores," Teresa assured Boris grimly.

 

Boris Roznine did not have quite all his people on

transport duty—he' had a good third picking up as many

ladrones and sassins as his teams found in mall or fac-

tory areas. LEO might just luck out and dislodge a clue

from an apprehensive subbie.

 

"Peter is alive, isn't he?" Budworth asked, too con-

cerned to be tactful.

 

"He's^alive. It's not a dead silence," Rhyssa said,

wincing at her choice of adjective, her voice low with

tension. "But he's not conscious."

 

"Nothing yet. Carmen?" Sascha asked the finder,

whose hands were stroking the lock ofTirla's hair. She

could not meet his eyes as she shook her head slowly.

 

"Christ on a crutch! How/could we be so arrogant as

to believe we could protect them with an ID bracelet!"

Sascha demanded explosively, stalking around what free

floor space there was. "Why on Earth didn't we think

to strand them?" He pounded one fist into the other

hand. "We've wall-to-wall Talents," he said, gesturing

 

 

 

 

256 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

almost scornfully at the various teams clustered about

monitors or swiftly feeding programs into the main-

frame. "Where could they have got to? That many bod-

ies arc too hard to hide. The kids have to be fed. They

can't have been whisked off to their—" Sascha could

not find the appropriate noun and grimaced. "Wher-

ever. Boris initiated transport surveillance within min-

utes. Dammit, the subways and cargo routes have been

wired since the incident in G."

 

Sascha, ease up, Dorotea told him, her warning a

very narrow quiet thought. Rhyssa's feeling guilty

enough as it is , . .

 

Sascha: And you think I feel none for not stranding

Tiria, for encouraging her to go to the bloody mail? To

that unmentionable bloody confectionery parlor?

Sascha's response was loaded with derision. She'd've

been bloody safer if I had let Boris use her for bait!

 

Dorotea: Stop castigating yourself, Sascha. Tirla's

been safely in and out of the mall and the parlor for

weeks now.

 

Rhyssa, brokenly: Peter's worked so hard. . . What

could have possessed him to take such a risk?

 

Dorotea: He is just a boy, for all his power. Don't

worry, we'll hear. The least whisper, and we'll hear

them. Dorotea's mind cast restlessly for a trace of Tir-

la's. After nearly five weeks of proximity with the girl,

she should be able to spot her consciousness.

 

MAY ALL YOUR ORIFICES BE CLOGGED WITH

CAMEL DUNG, YOUR BELLY ETERNALLY FULL OF

VOMIT! MAY YOUR TONGUE ROT AND YOUR

TEETH FALL OUT AND YOUR GUMS SWELL WITH

BOILS! MAY YOUR LIVER ROT AND YOUR BLAD-

DER DRY UP AND YOUR GLANDS SHRIVEL AND

PUTREFY!

 

"Good God!" Dorotea was jolted to her feet. "Did

you all hear that? It was loud enough!"

 

"Peter doesn't know that kind of language!" Rhyssa

said, with a slight grin.

 

Anne McCaffrey            257

 

"Tiria would," Sascha replied, beaming from ear to

ear. "Pungent, isn't she? Damn, where's she got to? I

can't hear her anymore."

 

"Well, I can, and she's still in fine form," Dorotea

said. "Neither of you hear her now? She can certainly

broadcast when she's of a mind to." She held up her

hand, listening, every muscle taut. Dorotea here, Tiria.

Can you hear me? Dorotea's mental tone was tranquil

and reassuring.

 

Tiria: Dorotea? Where are you?

 

Dorotea: More to the point, where are you? "Can

you hear her now, Sascha, Rhyssa?" she asked. Two

brief headshakes confirmed Dorotea as the primary con-

tact. She felt the light, firm mental touches of Rhyssa

and Sascha, listening in.

 

Tiria, savagely: You tell me. I can't see a thing. I

can't feel a thing. I can smell, and the stench is worse

than the bottom level of a factory bilge. Couldn 't you

guys track me?

 

No, we couldn 't, Tiria. Your bracelets were discarded

right at the mall when you and Peter were taken. Is Peter

nearby? Sascha had motioned Carmen over, but Carmen

kept shaking her head at her continued inability to find

Tiria. Can you remember what happened? Dorotea went

on.

 

Tiria's^isgust was obvious. / can't remember any-

thing. Peter and I finished the new spectacular they just

added to the menu. He paid for it himself. Said it was

his treat this time 'cause he'd just had a vacation. We

left the Parlor and were walking toward the subway

when something covered my face, and I don't remember

a thing more. Awful stuff. Sweet icky smell. How come

I can talk to you all of a sudden?

 

Sometimes it's a case of need-to, Tiria, Dorotea said,

putting a smile of approval into her mental tone.

 

You needed me to? Tiria asked. Or I needed you to

hear me? Peter? Peter, answer me! Dorotea caught the

 

258

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 259

 

conflicting emotions in Tirla's question, but such com-

petitiveness was not a bad sign.

 

You and Peter were not the only two taken today.

Cass and Suz reported that a number must have been

taken from E, as well. A very well-organized affair.

That's why anything you can tell us will help, Tirla.

Anything, no matter how trivial.

 

Peter's not answering me in here. Maybe he's just

not awake yet. My stomach's sour. I shouldn't've had

that spectacular. Peter? 'Peeeeter!

 

Dorotea spoke gently. Don't panic, Tirla. Peter will

wake up soon enough if he was gassed the same time

as you were. We 're very relieved to hear from you,

 

believe me.

Tirla, mildly surprised: I do believe you. You can't

 

lie in your mind, can you?

 

Not to me, you can't, Dorotea replied, gesturing im-

periously for Rhyssa and Sascha to stop trying to insin-

uate questions into her head. Tirla's voice was clear

but, after the first burst of psychic outrage, neither as

strong nor as loud. She could not risk losing the link.

Now, tell me what you can about your surroundings.

 

They stink!

 

We 've already established that. What of? Besides, I

assume, the unpleasant bodily discharges of frightened

children. What can you hear?

 

Tirla, disgusted: A lot of crying.

 

Even that tells me something, Tirla. Can you isolate

the individual crying enough to estimate how many chil-

dren are around you?

 

Dorotea could sense Tirla's concentration and did not

 

interrupt.

 

Tirla: / think there's a lot of kids. There's sure a lot

of crying and moaning, and someone's hiccuping. All

around me, all sides, above, but none below. Why'd

they blindfold us and tie us down like this? Most of

these kids wouldn 't even try to escape.

 

Dorotea:' Yassim lost all the G children, didn't he? I

 

think that, unfortunately, that caused him to change his

tactics. He's now employing a disorientation technique,

sensory deprivation, to reduce the children to compli-

ance when they are released. You're not afraid, are

you?

 

Tirla, candidly: / don't like it, but I'm not scared.

I'm mad. Her tone strengthened. / missed my math

class.

 

Dorotea broke into relieved laughter. An angry Tirla

would be far more useful than a frightened one. Sascha

managed a relieved chuckle, and the tention in Rhys-

sa's stance eased.

 

Dorotea: Stay mad, Tirla. Anger can be a valuable

asset. Now what I want you to do is try and calm the

children. Get them to tell you their names and, if pos-

sible, where they came from. E and R were not the only

Linears hit. We estimate that upward of a hundred chil-

dren were taken.

 

Including Peter and me?

 

A hundred and two. Look, Tirla, we're going to have

to rely heavily on you to help us find you, Peter, and

the others. Dorotea gave Rhyssa a raised eyebrow at

her smothered protest. "Candidly, that child is lot bet-

ter able to take care of herself."

 

Rely on me? How? I'm blind and strapped in like

cargo! Hey, you lot! Shut up! Quit your grizzling, stu-

, pid^Neesters. Tirla then dropped into languages that

Dorotea could not understand. They prefer crying for

their mommies! Mommies who sold 'em! Tirla said,

suddenly dropping into Basic again. Some half dozen

are from E, seven are from W, and two from C. How

they bleat! None of 'em's Peter.

 

Dorotea: Ask them their names.

 

Tirla could give ten names of the estimated fifteen

children in with her. These were instantly forwarded to

Boris.

 

"Where can Peter be?" Rhyssa murmured softly. At

some point while she had been concentrating on Doro-

 

 

 

 

260

 

Anne McCaffrey            261

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

tea's conversations, Dave Lehardt had joined the anx-

ious group in the Control Room. He linked his fingers

in hers, and the physical contact was almost more re-

assuring than the aura of encouragement that emanated

from all the telepafhs about her.

 

"Ask her again about the various smells," Saseha

prompted Dorotea. "There may be something that'll

give us a clue to where.''

 

Well, there's a sort of metal stink, Tiria replied when

Dorotea relayed the question. And there's a moldy mil-

dewing rotten stink that's stronger. There's another

smell I can't identify. Oily. I'm stuffed into something—

feels like plastic foam. Even my fingers are separated

into slots. I'm bound at the wrists, ankles, waist, and

across my chest. If I was shorter, I'd be choking. Oh,

cut the caterwauling! No one's hurting you! She roared

out repetitions in other dialects, continuing to broadcast

mentally as she shouted at the other children.

 

"Her predicament is beginning to get to her," Dor-

otea said grimly. Tiria, I'm with you. Even if you can't

hear them, Rhyssa, Saseha, Boris, Sirikit, Budworth,

Dave—we 're all here. We 'II get you out of there, I

 

promise.

 

Tiria: Soon, please. If I have to listen to all this cry-

ing and moaning much longer, I'll space out. What

about that woman who wore my hair? Why don't you

ask her where I am?

 

Carmen is right here and reminds you that she needs

light to find you! Remember? That's why she couldn't

locate you in the Linear—you were in the dark.

 

Tiria, wryly: I'm a lot more in the dark now than I

was then. What if they don't turn any lights on? For the

first time, her voice was tinged more with fear than with

 

outrage.

 

Dorotea: It may be no consolation to you right now,

Tiria, but they 'II want you to be in good condition. They 'II

also have to feed you and keep you clean.

 

Tiria: Yeah? When? Next week sometime?

 

You were taken at approximately three. It's ten-thirty

now. You can't be left without food and water much lon-

ger.

 

Tiria: You're right. That's not much consolation. Dor-

otea, don't stop talking to me, will you ? I don't care what

you say. Just don't stop talking.

 

I'm totally at your command, Tiria. Dorotea projected

an image of a flourish and a curtsy. She was rewarded by

a little chuckle. Shall we start with the math lesson you

missed?

 

Tiria, surprised: In my head?

 

Dorotea: Write it on the board in my mind. I'll remem-

ber for you.

 

' 'And also increase her telepathic facility,'' Rhyssa said

with a genuine smile. "You are incorrigible, Dorotea."

 

' 'Also very good at what I do," the old woman replied

smugly.

 

Rhyssa? Rhyssa?

 

Rhyssa gasped with incredulity, stricken by the faint-

ness of Peter's call. Dave wrapped an arm about her

shoulders, supporting her as she held up her hand to stop

all noise in the room as the weak voice reached her mind.

Yes, Peter. I've been listening for you.

 

Peter: / can't see anything. They gassed me. I'm going

to be sick.

 

Rhyssa kept her mental tone calm and firm as she clung

to Dave's hands. Easy, Peter. Remember our drills. Re-

duce the nausea.

 

It's never been this hard before, Rhyssa. There was an

edge of despair in his voice. Rhyssa knew so well how he

hated anesthetics. He had reactions to most of the com-

mon ones. It was going to take time—which she did not

think they had—for him to shake off the residual disori-

entation and nausea in order to bring his kinesis into use.

 

Rhyssa: Focus your mind, Peter, just as you used to do

in the hospital. Focus your thoughts; ignore the extrane-

ous.

 

 

 

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT.

 

262

 

Peter: There 're other kids in here with me. Some of 'em

 

are pretty scared.

Rhyssa: Call out for Tirla. She's somewhere—maybe

 

very nearby.

Dorotea, urgently: Tirla, Peter's awake. Call his name.

 

Neither heard the other.

 

"Christ! Pine team of Talents we are when our kids are

vulnerable!" Sascha remarked caustically.

 

Tirla, echoing Sascha's frustration: Why doesn't Peter

just glide out of this contraption, Dorotea? Tirla asked,

unconsciously echoing Sascha's frustration. He's the ki-

netic! When Dorotea explained Peter's problem with the

anesthesia, Tirla gave a bark of laughter. So it's up to me

again, I guess. Don't forget the answers to my equations,

 

will you, Dorotea?

 

Dorotea: Tirla, what are you planning to do?

 

Tirla: Get out of this coffin.

 

Dorotea: How?

 

Tirla: They made one mistake when they strapped me

in here. They strapped my fingers down, not up where I

couldn 't reach anything. I should be able to dig out enough

 

plastic to free my hands.

 

Dorotea felt the effort in Tirla's mind, effort and fringes

of pain. "Could she do that?" she asked Sascha.

 

' 'According to the Bro, the kids retrieved in Manhattan

had been wrapped in foamed plastic cocoons. She might

be able to scratch at it with her fingers.''

 

You have made contact with Tirla and Peter? Boris's

 

voice was excited.

 

Contact, Bro, but not release. Both kids are cocooned.

And Peter's having a bad reaction to whatever gas they

used. Sascha made another face, mimicking the aggrava-

tion his brother was mentally expressing. He'll need a

little time before he recovers completely.

 

Boris: Is there time? I've got the city manager, and all

her deputies on my back for action. Some of the other kids

 

were legal, too.'

Rhyssa was concentrating on strengthening her link with

 

Anne McCaffrey            263

 

Peter, helping him to dissipate the residue of the anes-

thetic. Her face mirrored his desperation and sense of fail-

ure, and she leaned heavily against Dave.

 

There! The triumph in Tiria's voice was evident to

Dorotea, and she held up her band, repeating the girl's

words for the others. Camel-gutted tripe! Miserable

dung-eaters! Descendants of snake offal. Scu^farts!

Maggots!

 

Good heavens! How pungent. Tirla, how have you

hurt yourself? Dorotea demanded, sensing pain.

 

Tirla: Never you mind. I'm out of this cocoon. There

are nineteen other kids stuck in 'em here, some of 'em

still knocked out. Peter's not one of 'em. Tell Carmen

not to fracture her skull finding me. This place is black

as the bottom of an elevator pit. Ugh. I slipped in junk.

Ugh! I've reached one wall. Faugh. It's slimy and

gritty. Too smooth and cold for metal. Ah, an opening.

A window. Plastic-coated. I can't even scratch a sliver

off. Look, I'm going to try something, Tirla went on.

They always forget about ceilings. There's air coming

in here from someplace. She was silent for a long while,

though Dorotea was aware of strenuous physical activ-

ity. / am not hurting you. Just using you as a steplad-

der. And I won't let you go, crybaby. You 're no use to

me. Quit your grizzling. Another period of silence fol-

lowed, jind Dorotea reported more physical effort,

punctuated by inadvertent grunts of pain.

 

Tirla: Well, I was right. There is a ceiling hatch. And

I can see, a Uttle. Well, whaddya know? I'm in a shunt-

ing yard. There are rows and rows of train cars, old

ones. Can't have been moved in years. And someplace

down to my right there's light. Sort of around an edge,

like of a window or a door. Any idea where I could be?

 

From the moment Tirla mentioned a shunting yard,

the description was forwarded to everyone concerned.

. Tirla: I'm going along the tops of cars toward the

light, the girl reported. I can't hear anyone, and no one

 

 

 

 

264 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 265

 

would be stupid enough to walk around this place with-

out a light.

Tell us how many cars have children, Tiria, Dorotea

 

urged.

 

Tiria: Peter! Peter! Answer me! Peter! It's Tiria! An-

swer me! Wow! I nearly fell off the edge of the car.

Slippery surface, moist. Whole place is damp!

 

"Try for yards by the river, by the sea. Along the

Sound," Sascha said, prowling up and down the bank

of monitors, checking patterns.

 

Tiria! Peter cried exultantly. His voice echoed from

Tiria's mind to Dorotea and lifted the anxieties of every

Talent in the room. Rhyssa sank into a chair that Dave

pulled over for her. Then he handed her a stimulant

drink, gesturing her to toss it down quickly.

 

Tiria: So here's where they stashed you, huh? Now,

I'll just drop in beside you. There! The tape 'II sting

coming off—oh, I forgot. Sorry.

 

Peter: / won't feel it anyway—do your worst. Just

don't take all the skin off my wrists! Isn 't there any light

in this place?

 

Tiria: I guess not. There—you 're free. Only the tan

came off. Here! Don't go faint. Lie back. Stay easy.

Get your breath. Now look, you'd better rest some

more. Dorotea could hear the nervous concern in Tirla's

voice, a matter she did not impart to Rhyssa. I'm going

to look around this place, Peter, Tiria went on. You

get your kinetics working again, 'cause there's no way

I can haul you up by myself.

 

Peter: I'll be okay, Tiria. I'll be okay. Just—just come

back.

 

Tiria: Oho! Aircar! Big bugger. Expensive! No lights!

There was a long moment of silence. That was too

close.

 

"Ask her if she saw a number, a description, any-

thing!" Sascha prompted Dorotea.

 

Tiria: I'd say that it's a metallic blue jetter, twelve-

seater, no lights. But I got a glimpse—a three, a dash,

 

and R-I-G—I think. Could have been a B, but the I and

the G were clear enough.

 

When Dorotea repeated what Tiria had said, Sascha

exploded to his feet. "R-I-G! We couldn't be so lucky!"

He slapped his right palm against his forehead. "Bud-

worth, get through to Auer and Bertha and see if they

have any tickles about Pilmflam."

 

"Flimflam?" Rhyssa and Dorotea said together, both

reaching into Sascha's mind for confirmation, but he

was involved in a tight conversation with Boris and

would not let them in.

 

"Boris is doing a search on the registration," Sascha

said aloud, holding up one hand, his expression intent

and eager. "Dorotea, tell Tiria she's a star!"

 

Tiria, surprised: Was that enough for you? Oops.

There's another one coming in, from another direc-

tion. Also running dark. I'll see if I can get a better

reading.

 

Tiria, Dorotea replied hastily, don't risk discovery.

And Rhyssa says she 'd rather have you stay with Peter.

 

Tiria, blithely: Peter's okay. Working on it. I'm go-

ing to find out who the other dark-flier is!

 

Tiria! Dorotea was momentarily stunned by the in-

dependence. Tiria! She turned to Rhyssa, hands out-

stretched in appeal. "The little witch has cut me off!

Oh, just wait till I get my hands on that child! The

impudence of her.''

 

Rhyssa was also irritated. Peter, stop her!

 

Peter on his dignity: / don't need a minder, Rhyssa.

I really don't. Just enough time to catch my breath.

'Sides, no one could stop Tiria.

 

"Rather admirable of the child, I think," Sascha re-

plied. For a palpable moment he and Rhyssa locked

wills. Then he continued in a gentler tone. "I do real-

ize, Rhyssa, that Peter's inhibited by the gassing he

took. If Tiria can manage an ID on the second car, too,

we'll maybe catch more than just the well-deserving

Revered Ponsit Prosit."

 

 

 

 

266 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

"Has Boris confirmed the owner of that jetcar?"

Rhyssa asked, only marginally appeased.

 

"Registered to Ponsit Prosit, a.k.a. Flimflam,"

Sascha said with a grin. "Complete with vanity plate—

VRPP/2403/RIG—at a Riverside address that is more

palatial than reverential. Boris is sending out surveil-

lance and standby teams. I'd like the Center to muster

Talent as of right now!'' Sascha waited long enough for

Rhyssa's assent and then pointed a finger at Budworth

to punch the Alert button. "We can move once we've

got a definite fix."

 

"Neither Auer or Bertha have anything for us," Sir-

ikit told them.

 

"That's odd," Rhyssa said with a frown. "There

should be something!"

 

"I find a precog silence reassuring," Sascha re-

marked, buckling on his utility belt and checking his

trank gun. "Flimflam is at least not going to trigger

panic in the immediate future, so we have a very good

chance of catching him inflagrante delicto. Dorotea, is

Tiria available again?"

 

Dorotea shook her head, her lips pursed in an ag-

grieved moue. "Wretched little snip of a thing!" she

said with a certain amount of reluctant admiration in

her tone.

 

' 'Got it!'' Carmen cried suddenly, jumping out of her

chair, rushing to the map terminal, and punching co-

ordinates that brought up the South Shore area. "Tula's

come through again. There simply can't be two such

similar situations. She's heading toward an old railway

switchhouse. I can just make it out. There's a crack of

light coming through a window that opens onto a plat-

form. There seem to be hundreds of cars of old rolling

stock rusting there. Here we are!" She pointed to the

marked area on the map. "Here're tracks. Acres of

them. And obsolete railcars waiting to be recycled."

 

The others all converged to look at the area magnified

on the screen.

 

Anne McCaffrey           267

 

^ ' 'It couldn't be better, could it,'' Dorotea said slowly

 

as a place to hide terrified kids!" Tiria! Answer me'

We know where you are now.

 

When Tiria did not reply, Sascha gave Rhyssa a long

look and then. Dave Lehardt at their heels, the telepaths

left the Control Room, jogging to the stairs that would

take them to the aircars and teams waiting on the land-

ing roof.

 

 

 

 

Anne McCaffrey           269

 

CHAPTER 16

 

^ ^ Tirla's night vision had adjusted to the gloom—

part mist and part lightlessness despite the angry red-

orange glow of Jerhattan that lit the rim of the horizon

on all sides. The upper levels of distant Linears, ma-

jestic in the night, punctuated the halo of the city with

their long silhouettes. From top stories, with aerials and

stacks, aircraft-warning signals blinked their light pat-

terns. She moved forward carefully along the curved

tops of the railcars. If she slipped, there would be noth-

ing for her to catch on to. The surface was gritty with

dirt and slippery in the moist air. She headed toward

that thin band of light and the dark bulk of the building

 

that framed it.

 

She had safely traversed five cars, two more with

children moaning and weeping inside them, when she

felt a pressure in her mind that she recognized as Dor-

otea trying to contact her.

 

Go 'way. I've got to concentrate.

 

She cursed softly as she slithered for a panicky mo-

ment between cars, then waited until her heart had

stopped thudding, and she was fairly sure that her

scrambling had not been heard. Her sharp ears had

caught the sound of muted voices from the building.

The line of cars continued past a long platform, and she

debated slipping down and getting close enough to the

building to overhear the conversations.

 

But conversations were useless tender; the registra-

tion number of an aircar was undeniable proof. She

268

 

crawled forward on her belly, conscious of every noise

she made, the diyness of her mouth, and the increas-

ingly painful stiffness of her fingers.

 

There was a sudden break in the murk and there,

parked beside the less distinct blue jetter, was an ex-

pensive sports jetcar, its hull a crisp white, its tail ID

equally visible. The two cars were balanced on the one

junction of rail that was free of rolling stock.

 

Tiria: Peter, I got the second one. The number is CD-

08-MAL, clear as day. And the other car is right be-

yond it. Peter?

 

Peter: / heard you, Tirla. I told them. You come back

here. They're mad at you for closing Dorotea out.

You 're going to have to apologize to her. Peter sounded

fierce.

 

Apologize? Why? Tirla was so surprised that she

slipped, banging down on the railcar. Now you 've done

it! She flattened herself on the far side of the car as

light flooded out of the building, illuminating the plat-

form and the slightly bulging side of the car on which

she lay.

 

"I tell you I heard something!" said the man silhou-

etted in the doorway. He peered around the doorframe,

and Tirla had a good view of the scene behind him: two

men» one of whom idly swung a short stick, clipping it

against his boot with an air of indolent diffidence.

 

'<Shut the door, you cretin!" The door abruptly

closed and then opened in a much thinner crack. "...

a good look around. Up, over, under, in. Mess up once

more, maggot—you can be eagle-spread, too."

 

The door closed a second time, but not before Tirla

recognized the angry voice. Her guts froze. She heard

the ladrone moving, his shoes crunching the grit on the

platform. She heard him haul back one of the warped

carriage doors, the plastic creaking as he looked in the

carriage. He moved on down the platform, cursing

softly under his breath as he dropped down to flash his

light beneath the car. Tirla could take no chances.

 

 

 

 

270         PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

271

 

Quickly she moved at a crouch and jumped to the next

car. She was just in time—the red pinpoint of a filtered

handlight shone briefly where she had just been. She

held her breath, hoping against hope that the searcher

would not notice her outline on the dusty top.

 

As he cautiously opened the door of the building, -she

watched. The stick swinger was nearest the door—she

got another good look at his haughty face, with its

beaked nose and thin-plucked brows. And she saw a

table piled with credits which two other men were

counting—floaters, by the size of them. One of the

counters looked vaguely familiar, but her attention was

caught by the face of the other man as he turned his

head; he had a cruel face, and a hungry one. He was

idly tapping his black boot with the stick; she caught

the gleam of gold around the handle. Only then did the

significance of the pile of floaters dawn on her.

 

Tiria: Dorotea! The payoff's being made! Floaters.

More than I've ever seen in my life!

 

Dorotea, her voice hard-edged: Tiria, don't you ever

dare cut me out again. Tiria was momentarily dis-

mayed. Wasn't she doing what they needed done? How

could such a sweet old lady come on so tough and hard?

 

Tiria: Well, if you crazy Talents don't move your

asses, you're going to mess everything up and I'll have

nothing more to do with you.       s

 

Peter! Help Peter now! Dorotea did not sound apol-

ogetic, but she did sound anxious.

 

Tiria knew very well that Peter—not to mention all

the other kids—needed help. As quickly as she could,

she moved back along the line of cars. If the payoff had

been made, some of the kids might be shifted soon. She

had to get Peter out and free as many of the others as

she could. If they all scattered and hid, it would take

all night to recapture them—if she could stop them from

crying long enough to help themselves.

 

Tiria slipped, and this time could not recover her bal-

ance, sliding down the dirt-encrusted side of the car and

 

landing painfully on stones and cinders that bruised and

cut her feet. Cursing her clumsiness and hoping that

she had gotten far enough away so that the noise of her

fall had not been heard, she made her way along the

ground, cursing the bastards who had removed the

beautiful purple boots that she had bought on her first

trip to the mall.

 

Crying had been reduced to whimpering in the first

two cars. Tiria winced. How much time did she have

to get Peter out if the payoff had been made? Could he

make use of that special Talent of his now?

 

Yes, I can, Peter said, appearing out of the darkness

between two cars. He touched her hand. And I know

exactly how. C'mon. He led her along the track until

she nearly stumbled over a big handle attached to one

side of the track. We're going to do a switcheroo. He

laughed softly out loud. Much faster than letting all

those kids loose. There's a hundred of them.

 

They heard a muffled thrumming and saw the white-

ness of the aircar lifting slowly from behind the build-

ing.

 

C'mon, Peter urged. I've got to get to that transformer

box or my idea won't work! I need the gestaltfor this. You

know how to uncouple cars? Suddenly the process was

driven into Tula's mind and she staggered a bit, stunned

by the vivid intrusion. Then go back and uncouple the last

car with kids in it. Stay there and warn me if anyone's

coming.

 

"You mean like, upstairs?" Tiria asked in a hoarse

whisper, pointing to the sky.

 

No, them! Peter pointed at the building.

 

"When are we getting some help?" Tiria demanded

in an acid-whisper, refusing to talk in her mind when

she was nose-to-nose with Peter. "My feet hurt!"

 

"Soon," Peter hissed and then gave her a shove to

help her on her way. "Try walking my way!"

 

She couldn't but wished she could. Her feet hurt and

her hands ached. She did not quite understand how he

 

 

 

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

272

 

could possibly do what she thought he was going to do.

Railcars that had not moved in years were going to make

the most awful racket. Peter was stupid! She hurried,

hoping that the sound of the aircar might cover some

of the noise the railcars were sure to make.

 

She identified the last car from the moaning inside it

and struggled with couplings encrusted with caked oil

and dirt. Peter, it's— Suddenly the stiff coupling re-

leased itself and she was knocked off balance, stagger-

ing back into the end of the car. Well, thanks! A wail

arose from within. Shut your faces, you stupid gits, she

ordered, forgetting that the other children could not hear

her. I'm doing my best to save your innards and your

virtue. She banged her fist once against the side of the

car and felt the pain worth it when the warning achieved

an instant drop in the mewling. That did much to soothe

 

her aggravations.

 

Nervously she glanced up to see the aircar's slow

upward progress. Running dark like that, the pilot had

to be careful not to get tangled in the wires that fes-

tooned the area around the building. If Peter could just

get moving ... He was! She heard the squeal, rattle,

and clanking as wheels long locked on rails reluctantly

began to turn. She swung up to sit on the tongue of the

coupling, watching the building for any sign that some-

one within had heard the metallic protest. But the build-

ing was two hundred meters or so away, and the aircar

was whooshing and thrumming.

 

She peered at the skyline, yearning to see some subtle

movement that hinted of the approach of help. Those

Talents were so slow. How soon was "soon"? Her car

moved all too jerkily with rattlings and clankings, but

it was making progress along the track. The dark build-

ing with the telltale band of light was slowly receding.

She felt the car clack across the junction, veering right,

and experienced partial relief. If that ladrone looked

outside and saw half the train missing . . .

 

She saw'the white blur of Peter's face as the car

 

Anne McCaffrey            273

 

inched past the transformer box; there was no disguise

in the dark night for the audible hum emanating from

it. What was Peter doing?

 

She jumped down from the coupling, wincing as her

cut feet hit the stony, cindery ground. The cars contin-

ued to move obliquely away from danger, down an

empty track.

 

"You can't leave just empty track. They'll know . . ."

Tiria put an urgent hand on his arm and then could not

release it. She could feel him shaking from the effort he

had already made, shaking and more—and she was af-

fected by his shaking and whatever else it was that raced

through him.

 

"I'm trying," he said tensely. "A gestalt's hard with

all that anesthesia still slowing me down. Help me!"

 

"Gestalt?" Tiria stuttered over the unfamiliar word,

and then Peter put the explanation in her mind. Before

she could ask how she could possibly help with that,

she was. Her body seemed alive with the current racing

through her, like the time she had caught a jolt from an

exposed wire. Only this was not as painful as that shock

had been. But it was . . . what was it?

 

The metallic protest was startlingly loud on the still

air. The white jet had moved beyond visibility into the

swirling mist. Tiria felt both stronger and weaker,

plutctung at Peter with both hands, wanting to help him

make the gestalt and needing his support. Suddenly she

was aware of movement behind her as car after car be-

gan to slide past them onto the track— clickety click,

clickety click—far too loudly. Suddenly, with a re-

sounding clank, the new cars bounced against those near

the platform, and Tiria's heart clenched when she heard

the shouts of alarm as men piled out to investigate.

 

"Tell me! Did you let all those other kids loose?"

Flimflam asked, his nose inches from Tiria's face. She

wished he would bend just a little closer so she could

 

 

 

 

274 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 275

 

bite him. But he would probably poison her, the greasy,

coarse, evil scuz.

 

Unfortunately, before Tiria could help Peter to hide,

two of the faster ladrones had caught them. They had

been roughly hauled back to the building and into the

presence of a seething Flimflam, so enraged that flecks

of foam had gathered at the comers of his mouth.

Screaming with exasperation, Tiria had been shoved in

front of the raging man as Peter collapsed on the floor,

 

groaning.

 

"We didn't see no others," one of the ladrones said

anxiously. "There wasn't a sign of them, nor those

cocoons in the cars neither."

 

"Tell me where the children are!" Flimflam repeated

in one of the more common Neester dialects, squeezing

hard on her swollen fingers. "Did you let them loose?"

 

Despite herself, Tiria let out a howl of pain, trying

to pull her hand out of his grasp. It hurt so much that

she could not even think of a suitable malediction to

fling at him. He let her go but scooped a stick off the

table and began to slash it across her back.

 

"Hey, boss, the merch! Don't mark the merch!"

 

"Tell me where the children went!" he demanded in

the most common Asian language.

 

Tiria let tears run down her cheeks as she glanced

quickly around the room, as if seeking help. Then in

one of the most obscure languages she knew, she an-

swered him in a piteously appealing tone. "Don't beat

me. I don't understand you! Don't beat me again!"

 

"Of all the—" Flimflam roared, swiveling about to

the ladrones and hitters in the room. "What did she

say? One of you must understand her! Just what I need.

A dumb kid! Well?"

 

There were murmurs and shrugs as no one admitted

to understanding.

 

Dorotea, reassuringly: We're nearly there, Tiria. We

have the yard on the nightscope.

 

"Where—" Flimflam was making ludicrously broad,

 

pantomine gestures, so unlike his polished performance

as a RIG that Tiria nearly laughed even though he kept

poking her painfully with his stick to emphasize his

words. "Where—are—the others? Can no one talk to

her? Rouse the other one. We can't waste time. That

bloody His Highness will be sending the transports. We

must have the merchandise ready. Months of planning,

everything goes without a hitch, we've got the money—

where are the others?"

 

A ladrone poured water over Peter, who did not even

moan. Tiria watched him anxiously. He looked terribly

pale, crumpled up like that. He had been fine until they

had been recaptured. Perhaps the effort of moving those

heavy railcars . . . She gasped as the whip sliced her

again right over the previous welt. Tiria tried to back

away but hands clamped on her shoulders, holding her

fast. She kicked backward with her heels, jarring feet

already sore, but her captor had heavy boots on and she

only achieved more bruises.

 

"Let's really put some fear into her," Flimflam said,

gesturing, and she was flung facedown to the hard sur-

face of the table where she had recently seen piles of

floaters. Cruel hard hands grasped her by wrists and

ankles. Suddenly pain exploded across her already lac-

erated feet. She screamed and screamed again at the

second horrific stab of pain, then fainted for the first

time in her life.

 

So she missed seeing Flimflam violently propelled

backward to crash against the wall. She missed the ex-

plosive entrance of Sascha, Rhyssa, Dave Lehardt, and

the Talent teams. And she missed the other excitements

that would have given her immense satisfaction.

 

 

 

 

Anne McCaffrey            277

 

CHAPTER 17

 

^••^ Commissioner," Ranjit said, "that's a diplo-

matic registration."

 

"I wouldn't care if it was God himself. Lieutenant,"

the LEO commissioner answered. "Law Enforcement

and Order means just that from bottom to top, and right

on down the line again. Or it's privilege, not law en-

forcement and order!" He measured the distance on the

huge display map, from the South Shore train yard to

the Riverside address. "Assign the best driver we've

got to shadow that CD. And I want that beehive—not

just the penthouse lift or the domestic floors but that

entire complex—secured. Whoever is in that car could

go to ground anywhere. Pack all entries with sensitives.

Tell them to home in on any strong emotion—we may

get a lot of wash on this. You know how hivers hate to

have their privacy broached." He turned to another

aide. "Barry, get me the city manager and tell her this

is a sensitive affair. I want her forewarned so she can

back us with the Corps. Feed the situation through Ju-

dicial and get me four—no, make it five—John Does

and a search warrant. And let's hope that Sascha's ef-

ficient."

 

He shrugged on his tunic top, resplendent with the

 

"bravery bars" and braid, then strapped on sidearms

and gestured for Ranjit and his other aides to follow

him to the rooftop garage. Jet- and aircars were spin-

ning off along usual routes, having been instructed to

move circumspecdy.

 

276

 

Sascha? Boris linked with his brother as his aircar

took off.

 

Nearly there, Bro. It still takes time to drive a car

from there to here. The other bird has not flown—holy

hell, what's happening? Back to you later.

 

Boris felt the abruptness of the mental break and

cursed under his breath as his aircar plowed on to his

destination. The pause lengthened, causing him some

anxiety. Surely Sascha was competent enough . . .

Should he have sent men with the Center teams? If the

child-dealers at the railyard should get a warning

through to his own quarry, the whole operation might

be jeopardized.

 

My God, Boris— Sascha's voice burst in on him like

a bellow—if you let that Shimaz slime ooze out of this,

Highness, Prince, manager, or whatever, I promise you

that the Talents will handle him ex officio!

 

The LEO commissioner had never before heard such

vindictiveness in his brother's voice.

 

Boris: What happened?

 

Sascha: The. Venerable Revered Ponsit Prosit used a

bastinado on Tirla's feet. And Peter's collapsed!

 

Boris: Flimflam didn't get a message off, did he? If

the man had, they might lose the most important crim-

inal.

 

Sascha, livid with rage: No, not when he had a little

,girl^o interrogate! Make it stick on that other bastard,

will you? Or, by all that's holy, I will. Myself with no

help from any other agency, dear LEO Bro.

 

Boris: LEO is on the move, Sascha. You hang onto

your temper. Have you got the other children? Have we

any proof of complicity ?

 

Sascha, sarcastically: I don't suppose Tirla's bloody

feet count for more than assault and GBH. But we also

took possession of a case full of many too many floaters,

ready for a night deposit, complete with an account

number I'll bet can be traced to the Venerable Revered.

 

Boris: That should be enough to convict Flimflam.

 

 

 

 

278

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 279

 

But is there enough to catch this—what did you call

 

him?

 

Sascha: Shimaz, Prince Phanibal Shimaz, who seems

to be a whiz at more than Josephson junctions. Flim-

flam's spilling his guts: His Highness has rather an ex-

tensive operation—child labor in his rice paddies and

mines, child prostitution, and a child farm where the

healthiest are kept that way until someone can pay for

 

the organ they need.

 

Boris, growling: Get me something to link him to that

yard. Something that will stick!

 

They were well on the way when the comlink her-

alded a connection from Commissioner Aiello. She ap-

peared on the cabin screen dressed in formal attire.

Hovering beside her was her protocol officer, Jak, who,

for all his empathy, could at times be quite tiresome

 

about details.

"Do you have incontrovertible proof, Roznine?" she

 

asked.

 

"We have proof of a connection which is incompat-

ible with any diplomatic occupation," Boris replied,

setting his jaw.

 

"Who? Surely not the ambassador!" At that mo-

ment, Teresa Aiello was depressed with pessimism.

 

"We are not after his Excellency, so Jak can relax.

Members of his Corps, certainly, and an embassy ve-

hicle has been identified and traced from the abduction

site. There's no problem of proving involvement. Is the

DA there, too? Well, give the old dog a comforting

word in his shell-like ear. The Talents have cracked this

abduction ring." The last he admitted ruefully, for de-

spite protests to the contrary, he and his brother were

in constant competition.

 

The massive beehive was aptly nicknamed. Its bot-

tom levels along the block-square bulk, where other

buildings obscured views, housed maintenance, stor-

age, and worker accommodations. Where the hive rose

above its neighbors, there were great curved plasglas

 

panels that were part solar-heating, part prestigious dis-

play of wealth. Each pie-shaped apartment boasted lux-

uriant gardens and views from the outer wall, and where

the hive had an atrium core, rare plants and trees fes-

tooned the inner walls. Naturally the top apartments

were the most exclusive and expensive, with one whole

floor given over to private garden and garage facilities,

swimming pools, game courts, and whatever other ame-

nities the residents expected, to secure the ultimate of

comfort.

 

Is the surround complete yet, Ranjit? Boris asked on

his helmet corn unit.

 

Just now—completely ringed, sir. No one can get in

or out without being observed.

 

"Commissioner," Boris's pilot said, "here comes the

suspect vehicle now."

 

The sleek white jetcar swooped to settle and deposit

its passengers on the roof of the hive.

 

"Three men!"

 

"I can see that myself," Boris said. "Secure that

jetter the moment it's garaged. See what you can get

the pilot to say. Grab the log, and any garage records.

And now—" He could not keep the satisfaction out of

his voice. "Let's get the bastards."

 

The LEO pilot put them down on the hive roof, and

Boris Roznine and his squad made for the ramp down

to the entrance level of the penthouse. Seeing the for-

mal and formidable attire of the LEO commissioner and

his aide, the door attendant hurried to open it. His bow

was respectful and nervous.

 

"What are you doing, you naga? I'm not expecting

guests!'' exclaimed the man at the other end of the mag-

nificent white marbled reception hall. A servant was

just assisting the removal of his elegant blue suede long

coat while a second man was also shrugging, unas-

sisted, out of his own outerwear. "Exclude them im-

mediately."

 

"I think not, Prince Phanibal," Boris said, stepping

 

 

 

 

280 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT 281

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

forward while sending Ranjit a quick thought about re-

inforcements.

 

The prince's companion moved with astonishing

speed out the nearest of the many doors leading from

the entry hall while the paralyzed doorman gaped.

 

"Is His Excellency at home?" Boris asked, some

glimmer of Jak's protocol lessons seeping through his

anger. The doorman fearfully nodded before the prince

ordered him not to respond.

 

"How dare you—whoever you are—enter a diplo-

matic residence without invitation?" Prince Phanibal

demanded, his expression haughty and totally confi-

dent. His gaze ignored the lieutenant by Boris's side

and the detachment standing just outside the door.

 

"Boris Roznine, commissioner for Law Enforcement

and Order in Jerhattan!" Boris turned to the awed and

shaking doorman. "Please beg His Excellency's indul-

gence and request an immediate interview on a matter

of grave urgency."

 

The attendant, ignoring the prince's countermands

and threats, opened a hidden door and disappeared. He

had no sooner gone than all the other doors of the en-

trance hall swung open and a number of large men filed

in with military precision. Three, black-robed and tur-

baned, with silver-mounted belts and daggers which

were exactly the legal length permitted display guards,

immediately flanked the prince.

 

Boris did not need to look over his shoulder to know

that the LEO officers just outside the doorway, carrying

the weaponry legal for them, outnumbered the embassy

guards and were quite ready to force an entry. He waited

a moment for the prince to absorb that fact.

 

"I believe that we now await His Excellency's ap-

pearance," he said with a grim and ungenial smile and,

in studied insult to a royal person, seated himself on

the nearest decorative bench.

 

"Do you not understand the repercussions this un-

warranted intrusion—" Prince Phanibal began imperi-

ously. "I am not only a royal prince of my house but

a manager of the Padrugoi. I am due back on the plat-

form on the next shuttle.''

 

"That is why I, as LEO commissioner, am here to

explain personally to the ambassador," Boris replied.

Is this the guy who's been giving Rhyssa so much

grief? Perhaps if we both try, we can probe his mind,

he sent to Sascha. It's not admissible evidence in court

since it's under duress, but it'll give us some clues.

 

There was a brief pause as the brothers tried to breach

the prince's mind. Then Boris pulled back. He's got a

dense mind shield. He's had careful conditioning, and

I'd love to know where. No, we can't break it, not with-

out breaking the law.

 

The slightest of smiles tugged at the comer of the

prince's mouth and his eyes narrowed, hiding smug

pleasure at deflecting the mental intrusion. He raised

his left hand briefly, his fingers closing as if on some

accustomed possession. Then he threw his fingers open

in vexation and raised the arm indolently across his

chest, the smile broadening.

 

"Perhaps you have mislaid your little stick," Boris

heard himself saying. Sascha was there! Saving time

and effort, brother? Boris asked.

 

The little stick which made raw meat of Tiria 's feet,

Sascha said savagely.

 

Prince Phanibal stiffened in surprise. "I—what?"

 

"The little switch that you are fond of carrying as an

affectation, for you don't own any—animals—I be-

lieve," the Boris/Sascha link continued. "The one with

the ivory handle and the rather unusual filigree design.''

 

"I do not have to account for my possessions to such

as you," Prince Phanibal replied as he angled himself

obliquely from Boris, tilting his chin arrogantly to dis-

play what many probably considered a handsome pro-

file.

 

At that point the ambassador, clad in a deep purple

velvet robe with exquisite gold designs, entered from

 

 

 

 

282

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

Anne McCaffrey

 

283

 

the central door. He cast one startled look at the prince

and his pose, another at the group by the door, then

signaled for the guards to withdraw. Boris Roznine rose

and walked forward to meet the Malaysian.

 

"Due to the gravity of this situation, Your Excel-

lency," he said, speaking on his own although he knew

that Sascha was listening avidly, "you will permit me

to dispense with formalities. This man"—he gestured

to the aloof prince—"and another have been involved

in activities incompatible with any function in your em-

bassy. I must ask you to instruct His Highness and his

companion to accompany me to the LEO headquar-

ters."

 

"With what could the Prince Phanibal be charged?"

 

the ambassador asked with great dignity.

 

"The charge is indeed grave. Your Excellency, for

there has been traffic in abducting minors and subjecting

them to illicit bondage for me purpose of slave labor,

unlawful intercourse, and organ removal."

 

"You have proof of such a heinous crime?" The am-

bassador drew himself more erect, but he did not appear

 

to be all that surprised.

 

"Yes, Your Excellency." Boris inclined his head with

a nod of regret. The ambassador was too fine an old man

to be saddled with such a scandal.' 'There are witnesses!"

the Boris/Sascha link continued, supporting Boris's reply.

"Talented witnesses."

 

The prince snorted his disbelief, his poise undis-

turbed. "Such a claim tries all patience. You will dis-

miss these deceivers. Uncle."

Sascha: This bugger's clever.

Boris: He hasn't turned a hair or admitted a thing.

Sascha: Does he think all Talents are adults?

Boris: Tiria is on the official Register, is she not?

Sascha: Didn 't you read the ID bracelet you got her

six weeks ago? And there are four of the ladrones, spill-

ing their guts to avoid being spaced, confirming what

we've got out of Flimflam for turning State's evidence—

 

his mind took very little pressure when he regained con-

sciousness. That was some scam they had going. Fur-

thermore, it was the dear prince who infiltrated LEO

programs and filched the strand formula. He had all

the special clearance passwords because he was work-

ing on Padrugoi and doing all that fine work with the

Josephson junctions. He browsed and took what he

needed. Got his island laboratory to perfect a variation

for Flimflam to use as a special effect in those REs he

put on. We have all the details needed to implicate the

prince and that secretary of his. Returned from the re-

ligious institutions and a period of meditation in the Far

East? He was planning the whole thing with Prince

Phanibal's backing. Sascha's snort of contempt was so

strong that Boris grunted.

 

The ambassador turned his head slightly over one

shoulder in Prince Phanibal's direction. "I will not dis-

miss them. Nephew. Talent cannot be forsworn." Then

he regarded Boris steadily for a moment and beckoned

for the prince to step forward. "You will go with

them."

 

"But I cannot be arrested like a common criminal!"

 

"Oh, indeed. Nephew, you are an uncommon crim-

inal, for diplomatic immunity does not shield peder-

asts," the old man said in a voice that was leached of

all emotion.

 

^,'You cannot permit such insult to our name," the

prince said, slapping his fists to his legs in his barely

contained frustration and anger. "My father will hear

of this. You will hear of this. You will be disgraced!

You will never return to your home. Your children and

your children's children are dog meat..."

 

Ignoring him, the Malaysian ambassador strode to the

nearest door and closed it firmly behind him. The guards

moved to cover each of the doorways, subtly removing

official protection from the prince.

 

Commissioner? Ranjit said politely. The pilot has

been arrested, and we have the jetter's logs and the

 

 

 

 

284 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 285

 

garage log. Also, Prince Shimca's companion was ap-

prehended, attempting to escape.

 

"If you will come with us . . ." Boris began for-

mally, gesturing toward the roof landing steps.

 

The prince suddenly erupted into action, his face

contorted in rage, flinging himself toward the opening

Boris had made. Ranjit, with great presence of mind,

neatly tripped the man as he passed.

 

At that, it took three officers to subdue the raving

man.

 

"So, despite appeals from his grieving father, and

protests from Ludmilla Barchenka that His Highness

Manager Phanibal Shimaz must be released until the

station is completed," Sascha told Tiria, sitting on the

edge of her bed in Dorotea's house, "that scuzball will

spend the rest of his life at hard labor on the moon."

 

"And Flimflam?" Tula's eyes flashed with an anger

and hatred that startled Sascha, even though he under-

stood it.

 

"Oh, turning State's evidence gave him a choice of

occupations," he said with a grin. "He elected to take

a job as a sanitation engineer on the Big Station. Not

exactly spaced out, but near enough."

 

"How many of the kids were illegals?" she asked

after relishing Flimflam's future for a long and satisfac-

tory moment. She and Peter had both been in court to

give their evidence but had not heard the sentencing.

She still was not comfortable walking very far on her

tender feet, and despite Peter's patient instruction in

kinetics, she had been unable to levitate as he did. Peter

was baffled, sure that she had some latent kinetic abil-

ity; he maintained that he had been unconscious when

Flimflam had been thrown kinetically across the room

just as the rescuers arrived.

 

"Eighty-seven children," Sascha replied brusquely.

 

"In the hos'tels, huh?" Tiria gave a long sigh.

 

"Just think what you and Peter saved them from,

Tiria. You had a taste of it."

 

"And there haven't been any more deals or abduc-

tions?"

 

Sascha shook his head.

 

The apathy that had settled over Tiria after the trial

worried everyone in the Center. Obediently she had

worked with the physiotherapist to regain movement in

her damaged feet—she had been more severely injured

than had first been apparent. She had dutifully tried to

improve her telepathic range, but Dorotea and Peter

were the only ones she could hear at any distance; even

Sascha she could hear only if he was within a hundred

meters. She did test to an astounding degree of empa-

thy, the source of her unusual linguistic feats.

 

She was assiduous in following her education pro-

gram, opting for a very wide variety of courses, some

of which Dorotea was certain she could not yet com-

prehend. Her reports proved that she was more preco-

cious than anticipated. She took no joy in the freedom

of the Center's -grounds and played with no other chil-

dren despite their repeated attempts to interest her. She

had even refused to go on shopping trips with either

Sascha or Cass. She tended to become more animated

in Peter's company, but she saw him only rarely, as he

and Rhyssa were deeply involved in his highly special-

ized training. She was virtually recovered from the ab-

duction, but her morale was extremely low, so Dorotea

had insisted that Sascha come for a visit.

 

' 'What does it take to strand a kid?'' Tiria asked him.

 

"Look, chip," he said, laying a gentle hand on her

knee and noting that she felt no less fragile to him,

though she had put on weight since she had first come

to the Center. "You can't save all the illegals. And for

the moment the danger is over."

 

"But not the appetites," Tiria said, brooding. "Like

that scuzzy prince." In the privacy of her room, her

face took on a malicious expression. "Is it difficult to

 

 

 

 

286 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT Anne McCaffrey 287

 

strand a kid? Cass and Suz said they were stranding

kids in Linear E. Have they improved the strand for a

long-term use?"

 

"I know you're biologically twelve years old, Tiria,

but you sound fifty." Sascha was exasperated.

 

She tilted her head up at him, regarding him through

slightly narrowed eyes, a little smile playing at her lips.

"In the Linears I am. You surely don't want another

scam like that RIG, do you? And like you said, even

illegal kids have rights! I know Cass has had her baby

and wouldn't want to go undercover so soon. But I'd

bet my last credit—"

 

"All of them are the Center's now, remember?" Sa-

scha teased, and caught a sly gleam in her eyes. So

Dorotea was right about her squirreling some floaters

away. Old habits died hard.

 

"And the Center also has to give me anything I

want—"

 

"Within reason."

 

"Well, I'll be reasonable. I'm good at languages-

anyone's— but I can't keep sharp if I'm here," she

said, gesturing out the window at the lawn. "And

Teacher says I don't know all the languages of the

world—yet. I'll do you a deal, Sascha Roznine." She

cocked her head at him in what he had come to call her

"haggling manner." "I'll strand illegals in every Jer-

hattan Linear. I'll strand 'em, but I won't report 'em."

She gave a mirthless grin. "If there're sweeps, and I

was blamed for 'em, I'd lose my—what do you call it-

credibility? I got ethics, too, you know. But I'd know

when trouble was brewing, and that I would report.

That'd help, wouldn't it? I'd be a better trouble-spotter

than any of those LEO plants of your brother's!" The

notion seemed to amuse her, and certainly she had

become more animated. "I always knew who was

LEO—even who was Talent."

 

While there was no question of her affection for Sa-

scha, she was never easy in Boris's presence, though

 

he had tried to be ingratiating. An ingrained distrust of

all LEOs was Sascha's diagnosis, not wishing Tiria to

be at odds with his twin.

 

"You really wouldn't consider staying here with

Dorotea and extending your Talents?"

 

Tiria wagged her head, grimacing. "It's not that I

don't like Dorotea. She's the best ever. It's just—I don't

feel comfortable in all of this." Her glance swept

around the well-appointed room. "I'm a Linear brat.

My Talent, as you call it," she said, wrinkling her nose

in self-deprecation, "works best in a Linear environ-

ment." Her eyes twinkled.

 

"You can't live all your life in a Linear," Dorotea

said, entering the room, her expression worried. She

radiated affection, reassurance, and support.

 

"Why not?" Tiria demanded, lifting her hands in a

quick gesture of exasperation.

 

"Indeed, why not?" Sascha echoed.

 

"Cass and Suz live on the high side of Linears when

they're undercover. I'd really like my own squat on,

say, Level 19,' so I'd have a view and not so much

smog." Her grin was sheer impudence. "In case he

hasn't been listening in, ask your brother if I wouldn't

be more use to him living in a Linear."

 

Sascha laughed. Bro? Did you hear that?

 

Little bint! You 'II never know where you are with that

one,'•will you? It's demonstrable that she's superb as a

pulse-keeper. There are far more squabbles and argu-

ments in Linear G than while she was there. I could

use a Tiria in all the big Linears. If Rhyssa doesn 't

mind ...

 

Dorotea: I mind!

 

Boris: Sorry, Dorotea, but Tiria's a Registered Tal-

ent and too damned vital to lay about until she's of age.

But there's nothing that says she has to live at the Cen-

ter while she's waiting for her eighteenth birthday to

come around. If she 'd be much happier in a Linear, she

could live in one. With Lessud and his family in Island

 

 

 

 

288 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

K? Go to school properly and still keep her ears and

eyes open for the general well-being of the community.

With the scam dried up in Jerhattan, Long Island is the

next logical pool to fish in for illegal kids. We could

we a reliable pulse-keeper like Tirla.

 

"Did you get any of that, Tiria?" Sascha asked her,

grinning. Sitting beside her, he could feel her concen-

trating on "listening," but her mind echoed nothing but

the desire to hear.

 

She shook her head and gave a sad little sigh, with a

look of apology to Dorotea, who had been trying so

hard to train her.

 

"The Bro wants to know if you'd prefer to live in a

Long Island Residential while you're waiting to grow

up," Sascha explained.

 

"A Residential in Long Island?" Tirla became ani-

mated at once, sitting up in her bed, her big dark eyes

glittering, a delicate tinge of color suffusing her cheeks,

and a hopeful smile on her lips. "That'd be living in

high style!"

 

EPILOGUE

 

•$• ^ Three months later.

 

Rhyssa?

 

The tone, apologetic but firm, roused Rhyssa from

one of those intense sleeps where it is difficult to move

the body even when the brain has become alert. She lay

heavy in the bed and managed to open one eye to see

the clock; then she heard the familiar sound of Dave

singing softly to himself in the bathroom. Once again

she had overslept. She really did not know what was

the matter with her these past few weeks—she simply

could not seem to get enough sleep.

 

Rhyssa! The tone was more urgent, and then recog-

nition came.

 

Yes, Madlyn? What's the matter?

 

I didn 't wake you, did I? I thought I had Earth times

down pat.

 

I overslept. What's the matter?

 

It's her! Disgust, frustration, anger, and exasperation

packed into that one pronoun forewarned Rhyssa. She's

at it again. Saying we Talents are not doing our job!

We have only pulled her out o/her midden and yet she

has the gall to blame us for anything that goes wrong

up here.

 

What is it this time? Rhyssa hauled herself up against

her pillows and reached for the coffee thermos—another

elegant notion of Mr. Lehardt's, and so civilized. She

started to pour herself a cup and then stopped. The smell

of it turned her stomach.

 

289

 

 

 

 

290 PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

There's one last very critical shipment due to come

up, Madlyn went on, only it hasn 't because Johnny says

he won't ship it yet.

 

Won't ship ifl That blew the last of sleep-fog from

Rhyssa's mind. What was Colonel Greene up to now?

And naturally it's essential/or her to complete the in-

stallation?

 

Vital! It's got the last of the internal mechanisms and

remotes. Very delicate stuff, I know, and not something

you want bounced about. And there's only a week more

before the completion date. Then we can all come down

to earth! There was heartfelt relief in Madlyn's tone.

So we want to know why it's being held up. Because

we are, too, you know.

 

I know. I'll sort it out, Madlyn. Indeed, I will.

 

Dave was whistling louder now that he knew she was

awake. He might not have been telepathic, but he dis-

played a keen sensitivity where she was concerned that

more than made up for it in ways she could never have

anticipated. She grinned to herself and then recalled the

task at hand. Eight-thirty was not too early to rouse

Colonel John Greene out of his Floridian sack.

 

Johnny boy, phone me! He was too far away to link

telepathically with her, but her call would reach him

easily enough. She looked at the phone, counting down.

It rang in exactly ten seconds.

 

"You wished parlance with me, Madame Lehardt?"

 

"I do indeed. Colonel Greene. What hanky-panky

are you pulling on poor dear Ludmilla?"

 

Johnny's chuckle was drenched in malice. "Only

what she deserves, petal. She conscripted us Talents to

be sure she finished on time, and finished on time she

will be. Not one moment earlier, not one moment later.

Why?"

 

"Oh, I see." Rhyssa chuckled. "And you have it

timed to the final hour?"

 

"Lance and I worked out the time it would take to

install those'controls, and we've scheduled the kinetics

 

Anne McCaffrey            291

 

needed. We know exactly how long it will take. Lance

must have forgotten to clue Madlyn. I'm sony she's

getting hassled, but she's well able for it. Soothe her

down, will you, Rhys? We're doing it our way!"

 

"Oh, I quite agree. Not an hour early and not an hour

late."

 

As she hung up, Dave came in the room, a towel

draped about his lean hips. "I did try to wake you,

Rhys," he said with a rueful expression. "You just

don't want to get up in the morning."

 

"I'm wanton enough to admit that I love being in

bed with you, Dave, but preferably awake, not sleeping

like the dead.'' She lifted her arms and began to stretch,

then stopped. "And what's wrong with the coffee? The

smell makes me nauseous."

 

Dave grinned as he sat down on the edge of the bed,

looking at her: His blue eyes crinkled. "Figured it out

yet?" he asked, glancing down at her abdomen.

 

"I thought—1 mean, I haven't been ill," Rhyssa said,

with dawning awareness, "just sleepy! Oh, Dave, could

I really be pregnant?"

 

"Think about it a moment, 0 wise woman!" He got

up, shedding his towel as he began to dress. She loved

looking at him, no matter what he was doing, and the

intimacy of this daily act was something special for her.

"After all, I've been doing my best for several months

now!"

 

Awed by the possibility, Rhyssa did start thinking

about her body, placing her hands gently on her belly,

intuiting the biofeedback.

 

"Oh, Dave, I am pregnant. I am!"

 

"I think you're the last one to have copped on, then,"

he replied, grinning broadly. "Dorotea knows."

 

"And she said nothing?" Rhyssa sat bolt upright

again, startled and somewhat miffed that she had been

left in the dark—and by Dorotea!

 

"Well, there's some things it's more fun to find out

by yourself," he said, grinning as he stooped down to

 

292

 

Anne McCaffrey            293

 

PEGASUS IN FLIGHT

 

kiss her lovingly. "There's a sort of glow about you,

too. Everyone's noticed. They've been politely waiting

for an official announcement." He stroked her tangled

hair, running fingers down her silver streak.

 

She sighed, then blurted out, "Does Sascha know?"

 

Dave stopped in the act of pulling on his tunic and

ducked his head out of the folds to regard her with some

alarm. "Sascha? I know you're close but—"

 

"Well ..." Rhyssa paused. There was one of the

few drawbacks to Dave's lack of Talent. Sometimes she

had to explain with far more detail than a Talent would

require. "Well, Sascha's got to wait, that's all, and he

doesn't take waiting kindly."

 

"Wait?" Dave pulled the tunic down. "Wait for

what?"

 

"For Tiria to grow up, of course," she said, gath-

ering herself to rise from the bed. She felt oddly pro-

tective of the new life inside her, which was silly, since

it was obviously well settled in.

 

"Tiria?" Dave's eyes nearly popped in astonish-

ment. "He's gone on her? Dirty old man!"

 

"Not so old and certainly not dirty where Tiria is

concerned. Bolt out of the blue on him, all right enough.

He's never felt that way about any other female."

Rhyssa permitted herself a little knowing smile. ' 'But

she's the one for him, and he knows it. He just has to

wait a few years."

 

"That wight's not even—"

 

"Tiria is twelve now, going on two hundred,"

Rhyssa replied with some asperity. Tiria was a very

interesting personality, and she and Sascha would deal

very well together. It was incredible, really, to have

found two such diverse Talents during her directorship:

 

one macro who would shift worlds and one whose skill

was a micro-Talent, eroding language barriers. "Nee-

sters ripen a lot faster than we Northern and Occidental

types. She'll be more than ready in four years to marry

Sascha."

 

"And that's decided?" Dave was skeptical.

 

Rhyssa smiled. "Sascha precogged it—to his intense

astonishment. Next time you see them together, notice

how she looks at him. Quite proprietary that young lady

is where Sascha is concerned. And she's better for him

than Madlyn would ever be."

 

"And they'll have Talented kids?"

 

"That's a very high probability." Rhyssa smiled

smugly.

 

Dave paused. In her presence he always allowed his

emotions to show. He cleared his throat and asked

briskly, "What about us? When will we know?"

 

To reassure the man she loved, Rhyssa smiled as she

nodded. "No problem there."

 

"You sound so sure."

 

She put her arms around his neck, letting her gravid

belly rest against him as she pulled his head down to

kiss him. "I am. He just told me so."

 

 

 

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 

Between her frequent appearances in the United States and En-

gland as a lecturer and guest-of-honor at science-fiction conven-

tions, Anne McCaffrey lives at Dragpnhold, in the hills of County

Wicldow, Ireland, with assorted horses, cats, and a dog. Of her-

self, Ms. McCaffrey says: "I have green eyes, silver hair, and

freckles—the rest changes without notice."