Pegasus In Space

10

Lance was updating the flight manifests when Colonel Watari found him. The colonel looked more solemn than usual.

"What's up?" Lance asked with no preamble.

The colonel's eyes sparked with anger for a moment and then faded. "Word just in from Padrugoi. Limo-34's fuel tanks exploded when they started TLI-3. No survivors. They didn't even have time to make it to escape pods."

Lance opened his mouth, tried to speak, and shook his head wordlessly, denying what he had just been told.

"Not that it helps," Colonel Watari offered, "but it was probably instantaneous. They never felt a thing."

From behind him a voice drawled, "Oh, I wouldn't quite say that. I've one helluva hangover."

"Johnny?" Lance shouted, instantly on his feet, his face lit with a huge grin at the welcome sight of a rumpled general, looking very much alive if slightly gray in the face. He started to rush toward the general but stopped himself, adding phlegmatically, "I shoulda known they couldn't kill you."

"They nearly did," Johnny replied with a sour grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "And the way this headache feels…"

It had been Rhyssa's terrified shout that had warned them. And Peter's frantic reaction that had saved them. In the instant Peter and Johnny had realized that the computers had been sabotaged, Peter recognized that his fatigue and tingling cheeks were signs of oxygen starvation. He had slapped the emergency shutdown on the ship's computers, jettisoned the engines and fuel tanks, and-Johnny still didn't quite know how-'ported Limo-34 to the safest place he could visualize in that horrible moment: 200 meters away from Apollo 12. And 400 million meters from the fireball.

Then Peter had collapsed, leaving Johnny to power up MPU Two-the one computer that hadn't been sabotaged and so had been consistently overridden by the faulty ones-and to teleport himself into First Base.

Johnny shook off the pain of his oxygen-starved headache and pointed to Watari. "You've got to get rescue vehicles over to the Apollo 12 site, like ten minutes ago."

"What?" Colonel Watari recovered from his shock but his dislike for anyone ordering him about in his own office showed in the frown on his face. "What's there? How'd you get here? What's going on?"

"In the order of your questions, Colonel, the Limo-34 or what's left of it, Minus the aft end. I 'ported me here. We were sabotaged."

"How? Who? What?" Lance babbled with delayed relief.

Johnny waved him off. "Later. There's not much oxygen left and what's there is mostly stale. If you please, Colonel Watari?" He flicked his hand at the control panels.

Even at the breakneck speed with which the First Base commandant organized the rescue party, it was still over twenty minutes before the cumbersome airlock bus was on its way and those in the cab on the lower deck of the facility could see the wreck. On the ground below it, a figure in an EMU waved urgently for more speed.

Is that Peter? Lance asked Johnny, who was clenching and unclenching his hands on the oh-my-god bar in the bus. This part of Oceanus Procellarum was relatively smooth as mares went, so Johnny's grasp was more nerves than need. They were all in EMUs, for Johnny wanted to investigate the Limo almost as much as Watari did.

Should be, Johnny replied. Peter had his EMU with him, checked and sealed by Silversmith. I didn't say he could go for a moonwalk but I won't fault him. The ambience in the crew compartment would be pretty dense for his innate sensitivity. Thank God for it. The EMU has its own oxygen and God knows one less inside leaves more for the others to breathe. Can't this thing go faster?

My GOD! And you landed that!

They were close enough to see details now as the disturbed moon dust was finally settling to the surface around the crash site. Watari and the driver in the cab of the airlock bus echoed Lance's exclamation of disbelief. The nose of the broken shuttle perched drunkenly on its forward landing skid, the rear cargo section resting on the lunar soil. The gold Mylar skin had peeled back for several meters, lifted from the metal hull by the heat of the exploding fuel tanks.

"A good landing is one you walk away from, believe me," Johnny said sardonically. "Peter's being outside suggests that there weren't any more booby traps. You see, someone had epoxied the escape pod clamps so even if there'd been time to get to them, we wouldn't've escaped." His expression turned grimmer.

"My God! Who'd perpetrate such a crime?" Watari asked. To him, space travel and everything associated with it were sacrosanct. "Admiral Coetzer will be overjoyed to learn that you're safe. I should have reported immediately."

"No, you shouldn't," Johnny said with such vigor that Watari stared at him. "Because we're not going to tell him just yet."

"Not even how you miraculously got here?"

That really puzzled Watari but Johnny wasn't about to enlighten him. He shook his head again.

Watari spluttered in outrage. "For God's sake, why not?"

"Because, as I said, Colonel, someone tried to sabotage us," Johnny replied. "And the sooner they find out they've failed, the sooner they'll try again."

"Sabotage?"

"Yes, Colonel, sabotage." Johnny's tone was almost kindly as he repeated his verdict.

The bus was almost to the airlock, Peter moving out of its way cautiously in the Moon's gravity.

He could be the one, Peter said, alarmed by Johnny's candor.

Naw. Lives by the book, this one, Johnny replied.

Too right, Lance said supportively.

Watching anxiously as the bus airlock closed very gently on the Limo's single undamaged hatch, Peter could hear the amusement in the Australian's tone. He had previously mentioned to Peter that Watari's persnickety notions were irritating but he ran a tight Base.

Watari's narrowed eyes were examining the crumpled Limo, noticing the heat-peeled Mylar skin at the end of the cargo compartment and the buckled condition of the other portside airlock.

"Sabotage. No doubt about it. Very well. Irregularities," and now he winced at the proximity of the Limo to the hallowed ground of the Apollo 12 site on one side, and the Surveyor landing monument on the other. "Irregularities to save lives are another matter entirely. I will expect a full report when we return to First Base." He tapped his headset. "First Base, I want a security squad out here on the double."

"On the double, Colonel," was the instant reply. Peter recognized Major Cyberal's baritone voice.

Watari was completing the checks on his EMU suit so that he could exit the cab and examine the wreck firsthand. He gave crisp commands to Cyberal.

"Limo's passengers and crew are to be accorded all privileges but to be housed separately until this investigation is concluded. No contact with any Base personnel."

"Quarters are available in DiMaggio Block, sir. Security as ordered, sir."

"Oversee the transfer from the bus at that entry yourself, Major."

"Yes, sir, over and out."

"What about the personnel driving the airlock bus, Colonel?" Johnny asked.

The colonel turned himself so his helmeted face was visible to the general. Lance could see Watari's profile, his lips parted to show his teeth, demonstrating dislike of the general's implied criticism.

"The airlock is, of necessity, separated from the transport vehicle, General," Watari said, his body stiff with resentment.

"Just making sure there is no contact," Johnny replied blandly.

"Lieutenant Marr is in charge of the operation and has been party to all orders. Have you not, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir, I have, sir," was the crisp reply in a female voice. "The airlock is now positioned and cycling through to the Limo, sir. We will have secure transport in forty seconds!"

"Lieutenant Liu," Johnny said, leaning over the bus's comunit. He paused until Xiang came on-line. "Inform the passengers that they can now debark into the airlock. They are to bring all personal effects with them. You will secure the ship and await the arrival of a security team."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you require an EMU, Lieutenant?" Colonel Watari asked.

"No, sir. I'm currently wearing mine."

"Peter, did you hear all that?" Johnny asked, turning his attention to the EMU-suited figure standing to the port of the bus.

"Loud and clear," Peter said, watching with interest as he saw the slight movement of the bus airlock connection, indicating that people were disembarking the wreck. From where he stood on the ground, he could see heads on the upper level of the bus and guessed the relief of those breathing fresher air.

Xiang Liu had more or less ordered him to get into his EMU, saying that it would save air for someone else. With Sergeant Bat Singh and Corporal Ahn, they had examined the one remaining airlock with great attention to the possibility of additional sabotage. But they'd found none, so Peter, almost overwhelmed by the thick emotions of those so recently delivered from death, had gratefully disembarked.

His first steps on the Moon were therefore not as ecstatic as he had anticipated. Sheer relief dominated his mind. And fatigue. He had kept linked to Johnny and had been amused by Watari's reactions. The colonel's efficient organization of rescue had given Peter a boost but it seemed to him as if the lumbering airlock bus had taken forever to bring fresh air and rescue to the Limo. Briefly, he wondered if he shouldn't really have stayed behind with the others. He'd caught no resentment in anyone's mind but then no one had wasted any effort not involved in breathing. A wisp ofrelief did reach him, that there'd be one less in the cabin using what oxygen was left. In fact, they were relieved that he'd been able to get out of the airlock. Then, too, no one else could fit into his EMU so it was silly of him not to use it.

Watching the airbus loading up, Peter now roused himself to wonder where he should 'port his baggage, still onboard the Limo. Maybe to that table in the colonel's office so his things could be inspected, too, he thought wryly. He felt very queer all over. Probably the bad air or just plain funk with relief in arriving safely-or at all.

"Ready to disengage, Lieutenant." Peter heard a crisp female voice on his helmet comm. "Colonel, all passengers aboard or accounted for."

"Very well. Proceed to the Base and disembark the passengers at DiMaggio Block. No communications with anyone at this point in time," Watari ordered.

"Yes, sir."

D'you want to go in the bus, Pete? Johnny asked.

And be incommunicado in DiMaggio? Peter was amused that baseball idols were being immortalized on First Base. But then, the Moon facility had been built by joint American and Japanese engineers, both countries being baseball enthusiasts.

You're the engineer Johnny was teasing, Peter knew, to keep his flagging energy going.

Hang on a mo, Pete, Lance added. I'm in my EMU. I can take you back. You're quartered in Clemens Block next to me anyhow. I'll just requisition one of those lunar rovers coming in. I doubt Watari'll want me to help investigate that wreck.

Too right, mate, Johnny said, imitating Lance. Certainly Watari likes to run his own look-sees. I think you should get a message back to Padrugoi. Very discreet.

Watari has all messages recorded, Lance said. At least the official ones.

Peter listened, wondering if this was the time to suggest that maybe they wouldn't need official channels back to Padrugoi. Only how, exactly, were they to explain what had happened? When Peter himself wasn't sure. And they were days earlier than the normal five days to First Base. But, getting a quiet word back to Madlyn who could then privately reassure Rhyssa, was an option. He hated to think of Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Amariyah thinking him burnt to a crisp. If only he could get Madlyn's attention. Most of the brunette's mental ruminations dwelt on Commander Dash Sakai. He could visualize Madlyn, chin on her hand, a dreamy smile on her face. Was visualization the key to sending or was it touch?

Not now, he told himself wearily. I can barely 'port to Lance and Johnny. I'm tired, he admitted, recognizing the difference between the adrenaline high of being safely on the Moon as opposed to being strong with physical vigor. He might not have limits to his telepathy and teleportation but he did have a finite measure of energy. All the odd sensations that he was experiencing were fatigue, that's all.

Suddenly a space-suited figure bounced up to him. "I've borrowed that rover," Lance said, and pointed in the appropriate direction.

That was when Peter noticed that the airlock bus was backing away from the Limo and that there were men-the security squad probably-swarming about the wreck. The hatch opened again and Lieutenant Liu stood there, saluting to the two men waiting to get aboard.

"This way, Pete," Lance said, touching his arm. With relief, Peter drifted beside Lance and didn't object when Lance gave him a little kinetic push on the way. So what did you tap into to get here so precipitously? Watari's dying to know.

So am I, Peter said ruefully.

Did you really 'port all the way from your TLI-3 burn? Lance was impressed.

Peter nodded his helmet. With the boost we got from-somewhere. He wasn't sure if he should confide in Lance, though it went against his grain to prevaricate to someone he knew so well. But he was so security conscious right now, after such a near thing. Lance would surely understand the reticence when the time came that Peter could mention the CERN assistance.

Peter stumbled, aware that there was little to stumble over on this smooth mare. Lance put his hand under Peter's arm, reducing the effort Peter had to make.

I think my last meal just ran out, Peter said.

We're nearly there, Lance encouraged him and half shoved him into the lunar rover. Once Peter was strapped in, he let fatigue wash over him.

Thing is, you made it. Well done. Now to find out who.

And why, Peter added.

"Hold on now, Reidinger," Lance said out loud, aware that there'd be someone monitoring them.

Peter let himself relax, safe and secure in Lance's company. He barely took in Lance's explanation of the geography of First Base as he was driven to the nearest airlock. Then they were being cycled through it, Lance helping him from the rover, encountering the three-quarters Earth gravity that First Base maintained within the dome; unsuiting in the ready-room, Lance getting the sergeant to take charge of their EMUs; getting Peter's Base ID, room assignment, and ration-card-all the necessary bureaucratic details required by security.

Not much longer, Pete, Lance said. "If you're hungry, Reidinger, I can show you where the mess is."

"If it's all the same, Lance, I'd rather get to my quarters."

"Right ch'ar," Lance replied amiably, and indicated they should hang a right as they came to a five-way junction of corridors, the widest one being the main route to the Control Intelligence Center offices in Akahiro Block. Babe Ruth Block was in that direction as well. Despite his fatigue, Peter noticed the steel doors that would seal off sections in each corridor. He saw the alcoves containing glassed cabinets of emergency oxygen masks. He thought in passing that this was just the place for someone to follow the book.

They turned up one of the narrower hallways down to a Y junction where Lance took the right again.

"Clemens Block-where us transient specialists are housed. But the tucker's good. Did you bring in the new cooks?"

"We did."

"Good! One needs a change in the hand that stirs the chowder."

The hallway was lined with doors and Lance stopped at the fourth one on the left.

"We got you a single, Pete. I'm next door. Call addie is 5775." Or you can call me.

Politely, Lance took the plastic room card from Peter's limp grasp and slid it into the slot; a soft snick and the door opened. He gave Peter a gentle shove inside and then led him to the bunk, wider by a good meter than the Limo's accommodation.

Lie down. I'll get your boots off and tuck you in, m friend. You're one weary chook.

Peter made no complaint and willingly laid his body down, faintly aware of the blanket covering him. He was asleep before Lance dropped the first boot to the floor.

Pete? Pete? Pe-ter! The voice was soft but insistent. Peter woke. Pete? You're awake? Ah, yes, you are. Rhyssa's having knicker fits until she has an eyes-on report from Madlyn that you are here.

Johnny?

That's who. C'mon, get up. I'll give you time to shower and clothe the bod.

Did you find out anything?

About the sabotage? Not much, except we're not dealing with stupids. Someone rigged the MPUs raw-ther, and Johnny drawled the words, deftly. And it had to be someone on Padrugoi. No time to import anything, or anyone, 'cos I was the chief importer I sent folks downside. I didn't bring anything upstation that hadn't gone through security. On Earth or again on Padrugoi.

I'm awake, Peter reassured the general, aware that he had to drain his waste-bag like right now! He levitated up, found the toilet, and emptied the appliance as Johnny continued his instructions.

I'll send a guide. You'll need one.

A guide? Or a bodyguard?

A little of both. And check it out. I can 'feel' a menacing presence from time to time, Johnny added grimly. Lance warned me. I'm warning you.

Peter exhaled at that intelligence. He looked around, realizing that he hadn't even noticed his accommodation when Lance had brought him here. Was it last night? Well, whenever it was. His small bag was on the desk and he "pulled" out a fresh coverall and shorts. He returned to the bathroom. A notice on the shower enclosure warned him that water usage was limited: he was advised to soap before turning the taps on.

He did and felt refreshed despite the brevity of the wash. He was closing his coverall when he heard a brief tap on his door.

"Corporal Hinojosa, sir," a female voice announced.

"Be right with you, Corporal," he said, and slid his fleece-lined shoes over his feet.

"Good morning, Mr. Reidinger," she said when he opened the door. She must be just within the height limit for the service and he felt he towered above her. She had a lot of black curls, dark eyes, and a ready smile. "This way, sir." She gestured gracefully toward the intersection. "You're expected in Akahiro Block-that's the original facility, if you haven't had time to study a map of First Base."

He deliberately matched his steps to hers; she had a long stride for a person her size. First Base's slate-gray uniform looked fashionable on her.

"I know who Babe Ruth and DiMaggio were, but who was Akahiro?"

She flashed him a smile. "He was the most outstanding first baseman of the international Japanese Nippon Nicks baseball team in this century, sir. Popped more home runs than the legendary Mark McGwire. The North Americans didn't happen to have a baseball celebrity whose name began with an A, so the Japanese got first crack. They didn't have a C either, so Clemens got his innings, as it were."

Peter responded to her wit with a genuine laugh. He enjoyed the walk-at least until they went through the major lock to Babe Ruth Block. There he caught malevolence so palpable that he staggered. Johnny had done well to warn him. But where did it come from? Men and women, clad in the slate-gray uniforms, seemed to be moving briskly on errands. A group of four wearing gym suits was ambling more casually along the main corridor. Then the hate disappeared as if an impenetrable door had closed it off. Peter looked quickly up and down the long main access corridor and then the corporal was gesturing for him to enter the Akahiro Block.

I felt it in the Babe Ruth Block, Johnny.

Same here. And that'd take a lot of sifting since that block holds the main living quarters, mess halls, and leisure amenities for both service personnel and consultants, and ends up at the prison wing that has its own airlock. Hurry along there, will ya?

I'm following my leader, Peter said, not at all averse to doing so.

"We're nearly there, Mr. Reidinger," the corporal said, pausing at an elevator shaft and slipping an ID into the slot at one side. The leaves parted and they entered.

Peter felt the upward motion through his feet and then they reached their destination: the CIC of First Base. As he stepped out, a staggering panorama of moonscape was spread out, hazed slightly by the material of the enclosing dome, but nonetheless magnificent. So was the landing field the Limo should have used. The pathetic looking wreck was on the left-hand side, near smaller separate domes that must be repair and maintenance facilities. A gantry surrounded the Limo and technicians were busy. Three other spaceships, a little four-man courier rocket, and two Limos, both smaller than the 34, were parked to the right near the landing terminal that was the official debarkation area. Beyond them on the widest part of the terminal apron, two freight lighters were parked, waiting to bring down cargo from the next orbiting freighter. So, in spite of all the problems, freighters were still transporting supplies to First Base.

"Colonel Watari's office is just here, Mr. Reidinger," Corporal Hinojosa said, having given him a few moments to appreciate the view before she stepped to the door and pressed the "open" plate.

"Thank you, Corporal."

"My pleasure, Mr. Reidinger."

"Pete!" Johnny waved expansively for him to hurry in. The general looked remarkably refreshed in a dark blue coverall that was a contrast to the slate-gray fatigues of Colonel Watari and Major Cyberal. Lance Baden in his preferred sand-colored shorts, shirt, and boots grinned a welcome. "Come in, come in. Watari, we can place that call now. Pete, sit here." He slapped the back of a chair he'd pulled out from the conference table where the First Base officers were sitting.

As Peter moved to obey, he caught a glimpse on his left of the worktop where he'd put the precious seismic sensors only days before. Watari scowled but the major nodded a more amiable greeting.

"Have you got the admiral yet?" Watari asked, leaning toward the comunit set into the panel of the table.

"On-screen, sir. Now!"

There was the admiral, seated in the center of his conference table. On one side of him Madlyn wiggled her fingers as the image cleared, Commander Chatham beyond her. On the other side of Coetzer was Dr. Scott, who seemed unbelievably glad to set eyes on those at the Base, and two security officers that Peter recognized from seeing them in the mess.

"Pete, you're a vision for sore eyes," the admiral said. "Madlyn's relaying to Rhyssa that she's eyeballing you. I don't think she'd take my word unconfirmed," and Coetzer's one-sided grin suggested to Peter that Rhyssa had been difficult. "Bindra and Ottey here are going over the security tapes of the boat bay, all recent visitors, and we hope to figure out who tampered with the Limo."

"Madlyn," Johnny said, with a polite nod to the admiral for interrupting, "you need empaths up there. I've got more than the usual emanations of dislike for psychics recently. And Lance, Pete, and I sensed a virulent presence here."

"On First Base?" Watari exclaimed, as if denying the possibility.

"You do have quite a few lifetime prisoners on First Base, Watari," Johnny said, his face inscrutable.

"We've offenders here, too," the admiral said, shaking his head slowly. "The double wristbands are supposed to prevent them from entering any sensitive area. Bindra, check the entire roster of offies. Could you 'hear' anything from them, Madlyn?"

"Sir, I'm not an empath," she replied, almost apologetically. "But you can have the best at your disposal the moment you ask."

"Please be so good as to make that request right now, Madlyn," Dirk said, and then spoke over his shoulder to his yeoman. "Send an official signal to Ms. Lehardt at the Eastern Center, Yeoman Nizukami, asking for empathic assistance as soon as possible." Then Coetzer looked back to the screen.

"You may be sure we'll check our resident offenders," Watari said stiffly.

"You may be sure I'll help him," Johnny Greene added.

"I can't see how anyone here could have had any part in the sabotage of the Limo," Watari said.

"Possibly not," Johnny agreed amiably. "But right now I'd rather not have an unknown quantity that can project such malice in my vicinity. Much less Pete's."

"His security is in our hands," Watari said. When Johnny raised his eyebrows in query, he added, "Corporal Hinojosa is a martial arts specialist and far more dangerous than she appears."

"Really?"

"Really!" Watari said in flat voice.

"I'd like additional surveillance for Pete. I'll take Sergeant Singh for mine." Johnny glared at Watari. "Lance?"

The Australian shrugged. "I don't work outside alone, Johnny. I'm in full view of the construction team. I've never felt any threat in Clemens Block."

"Gentlemen," and the admiral entered firmly into the conversation, "we shall continue our investigations with vigor. As soon as Mr. Reidinger has seen all that he requires of First Base and you can assure us that Limo-34 is operational and secure, please contact us again. I will, of course, let you know of any developments at Padrugoi. Pete, Baden, General, Colonel, Major, good evening."

The screen went blank. Johnny heaved himself to his feet. "Pete, you need to eat breakfast. So do I. Lance, are you joining us?"

"If there is nothing pending, Colonel?" and Lance rose, looking politely to Watari for his answer.

"You are scheduled to accompany Mr. Reidinger to be sure he and General Greene see all that they need to." Almost as if he resented the courtesy it represented, Watari rose to his feet and gave a stiff bow in Peter's direction. "I hope you will not hesitate to ask for anything you need."

"Did we bring you the most urgent items, Colonel?" Peter asked politely.

"Yes. Thank you," Watari hesitated then went on quickly, "but they would not have been worth your life, Mr. Reidinger."

Well, get that! Johnny said, turning toward the door.

He meant it, too, Lance added, gesturing for Peter to precede him out the door. The corporal snapped to attention as she saw them emerging. Peter locked his eyes on the fabulous western aspect of First Base of Oceanus Procellarum, one of the few mares that was not bounded by mountains or fault scarps.

"The nearest mess hall, please, Corporal," Johnny said, strolling toward the lift. "I'm hungry enough to eat a horse and Pete here's been burning far too many calories."

Peter did wonder what was "burning" in him right now but dismissed it. It was time to be hungry.

"Sir?" the corporal asked, concern in her voice.

"Don't mind him, Nina," Lance said with easy cordiality. "He'd never harm a horse."

Rhyssa was overwhelmingly relieved to receive Madlyn's shout from Padrugoi.

I'm looking at him right now, Rhyssa, and he seems a bit sleepy, his hair is still wet from a shower, but otherwise he's fine. Oh, and the admiral's about to request empaths from you. They think one of the offenders up here might be responsible for the sabotage.

An offie? Rhyssa was aghast. What station-held offender could possibly be able to sabotage anything? I'll check with Boris immediately and see who's been sentenced upstation recently. Someone with technical skills. Thanks, Maddie. I'll reassure Dorotea.

She did that-news that was received with fervent thanks from Dorotea-before she put in a call to Boris Roznine for him to contact her telepathically as soon as possible. She barely had time to disseminate the good news about Peter through the main office before she felt Boris's unmistakable touch.

Technically trained offies, Rhyssa? he repeated. Far too many, was the LEO Commissioner's immediate response. I'll send you a full roster but… He broke off. I'll check.

WHO, Boris? I caught that! Oh!

Yes, oh. 'Fraid you might, Rhyssa. Justice sentenced Albert Ponce, aka Flimflam, aka Ponsit Prosit, over five years ago to life incarceration on Padrugoi Station. He's still there. He was also peripherally involved in the White-Coat Mutiny. He lost all the benefits he'd earned by previous good behavior, supporting her. Not that he was perceived to have taken a major role in the Mutiny. Even Barchenka didn't trust him. But he has more than ample reason to hate Peter, though I don't believe the two ever met. Did they?

Not really. Peter was unconscious while Flimflam was beating Tirla. She had been his primary target at the time. Peter was caught up in the grab for her.

Parole officer notes Flimflam does a lot of betting but that's not a crime upstation.

Does he win?

Boris's mental tone turned wry. I can find out. I'd hate to owe Flimflam.

I do. And I'm going to pay that debt, Rhyssa said with such vehemence that Boris protested.

As LEO Commissioner, Rhyssa, I can't turn a blind eye to everything the Center does.

Rhyssa, said another mental voice on a very tight focus, you won't need to if that man has harmed Peter.

Dorotea! Rhyssa exclaimed, as shocked by the implacable tone in the older woman's voice as Boris had probably been by hers.

I think it's about time LEO paid an unofficial but immediate visit to Padrugoi Station, Boris said. I'm sure Secretary Abubakar will authorize such an inspection. It is to the Station's benefit.

You, too? To see I play fair, Boris?

Let's say to ascertain if offenders resident on the Station have set up an illegal network. And discern if there is any real antipathy to psychics there.

Oh. Rhyssa had to admit those excuses were legitimate. She paused. Only we'll have to make our own way upstation. Our kinetics are all on the Moon.

Leave that detail to me, Rhyssa, Boris replied. Only don't tell Madlyn we're coming.

She's not indiscreet, Boris, Rhyssa reminded him. Especially about parapsychic business.

She's in love, was Boris's unequivocal reply.

Clearance to Padrugoi Station was not a problem with the documentation Rhyssa, Dorotea, and Amariyah were able to produce, especially with Admiral Coetzer's official sanction. They went as a family group, grandmother, mother, and daughter. Amariyah was bubbling with excitement at going to see the Padrugoi hydroponic facilities. Rhyssa arranged for Ping Yung, the empathic specialist already on Padrugoi, to show her the extensive gardens. The girl chattered away on the trip up with Rhyssa and Dorotea. Dorotea held Rhyssa's hand, physically and mentally, during the rocket flight.

I never thought I'd be doing this, Dorotea said, several times. I'm too old to travel perpendicular to the Earth. I'm too old to go this fast anywhere.

I feel much the same way, Rhyssa agreed, though she rather enjoyed the tremendous power in the shuttle's rockets as they took off. Boris Roznine, seated three rows down and frowning at whatever files he was reading, had paid them no attention. Neither did Cass Cutler, traveling as his aide, nor Lieutenant Ranjit Youssef, who successfully looked his role as a menial worker, bound for six months' work upstation. He was at the very back of the thirty-passenger vehicle. Both Cutler and Youssef had encountered Albert Ponce aka Flimflam before, although he was unlikely to recognize them.

Dorotea managed a little smile when she felt both Cutler and Youssef trying to soothe her fears and apprehensions.

I'm not afraid, people, nor am I apprehensive. I just don't like this mode of travel. I like solid earth beneath my feet, she told them. I am also not a crowd person.

She felt Cass's amusement while Ranjit discreetly withdrew his encouraging thoughts. Cass's unique parapsychic ability was crowd control, generally used to prevent a large mass of people from turning into a riot by subtly broadcasting neutralizing reassurances. Cass was subtle enough so that even Dorotea could not tell if she had stopped emanating.

The initial ten minutes of the flight featured a tri-d about Padrugoi Station, including the history of the internationally sponsored construction. (The White-Coat Mutiny was not part of the spiel.) More important, the program explained what visitors could and could not do, should and should not expect, and how to react to an emergency. By then, Padrugoi was visible on the forward screens and grew rapidly to dominate the view as the shuttle seemed to inch closer.

Since her trip to Padrugoi for the Inauguration had been by Johnny's teleport, Rhyssa hadn't seen Padrugoi in all its complexity. She was as astounded by the view as those seeing it for the first time. She tried to take it all in, especially the cargo nets, flashing with buoy lights where Peter and Johnny had reduced disaster to calamity, the corner she could glimpse at this angle of the construction yard, and the dry dock surrounding the Arrakis. Amariyah wanted to know what all the little lights were.

"People working in space suits. The lights are their jetpacks, moving them about in weightless space," Rhyssa told her.

"Like Peter does."

"Like Peter does." Did the girl really understand what Peter did?

"Will I be able to go out in a space suit with a jetpack when I come up to Padrugoi to work?" Amariyah asked.

"You won't need to go out into space. The hydroponic gardens are inside the Station," Dorotea replied with a sigh of relief.

"When will I get to see them? Are we nearly there?"

"Almost," Rhyssa said placidly. She'd forgotten how convenient it was to have telekinetic transportation. Instantaneously. Going by shuttle, she was able to appreciate the distance separating Earth and Padrugoi.

Amariyah had to have everything explained to her: the nets, the gigs towing construction units or cargo containers, where the larger freighters were unloading cargo. Rhyssa wondered if the Station was ever quiet. "Day" had no meaning on Padrugoi and it probably took all twenty-four hours and its vast crew to keep it, running.